Reality punched me in the gut. Pierce could outfight me, outgun me, and sure as all hell, out-maneuver me. Too many years in black ops had honed him to a precision machine that I couldn’t beat in a fight. Not on his level, but on mine…maybe. Deep breath. Think, Everly. What exactly is going down here?
“Okay. I’ll bite. Where are you going?” I laced my words with innocence.
“We’re going to Hawaii.” There wasn’t the slightest tinge of doubt in his voice.
The atmosphere in the car thickened, stuck to my skin. Confusion seeped into my mind, dissipating the anger that still gnawed in me. I sucked in another breath. Not that I had any intention of getting on an airplane, but… “And we’d be going to Hawaii, why?”
He gave me a sideways glance from under a wrinkled brow. “You going ditzy on me? Millie and Harlan.”
I flipped through my memory. Phone call a few days ago. Pierce had mentioned needing my fingers to help find them. It was what had nudged me to take a week off and explore the remains of my childhood home, to give myself a heads-up on the situation before I jumped in fingers first. “But Mitch isn’t due back from this assignment for two more days. They probably won’t send him to Hawaii for at least a week, probably two.”
And why the hell hadn’t he told me about it? He knows how much I miss Annie. How much I’d want to be there with her and Maddie. The secrets have to stop. We’ll be having a talk about that as soon as he gets home. But maybe, just maybe, he thinks I already know about his next assignment because of the finger thing. Maybe it’s my fault for not telling him that I learned how to filter what came though my ESP senses. I’d intended to give him some privacy for us to build a stronger, trusting marriage.
No. Damn it. You’re lying to yourself, Everly. It was selfish, and you know it. You did it out of self-defense—to protect yourself from the ugliness of the stuff Mitch sees when he’s on assignment.
The rough edge of Pierce’s voice cut into my thoughts, and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Plans changed.”
He turned onto the airport access road, and my chest constricted, barely leaving enough room for my heart to beat. Something was wrong. Worse than the DB they were currently digging up on my property. I fought for a deep breath. “Not for me. My plans are exactly the same. I have to convince Mitch that I should travel with him on his next assignment, and it’ll take me until he gets home to plan my strategy. But I’ll drop you off.”
Pierce pulled onto a side road that skirted the airport, zeroed in on a parking space near a private hangar, turned off the engine, and pocketed my keys.
“What part of drop off didn’t you understand?” I hated that I sounded desperate.
“The part that doesn’t fit our agenda. Let’s go.” He was out of the car and opening my door before I got my seatbelt unfastened.
I stood, faced him toe-to-toe. The shakes started right around my knees, so I tightened my muscles and locked them solid. No way was I gonna shake while I faced down Tynan Pierce. “I cannot just get on a plane and fly to Hawaii. Mitch is here. My life is here.”
“Not anymore.” Pierce slammed the car door, then reached in his pocket and beeped the locks.
I held out my hand. “Keys.”
He hefted me over his shoulder, and jogged toward a private jet. A couple of guys in mechanic-type overalls pointed at us, added some macho posturing and a thumbs-up at Pierce. Their laughter cut through air heavy with the scent of jet fuel, and shut down the scream building in my chest. There’d be no help from them. Damn all male-bonding-stereotypical-chauvinistic… I interrupted my internal rant, redirecting it outward. Where it belonged.
“What. The. Hell, Pierce?” I pounded on his back with clenched fists. Not that it did any good. With muscles like his, he probably thought it was baby gusts of wind pushing at him from behind.
He headed up the boarding stairs and into the plane, then dropped me into an oversized, plush seat. It was a smooth move, and a blatant display of strength that stole my breath and short-circuited my brain cells.
Holy Mamma Mia. I’d been so relaxed in the easy comfort of Mitch’s love and strength that I’d completely wiped out my battle edge. And now I was in a one-on-one with Tynan Pierce with rusty reflexes and dulled brain cells.
A blur of movement and the airplane door clanged shut. Before I could catch my breath, the blur (which must have actually been the pilot) disappeared into the cockpit and we were moving. Fear and anger vied for control from a primal spot in my core. “Kidnapping. Felony.” I spit the words out.
“Yeah. I got that.” Pierce barely batted his long, dark eyelashes. “No choice. Had to get you out of here. Fasten yourself in. Storm coming up, so could be a bumpy takeoff.”
And with that, he headed to the flight deck, leaving me to stare at the cloudy shadow of distant trees as we climbed into the sky. I hauled out my phone to text Mitch. No bars. Frustration banged around in my head. I hated when he was out of reach, but I couldn’t create a cell connection when there wasn’t one, and I couldn’t keep him nearby when his work took him all over the world. So I closed my eyes and tried to make sense of what was going on with Tynan Pierce.
What was he thinking? He’d always been focused, arrogantly high-handed when a situation called for it, and totally cool in a crisis. But he’d never trespassed into my personal space quite like this. My mind fumbled with possible reasons, and couldn’t come up with anything other than that I was in some kind of danger. He did have a fierce protective streak. Although not as bad as Mitch’s. And where the hell was my over-protective husband when I needed backup?
I checked for bars on my phone again. Still nada, but I whipped out text messages to both him and Annie, and sent them off. That way I didn’t have to keep checking my phone.
An ugly thought crept into the back of my mind, invading my sanity with sneaky whispers of doubt. Did Annie know what Pierce was doing? I was so done with the secrets. “From now on I’ll be touching everyone with the intent to trespass as soon as I can get my fingers on them.” My words sounded hollow in the empty cabin. But they had some punch behind them, no matter the acoustics. I grinned, caught my reflection in the window. Sinister didn’t look good on me. Nevertheless, Miss Respect-For-Privacy was about to live up to her Hawaiian name, and turn into Miss Niele, butting her nosy-nose into everyone’s business. With intent.
When the plane leveled off, I jumped out of my seat and headed for the cockpit. No way was I going to let Pierce hide up there without giving me some kind of explanation. Secrets be damned.
Warnings jangled in the back of my head as I approached the door. Did I really want to open it, force an issue that could spin my life out of control? Because Pierce acting this strangely meant… I had no idea what it meant. Only that it couldn’t be good.
My fingertips touched the doorknob, and images of a sandy-haired man with pale brown eyes and a lithe frame spread across my internal screen. He was the pilot. His aircraft, then? I pushed deeper, searching for more information. There was an insignia on his flight suit, but not one I recognized. Didn’t look military. If memory served, those usually had an American flag on the sleeve.
I backed away from the cockpit door. Touching surfaces in the plane would probably be more productive than demanding answers from Pierce when he was in silent mode. And a huge plus to that plan was that my fingertip images were blatantly honest. No secrets. My ESP didn’t censor stuff like human beings did.
Starting in the galley would be best because, hey, that’s where the coffee packets were stored, and a hot cup of… my thoughts trailed off as I observed the modern kitchen. Countertops in a soft shade of peach, a microwave, and double sink. Yeah, the sinks were smaller than the ones in Mitch’s kitchen, but still. It was nicely appointed, as all private aircraft probably were, seeing as how they belonged to the rich. Or criminals. Or maybe super-spies. I shrugged. It didn’t matter who the plane belonged to, I had to find out what was going on.
My fingers curled a
round the handle of a stainless steel cupboard and an image of the dead body flashed on my internal screen. Only she was alive. Vibrantly alive. Young. And she was making coffee with a comfortable smile on her face that was real enough to bring out the dimples in her cheeks. There was a gun holstered to her hip, a knife sheath laced to her other thigh, and her eyes held that same glint of danger that Pierce’s did.
I spun around, covered the five steps to the cockpit door, and tore it open. The top of the pilot’s head was barely visible over the headrest, but it was enough to confirm the thick head of sandy brown hair. Ignoring him, I turned to the right and focused on the top of Pierce’s black, shaggy, in-need-of-a-cut hair. “She was on this plane. My DB was on this plane, and you knew her. Brown hair, bright hazel eyes, weapons out the wazoo and dimples. Spies should not have dimples. It makes them all too human.”
We hit a bump of turbulence that knocked me on my ass. I grabbed for the doorframe, ignored the pain shooting through my hip, and hauled myself up. A mix of anger and curiosity rode my nerves, and I wanted answers. Preferably before the plane landed in Hawaii. “Who is she? Was she?”
Pierce’s focus remained on the instrument panel. He flicked a switch, then turned and scanned me, probably for injuries. His jaw tightened into a hard line. “She was one of us. You sure your fingers read the images correctly?”
He knew better than to ask, but I gave him the courtesy of a nod.
The shadows under his eyes had deepened, so whoever the woman had been, he knew her well enough to show the loss in the chiseled edge of his voice. Intimately? Was she important to him? And I’d just blurted out that she was the corpse.
“Got a plane to fly, Belisama. Get some sleep. You’ll need it, ’cause there won’t be much down time in Hawaii.”
Guilt had me backing out of the cockpit.
I started the coffee brewing, then began pacing the wide aisle. With only a few comfy-type chairs and conveniently placed tables, there was a lot of space for me to move around. The interior of the cabin was done in beige and blue. Soothing colors. There were television monitors, throw pillows, and a couple of cozy-looking down comforters. Definitely not a commercial aircraft.
Another bout of turbulence had me grabbing for something solid, so I buckled in, leaned my head back and let my eyelids drift closed. I needed to touch things, find out more about this female spy, and use the bathroom. As soon as the turbulence settled down.
The snap-click of the cockpit door opening roused me. I shook the sleep from my brain. How the hell had I fallen asleep, my untouched cup of cold coffee still sitting on the table next to me?
“Want a fresh cup?” The sandy-haired dude bent to collect my stale brew.
I stopped him, sticking my hand out, offering to shake. “Everly Gray Hunt. And you are?”
He avoided my hand. “Your pilot.”
Levering out of the chair, I snagged my coffee mug and made for the galley. This whole plan to keep the little woman in the dark was getting old. I required some caffeine, the quicker the better. No time for naps with these macho types controlling the situation. “So, there’s someone less communicative than Pierce. Didn’t think that was possible.”
He gave me a warm smile that almost took the sting from his words. “I’m adjunct to this op. Not anyone you need to know.”
“You didn’t shake my hand.” I sounded like an accusing bitch. Not exactly the tone I’d been aiming for, but it fit.
Damn, but if the nameless man didn’t wink at me. It totally ruined my inner bitch high.
And to make it worse, he poured three cups of coffee, and handed one to me. “Pierce warned me about the fingers.”
I stopped cold, brain kicking in, coffee mug halfway to my mouth, and fear knotting in my belly. “You’re here. Who’s flying the plane?”
He jerked his head toward the cockpit. “The other pilot.”
I sucked down a couple mouthfuls of coffee that I hoped were heavy on the caffeine. It needed cinnamon, but this was a beggars-slash-choosers situation. “There wasn’t anyone in the cockpit but you and Pierce.”
The I-shall-remain-nameless pilot didn’t respond.
I tried again. “Pierce can pilot this flying penthouse?”
Nameless shrugged. “It’s his plane until we land in Honolulu.”
The shock jarred me. Where the hell did he get the money to procure an airplane? Even if it was a rental? They went for thousands an hour. He had to be a billionaire. I ran Nameless’s words through my mind, testing them—for what, I didn’t know. Pierce’s plane until we landed. And I guess that said it all. Pierce wasn’t the kind of guy to own or even rent something he couldn’t control.
Nameless slipped back into the cockpit, and the distinctive snick of a lock clicking into place echoed in the galley.
FOUR
I stood in the empty galley, knowing exactly how disoriented Alice felt when she woke up in Wonderland. Only this wasn’t Wonderland, but rather the well-appointed kitchen on a private jet that held the faint scent of marinara sauce—tomato, oregano and basil. Good stuff. My stomach rumbled, and it was not a good time to be thinking about food.
If Pierce and the nameless pilot were going to keep me locked out of the cockpit, I’d just have to touch everything in sight and…wait. Hadn’t Pierce tossed my handbag over his shoulder when he kidnapped me?
I jogged into the main section of the cabin, and began checking the nooks and cubbies for any sign of my brown leather messenger bag. My iPad was in it, so I could try emailing Mitch in case the text from my phone didn’t get through—but more importantly my lock picks were there, too. And since Pierce taught me to use them, well, why not on the door to the cockpit? The irony of it stretched my lips into what felt like a hard-edged smile. Not a sensation I was comfortable with, so I rubbed my lips together to soften them up, ’cause seriously, I wasn’t a hard-edged kind of woman. Although that could change if I found myself in too many kidnapping situations.
Yep, my bag was tucked behind the chair he’d dumped me in. I snagged the shoulder strap and rummaged through my stuff until my hand closed over the slick fabric pouch. Danger. It was a warning that shot along my nerves, making my fingers twitch. Using the picks would get me into all sorts of trouble, I just knew it. But it was thousands of miles to Hawaii, and no way was I gonna sit and stew for ten hours. Or maybe less, since our nameless pilot didn’t have to stop for layovers or plane changes. And hadn’t I read someplace that these private jets flew high and fast?
I pocketed the lock picks, pulled out my iPad and typed a quick message for Mitch, then queued it for sending. Hopefully, he would get one of my messages before he wandered into our empty home and panicked. I blinked a few tears away. Missing him left an ache in my chest.
I worried my bottom lip, trying to decide if I should jump right in and attack the lock on the cockpit door, or if I should run my fingers over the rest of the plane first.
Fingers won. I wanted privacy to do my sleuthing, and Nameless or Pierce could wander through the door any minute looking for more coffee or food. Maybe they had some of those microwaveable meal packs in the galley. Surely neither of them was going to cook.
First step: explore the kitchen area. Hopefully, I’d learn more about the DB who used to be a living, breathing spy until she set foot on my property and started collecting flora specimens. Like Millie had been, according to my earlier ESP images.
Heading back to the galley with new purpose, I clenched and flexed my fingers rhythmically. A bit of warm-up for the task ahead. A systematic approach would ensure I didn’t miss anything important. The rear wall of the kitchen was an emergency exit, just like in a commercial plane. I kept my touch light, because I didn’t want to accidently bump into anything that might set off an alarm.
Images of Nameless flashed through my fingertips, checking and re-checking the lock system. That was good news, unless there had been a glitch and he wanted to be sure it worked right. At least I was reassured that it would op
en should I have the opportunity to exit galley-door-left.
I moved to the above-counter cupboards, running my hands over the outer surfaces, then inside. A lot of pictures showed up, but most of them were blurry and didn’t hold enough promise for me to try and push deeper into the energy—until I touched the microwave. I bumped into a private moment between Pierce and the female spy, before she became a corpse, of course.
It was a kiss. Only not like the ones he used to share with me before Mitch proposed. No, this was warm, more than friendly, but it wasn’t hot. It was nice. When Pierce had kissed me—way back when—I’d never have described it with a mundane word like nice. Toe-curling, heart-thumping, how-fast-can-I-get-your-clothes-off would have been a more accurate description—not that I ever did so much as unbutton his shirt, much less jump his bones. There had always been Mitch, and he came first. He was my rock, and the safe home for my heart to give and accept love. If I hadn’t fallen for Mitch first, well, things might have been different, but I’d never know for sure. And that was…okay.
So, what was with this kiss between Pierce and the woman who’d been stalking my property? Friendship? Respect? Lust? Yeah, that fit. And his eyes had darkened with sadness and resignation when I told him who the DB was. And underneath, there was a flash of temper that burned hot.
I had an irrational dislike of this woman with the dimples, and not just because she turned up dead on my property. I wrapped my arms around myself and ran a video of my stored images. Tripping on her hand had been a shock, but under that I was sad. When she stalked my gardens and took samples of the plants, that’s when my anger flared. Okay. Not irrational, then. She had been on my property, and was basically stealing. Yeah. That didn’t sit well with me at all.
I finished checking out the galley without discovering any more interesting revelations. Working my way through the cabin area, I skimmed my fingers over the surfaces of the chairs and tables, but there were only faded images, nothing to sink my spidey senses into. Until I faced a closed door at the rear of the cabin, and wrapped my hand around the doorknob.
Touch of Betrayal, A Page 3