“No, actually,” Dylan said then, turning his attention to Jack, “I’d kind of like to know what’s going on as well. Mr. Thane?”
Jack met the boy’s gaze. Dylan’s expression was hard and unyielding. Annabelle was momentarily distracted from her fear of the upcoming flight by Dylan’s strange behavior. What did he mean by asking Jack to explain the situation? Didn’t Dylan know, as well as Jack did, what was going on? This whole mess was centered around his own parents, after all.
Her brow furrowed.
“What do you mean, Dylan?” she asked softly.
“Oh, you know…” Dylan shifted and shrugged, his expression going from hard to feigned puzzlement in a second flat. He held his hands up at his side. “I guess I was just wondering about a few things,” he continued. “Like, why a quote-unquote business man who dealt in real-estate would need a secret passageway in his apartment complex and what looks like spy gear in his closet.” He settled his green eyes on Jack again. Jack didn’t move a muscle.
Dylan didn’t stop there. He went on, “and why he has a black bag full of black-ops-issue weapons on the bed in the other room.”
So, Dylan had gone exploring.
“And why he seems to have something like a dozen different men, all wearing black, working for him.” Dylan was on some sort of role now and the occupants of the house had grown unnaturally still and quiet. The air was thick with tension as Dylan continued.
“I wonder, Mr. Thane, what kind of business, exactly, it is that you do that would require no fewer than three safe houses in and around the Twin Cities area. I also found the wired limousine a little odd…” he smiled a grim smile at Jack’s raised brow. “Yes, I noticed the devices, though you tried to hide them well. I’ve read a lot of science fiction novels, Mr. Thane. I could recognize stuff a lot more sophisticated than that. And I know enough to recognize that a real-estate mogul would have no need of it.”
Annabelle’s mouth had gone dry. Her feet felt numb, her legs weak. She had, by this time, entirely forgotten about the flight to New York. She had much more immediate concerns to deal with, such as the health and well-being of everyone in the room – especially Dylan Anderson.
She could feel the presence of Jack Thane at her back like a weight, tall and dark and heavy. She found it hard to breathe.
And then Jack’s cell phone rang. No one moved, not even Jack. The air between him and Dylan felt positively charged. It almost crackled.
“Saved by the bell, Mr. Thane.” Dylan said.
Jack very slowly pulled the cell out of his inside jacket pocket and flipped it open. Amidst dead silence in the room, he spoke into the receiver.
“Thane.”
Dylan smiled smugly. But there was something dark in the teenager’s eyes.
Jack’s gaze never left his as he said, “Good. We’ll be there in fifteen.”
Desperate to diffuse the situation, Annabelle turned to face him. “Was that Sam?”
Jack hesitantly took his eyes off of Dylan to look down at her. His expression was deadpan, his blue-eyed gaze impenetrable. “Yes.”
He turned to everyone else. “Get your things. We’re heading out.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in for everyone, the last few minutes had been so intense. But, eventually, Clara stood and moved toward the hallway, walking past Dylan as she did so. Annabelle didn’t miss the dirty look she shot the kid. Dylan’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
Beatrice was the next to rise. She did so slowly, but steadily. Without a word, or a look at any of them, she followed her daughter down the hallway and to whatever room Clara had disappeared into.
Cassie got up next and, in an act that Annabelle considered infinitely wise, she moved to Dylan, took him gently by the upper arm, and pulled him off of the couch.
“Come on, Icarus. You can help me make sure we have everything we need for the trip.” Cassie forcefully turned Dylan around, who went willingly, though reluctantly, and marched him down the hallway, leaving Jack and Annabelle alone in the living room.
Annabelle looked up into Jack’s face. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Jack, he’s just a boy.”
Jack looked at her then and his blue eyes glittered eerily in the lamplight. For what seemed like a long time, he didn’t speak. And then, softly, he said, “I know, luv.” His tone was strange. It wasn’t one she recognized.
“Get your things,” he told her then. “We have to meet Sam in ten.” He stepped around her, turning his back to her and leaving the room to move down the hall toward the last door on the left. Annabelle hugged herself. She felt cold, despite the warm central air and the fire in the hearth.
They were getting closer and Annabelle could feel it in her bones. It was like this deep buzzing sensation, riding up her legs and into her spine, causing her whole body to tremble and scattering her thoughts like bouncy balls in a mirrored room. Her teeth chattered behind her lips and her jaws ached from pressing them together in the vain hopes of making them stop.
Jack took one look in the rear-view mirror of the van they now rode in and shook his head. “You should have taken my advice, Bella.”
Annabelle shot him a dirty look. She knew he was right. She should have taken the pill he’d offered her. She was terrified to the point that it was painful. A tranquilizer would have helped. But a part of her was also afraid of being out of it or incapable of defending herself or Dylan if something happened. If they were attacked – if another pizza boy assassin came out of the woodwork while she was in a happy haze.
She just didn’t like the idea of being out of control. Not right now.
Jack pulled the van into an empty paved lot in the middle of nowhere. A few yards away, sitting alone on a vast black tarmac, waited a private white jet with blue and gold striping down its side.
Annabelle had no idea what kind of plane it was or how old it was. They all looked the same to her. One metal-winged death machine was the same as another.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” She muttered under her breath. Stars started to swim in her vision. Air was having a difficult time finding its way to her lungs. She bent over in her seat and hugged her knees, closing her eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“Jesus, Ann, you’re gonna pass out anyway. You should have taken the drugs. At least it would have been pleasant for you.” Cassie unbuckled her seat belt and knelt beside Annabelle. She patted Annabelle’s back as she spoke. “At this point, the only thing that would hit your system fast enough for it to do any good for the flight would be an injection.”
Annabelle’s back stiffened under her touch.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t have a syringe full of it anyway.” Cassie sighed.
“I do.” Jack’s voice cut through their conversation like a hot knife through butter. Annabelle sat up immediately, her face having gone utterly pale, her eyes as wide as saucers. Jack had opened the side door of the van and was waiting in the beckoning darkness.
At Annabelle’s reaction, he held up a hand in placation. “Easy, Bella. No one’s making you do anything.”
“Except get on the plane,” Dylan stated. He stood just outside of the van now, hands in his pockets. He’d exited through the back. Clara stood beside him, watching the exchange inside the van.
“Thank you once again, Dylan.” Cassie told the boy, her brown eyes narrowed into warning slits. Jack ignored him, his attention focused on Annabelle, who seemed to be hyperventilating.
“Well, well,” came a deep voice from behind Jack. Jack turned to watch a tall figure move toward him through the darkness between them and the plane. “Traveling with a goddamned circus now, are we, Jack?”
“Sam,” Jack said and turned to face him. A smile spread across his features, despite the situation. It’d been too long since he’d last seen Samuel Price. And yet, it seemed like only yesterday.
Samuel stepped into the beam of the van’s headlights and Jack got a good look at him. He hadn’t aged a day in fifteen years. And yet,
he was fifty-five. How had he managed that?
His hair had grayed more, Jack supposed. Going from silver at the temples to nearly a full head of white. But his skin was as tan and clear as ever and his body looked as strong as it had the day they’d met.
“It’s good to see you, Jack,” Sam said then, his tone softer, his gray eyes twinkling. He smiled, flashing straight white teeth.
Jack moved toward him, shaking his head. “Likewise, you old bugger.” He closed the distance between them and the two hugged.
Annabelle watched, mystified. She was once more distracted from her fear of the inevitable flight and was instead focused on this new man. Samuel Price.
She’d heard Jack talk of him before. In passing. An occasional “Sam” here and there would pop in and out of his conversations. Late one night, he’d even told her all about him and given her a brief account on their history together. But now here he was – Jack’s mentor – the man who had taken Jack under his wing twenty-five years ago and made him into the assassin he was today.
She stood from her seat and climbed out of the van to join the others, all the while watching the stranger.
If Annabelle had had any previous inkling of what the man looked like, she would have been struck long ago with how fitting the name “Samuel” was for him. With his tall frame, silver hair, hard and handsome features and full mustache, he looked like Sam Elliott. Almost exactly.
Cripes, they could be twins.
And his accent had been southern. Maybe even Texas. What are the odds of that? Did everyone from Texas look the same?
“Sam, thank you for this.”
“Forget it,” Sam answered as they separated. “Now give me the run-down.”
Jack turned to Dylan and fixed him with a hard gaze.
“This the kid?” Sam asked, obviously recognizing Jack’s expression for what it was.
Jack nodded and then looked away from Dylan, who seemed rather bewildered by the strange exchange.
“This is my daughter, Clara.” Jack gestured to his daughter, who nodded once in greeting.
Sam did the same, his smile steady.
“Cassie Reid,” Jack nodded toward Cassie.
“You remember Beatrice,” Jack said, gesturing toward his ex-wife. Sam’s smile broadened and he came forward to take Beatrice’s hand, kissing the back of it as if in a scene straight out of a period movie. “You bet your nuts I do,” he said softly, grinning ear to ear.
Beatrice returned the smile, but shook her head reprimandingly. “You ‘aven’t changed a whit, Mr. Price.”
Annabelle noticed that she wasn’t all that quick to withdraw her hand.
“Why thank you, darlin’. I ‘preciate that.”
“And this is Annabelle Drake.”
Samuel straightened and turned to face Annabelle. His gaze was steady, his gray eyes pinning her to the spot with some strange kind of intensity.
“My, my,” he said as he came forward. Annabelle noticed that Jack moved with him. “The lovely Annabelle. It is a pleasure, Miss Drake.” He bowed slightly, as a knight would to a lady, and winked.
What was the wink for?
“Okay, Jack, load ‘em up.” Sam turned then, all business again, and issued the order to his friend.
Jack nodded. “Everyone to the plane.”
No one had to be told twice. Except Annabelle. Who didn’t move a muscle.
Jack was un-phased by this. He’d fully expected it. Without another word on the matter, he strode toward her and then bent and, in one clean, swift movement, picked her up into his arms.
“What-”
“We have to go, Bella.”
“Jack, put me down!”
“Not bloody likely.”
From where he stood beside the plane, making what Annabelle assumed were pre-flight checks on plane parts that she knew nothing about, Sam watched Jack carry Annabelle toward the plane. He shook his head. Annabelle didn’t care.
At twenty feet, she choked on a sob and tucked her face into his neck. “If the plane goes down, will you knock me out so that I don’t have to feel the fall?”
“I promise, luv.”
“Okay.” She said nothing further.
With that, he climbed the stairs and ducked into the plane’s interior, making sure to pull Annabelle’s head in at the same time.
Chapter Thirteen
Jack ducked into the cockpit of the plane and took the co-pilot’s seat, buckling in as he did so, out of habit. Sam glanced over at him from where he sat in the pilot’s seat, and then turned his attention back to the controls.
“So, you wanna fill me in on why I had to drag myself and Betsy half-way across the Northern American continent to take you and a boat-load of kids to New York City?” Sam’s voice was calm, his tone even, but there was more than a touch of lighthearted sarcasm lacing his words.
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Betsy?”
Sam shot him an incredulous look. “Betsy! Betsy Ross, here!” He patted the control panel of the plane affectionately. Jack smiled.
“Of course.”
“Well?” Sam urged.
“It’s a long story, Sam. And the truth is, I’m not that clear on everything myself.”
“It’s a two-hour flight. Get talkin’.”
Jack chuckled. “Very well.” He paused, forming his words carefully in his mind before he continued. “You met Annabelle.”
Sam gave a low whistle. “Yes, sir.” He shot Jack a wicked grin. “Sweet thing you got there. An’ she’s stuck with you for almost ten years?” At Jack’s nod, Sam shook his head in wonder. “That’s a hell of a lot longer than Bee.”
Again, Jack nodded.
“Her boss was murdered yesterday.”
Sam’s gaze remained locked on the controls, but his brow was furrowed. He was thinking. Jack let the silence stretch. And then, quietly, Sam said, “Was that the Anderson fellow?”
Jack nodded. “You know of the job, then.”
“Was offered to an acquaintance of mine,” he turned to look at Jack then. “Who turned it down, by the way. Bad timing or some such nonsense. I’m not sure who eventually took the assignment.”
“An amateur,” Jack supplied. “Botched it. Even the cops are suspicious.”
Again, Sam whistled, this time shaking his head. “Not good.” He paused then, cocking his head to look at Jack askance. “What’s this got to do with you and Miss Drake, Jack? She involved?”
“She is now.”
“An’ I s’pose that means that you are too.”
Jack didn’t bother answering. His look said it all. He was with Annabelle come hell or high water. Just as she’d always been with him.
“Fair ‘nough,” Sam said. “What’s so important in New York?”
“Max Anderson left a clue for Annabelle before he died. He knew his life was in danger. The clue points to Columbia University.”
Sam was quiet for a long while before, finally, he asked, “You gonna lead the cops to one of us, Jack?”
“No.” Jack’s answer was swift and firm. He knew that Sam would be wary about giving anything away to the police, so he wasn’t surprised that Sam asked the question. But for some reason, he was a little irritated by it.
The silence stretched between them for several minutes. At last, Sam sighed and leaned back, switching on the auto pilot. “From what I could tell, it didn’t look like Drake was all that thrilled to get on the plane. What are you doin’ up here if she’s a loose cannon back there?”
Jack smiled. “She sent me up here to make sure you weren’t drunk or asleep.”
Sam threw back his head and laughed deep and loud. “God damn!” he said, shaking his head again. “Good thing I left the JD at home this time around.”
“It’s no use,” Annabelle muttered as she laid down the twelfth losing hand in a row. “This isn’t working. Either Dylan’s playing with marked cards or I royally suck right now because I can’t bloody-well concentrate on anything but my impending death.” Sh
e sighed and ran a hand through her hair while Dylan gathered up the cards for another shuffle and deal. “Anyone got any alcohol?”
“No’ on me,” Clara chimed in with a helpless shrug.
“I might be able to scrounge somethin’ up, dear,” Beatrice offered, unbuckling her seat belt and rising from the plush leather seat where she’d been sitting next to her daughter. “Why don’t you and I head to the back an’ see what we can find?”
Annabelle glanced up at Beatrice, who smiled reassuringly. Eventually, she nodded and stood. She may as well give this a shot. At the very least, getting to know Jack’s ex-wife a little better might prove a welcome distraction.
They moved through the private jet’s luxe interior, walking, un-impeded and with plenty of room, between the large, plush leather chairs. They reached the back of the plane and turned a small corner to enter a tiny kitchenette, complete with microwave and refrigerator.
“Let’s see now…” Beatrice pulled her large blue hobo purse off of her shoulders and began fumbling around inside of it. “Ah, ‘ere we are.” When she withdrew her hand, it was clutching a half-full, apple-shaped bottle of Laird’s Applejack brandy. Annabelle’s eyes widened. She’d heard of this stuff. It was something like ten years old.
“This here’s left over from Christmas, it is,” she said as she took off the top and pulled a glass cup down from one of the skinny cupboards above them. “It’s twelve years old an’ pricey as a bugger, but to all good things, there is a season, right?”
Annabelle only smiled and took the glass that Beatrice handed her. The woman poured a good amount of the amber liquid into each glass and then re-capped it and slid it back into her purse. With that, she raised her glass.
Annabelle chinked her own softly against it and Beatrice nodded, immediately taking a long swig of the sweet digestif.
Annabelle watched her for a moment and then shrugged. It was time to join the party. She put the glass to her lips and took a big swallow.
Hell Bent Page 14