“If you’d like to check my hangar, you’d be welcome to,” Heath continued.
Brigham studied him as if thinking he could break him down. He couldn’t. Finally, he said, “Where are you going? In case the police have questions.” His reference to the police and fake smile were both attempts to scare Heath.
Heath simply returned it with a silky smile of his own. “Cancún. Needed a break from the snow for Christmas.” He probably shouldn’t have lied on that one. The police could check flight manifests, and Brigham had plenty of moles in the police department, but Heath didn’t want to give Brigham anything.
Brigham nodded but didn’t move. “I’d really feel better if you let me search the cockpit and the bathroom.”
Heath folded his arms across his chest. His suit coat was off, and though he wasn’t as built as some of his brothers, he had plenty of muscle because he spent any time he wasn’t working in the gym, hiking, or on the slopes. He had Brigham by thirty pounds at least. “I’d really feel better if you got off my plane.”
“You don’t even care that my cousin was murdered in cold blood by a scheming woman?”
Heath could bet his cousin was every bit as much of a weasel as Brigham was. He couldn’t imagine in what world that slender woman could overpower a man, unless she had a gun. Maybe he should’ve checked for a gun. He hated that Brigham was making doubts creep in. Anyone affiliated with Brigham could not be trusted. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted the beautiful woman so easily. “I am sorry about your cousin. How do you think she killed him?”
“She pushed him down the stairs at my hangar. We’d all gone out to the vehicles, but Jamison was still in the hangar, grabbing some things from my office. Hazel went back in, claiming she forgot her cell phone. When I’d waited a while, I went back in to check, and Jamison was lying at the bottom of the steps …” Brigham cleared his throat and appeared to be fighting some emotion. “Blood everywhere. Not breathing. She’s not a large woman by any means, but they must’ve argued and then she pushed him. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill him, but then why would she run? We’ve searched my plane and hangar, and she’s not there.” He splayed his hands. “I just want to find my cousin’s murderer.”
Heath studied him for the blatant lies and half-truths, but it was a plausible story. And if this Hazel hadn’t done anything wrong, why would she lie and run? Why would she hide in Heath’s plane? At least it didn’t sound like she had a weapon. There was no way that woman could overpower Heath. He studied Brigham as he thought through his words and the truths he knew. Maybe he should turn her in. His closest friend, Jed, would be willing to help Hazel. Yet there was no telling how many of the police force were on Brigham’s payroll. Heath wasn’t sure which move to make yet, and that frustrated him.
Brigham’s eyes narrowed as if he knew exactly who was hiding in Heath’s bathroom.
Chapter Three
Hazel huddled against the small bathroom sink and tried to concentrate on her breathing. In and out, in and out. She had no clue what a panic attack felt like, but she could very well imagine she was having one. She couldn’t get enough air, and she was certain Brigham was going to fling that bathroom door open and her world was going to end.
What if that handsome man turned her over to Brigham? They were both successful businessmen. They could even be friends. The guy had no reason to trust Hazel, and Brigham could spin a story to win his way better than most.
In and out, in and out. Her breath was coming so fast and her heart thudded so out of control that she started feeling light-headed and black tinged her vision. She said prayer after prayer in her mind. Please help me. Please let that man shelter me. Leaning heavily into the sink, she didn’t know how much more she could stand. She could hear muted voices but couldn’t pick up on the words. What were they doing? Having a jolly good chat while she sat here wanting to die? Please, Lord, protect me and put me out of this misery soon.
Footsteps approached the bathroom and her heart slammed against her chest. She clung to the sink now, afraid she would fall over. Her eyes swept the bathroom for something to protect herself with. The handsome guy’s gaze had drawn her in like a magnet. He’d seemed kind and had claimed he would protect her, but if he was going to turn her over to Brigham, she was going to fight.
There was a soft rap on the door, and then Deep Voice said, “Hazel?”
Did he know her name? Had she told him her name? She had to sit on the closed seat of the loo or else pass out. Brigham must have told him the name. Did that mean Brigham was out there, just waiting for her? She could imagine the lies he would’ve told Deep Voice and the reptile-like smile he’d give Hazel if she opened this door. She couldn’t hide out in here forever. Would the police come and break down the door? Would they haul her away? But she hadn’t done anything wrong. She should’ve called the police immediately and prayed she got one who wasn’t affiliated with Brigham. What was the number for American police? It wasn’t 999 like at home. But it started with a 9. She’d heard it on a movie. 911. Yes! She reached for her phone, but it was out in her purse, next to the seat she’d been hiding behind. Oh, no.
“Hazel?” Deep Voice asked again.
The plane started moving. That was encouraging. They wouldn’t be moving if Brigham was still on board, would they?
“You can come out. Brigham’s gone.”
Hazel pulled in a shaky breath. She’d done nothing wrong, and this guy seemed to be a good one. If his eyes were any indication, he was a protective American like she’d been daydreaming about. He didn’t seem like a cowboy, but that was okay. He was more attractive than John Wayne on those old movies she used to watch with her brother John.
Saying a quick prayer for help, she grabbed on to the sink to steady herself and flung open the door like one would rip off a Band-Aid.
The handsome man stood there, studying her. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem ready to throw her to Brigham.
“He’s gone?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Oh, thank you.” She stumbled forward, and her legs gave out.
Deep Voice caught her against his chest. She clung to him, letting his strength and warmth seep into her. He was steady and strong and … oh, yum, he smelled good.
He held her up, but then he muttered, “You don’t by chance have a weapon on you?”
Hazel let out a yelp and pushed away from him. “You believe that plonker?”
The man arched his eyebrows. “Not sure what ‘plonker’ means, but I sent him away, as you can see.” He motioned toward the windows, and she could see that they were rolling away from all the large hangar buildings. “I’m getting you out of here and away from him. We should buckle in.” He gestured for her to go first—whether because he was a gentleman or he thought she’d plunge a knife in his back, she wasn’t sure.
Hazel stalked back to the chair where her purse was. At least she could find her phone and call the police, if Brigham hadn’t already poisoned them to the truth about her. Also, a fat lot of good calling for help would do her if Deep Voice tried something at ten thousand feet.
She sank into the chair; it was a relief to be off her shaky legs. She slid out of her coat and then fumbled with the seat belt before managing to do it up. The plane took off down the runway, pressing her slightly back into her seat. She closed her eyes and counted down from ten. The plane arched up and was soaring toward the sky when she opened her eyes.
When she glanced over at the man, his eyes were on her face. “Hazel,” he said.
“Did Brigham tell you my name?”
“Yes.”
“And you are?” She was in no position to be asking any questions, but she couldn’t keep thinking of him as the handsome man with the beautiful eyes and the deep voice, though it fit.
“Heath. Heath Strong.” He extended his hand.
Hazel gingerly placed her palm against his. He gave her hand a firm shake, and she couldn’t ignore the tingly warmth that radiated from his palm.
“Well, you definitely are strong,” she tried to joke.
He smiled. It transformed his face from merely handsome to out of this world.
“Also, you have a very brilliant smile.”
He released her hand and swiveled his chair to face hers. “Thank you. What do you say we have a chat?”
The plane had leveled off, but her heart jumped into her throat. “Okay,” she squeaked out.
He tilted his head. “Press that button and you can face me.”
She did as instructed, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be facing him, looking him in the eye. She’d prefer having this conversation while they both faced forward. Yet she knew she needed to show that she was honest if he was going to continue being her ally.
“Before we start, can I get you a drink or some food?”
She was amazed at how kind and thoughtful he was. “I couldn’t eat if you shoved it down my cakehole, but I’d love some water.”
He smiled again at her lame joke, stood, and walked to the back of the plane. Near the bathroom there was a fridge with cupboards above it. He bent down and pulled out two waters. Returning, he handed over her bottle, took a long drink of his, and then set it aside. He loosened his tie, and she was struck again by how handsome he was.
“Are you a male model?” she asked.
He laughed as if caught by surprise. “Hardly.”
“Your face was carved by angels.”
He stared at her. Those deep brown eyes were fascinating. “Thank you,” he said, but she feared she’d made him uncomfortable.
“Sorry. My mum says I’m far too mischievous for my own good and wouldn’t know decorum if it bit me on the rear.” She sucked in a breath as she realized what she’d said. If he thought she was mischievous, he might believe whatever lies Brigham had told him. Heath obviously was leery of her. He’d asked if she had any weapons. She wanted to demand to know what Brigham had said, but she supposed she’d better tell her story first. “So you’re probably wondering how or why I ended up in your airplane, hiding from Brigham?”
His face darkened.
“You don’t like Brigham?” she guessed, very happy if that was true.
“No, I don’t.”
“How do you know him?”
He gestured out the windows as they were flying away from the beautiful Park City. It hit her that she should be more apprehensive about trusting this unknown man and going who knew where in Colorado, but she simply wanted to run from Brigham and his center of power. “We both have businesses in Park City,” he said, “so we’ve been at some of the same parties.”
He didn’t say it, but she picked up the implication: they were both spectacularly successful businessmen in a smaller locale, so of course they’d be at least acquaintances. She was from one of the largest cities in the world, so what she’d seen of Park City from the plane seemed very small and intimate indeed. “And why don’t you like him?”
“He stole a land acquisition out from under me, and I just think he’s a punk.”
There was something more, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Suddenly, she remembered what they needed to do. “Can we call the police from up here?”
He nodded. “So you … want to call the police?”
“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What did Brigham tell you?”
“That you killed his cousin,” he said simply.
“What the …” She tried to jump up but forgot she had her seat belt on. Yanking it off, she stood and stared down at him. “He did not!” She hated that her voice squeaked and pitched up at the end like she was asking a question.
Heath pursed his lips. “Yeah, he did. Said he walked out of the hangar and left you two in there. When you were taking too long, he went to check on you and found Jamison dead and you gone.”
Hazel paced in front of the chair. “What in the world? What in the world?” She bit at a nail and said, “What if he’s told the police that? What if they believe him? I heard him tell Jamie he owns the police. Is he a respected citizen in your country?” Her eyes widened. “I’m not even from this country. Can you take me to my embassy? Do they have to protect me?” She sank into the chair again and buried her face in her hands. Then she straightened up and balled her fists. “I hate that dirty plonker.”
“Is plonker a bad term in England?”
“Not bad enough to describe him, but my mum begs me not to swear,” she spit out. “What should I do?”
He stared at her as if thinking.
“You believe me, right?”
Heath lifted a shoulder. “I don’t believe anything Brigham London says, but you haven’t even told me your side of the story.”
Hazel studied him. She got the uncomfortable feeling that even being associated with Brigham made her suspect in Heath’s book. She had nothing to lose by sharing her story. If she couldn’t trust him, she was in even more trouble. She started talking.
Chapter Four
After talking for far too long, even for a natural talker like her—giving Heath background info and answering his questions about her and Jamison’s relationship, how she knew Brigham, and what she’d overheard of their fight—Hazel finally finished with, “So I ran … and hid in your plane.”
Heath studied her for a few seconds as she moistened her lips. She almost couldn’t take it. His deep brown eyes were so serious, and she really, really needed an ally right now. She should’ve called the police immediately, but she’d been so scared and her brain had just screamed to run and hide. Now it would be a case of his word against hers, and he was a billionaire who claimed to “own” bobbies, while she was a barely-out-of-college girl from another country with only her degree in photography and her family to recommend her.
“My equipment,” she mourned.
“What equipment?” Heath cocked his head as if trying to keep up.
“I only kept my smaller portable camera in my purse. My Canon and all of my equipment is in my suitcase, and that plonker has it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She tried to push her camera equipment from her mind. It should be the least of her concerns, but she felt empty without it. At least she had her smaller camera with her. Not that she’d be taking many pictures if she went to prison or was killed by Brigham. “Do you believe me?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Relief rushed through her, and her breath pushed out. “Oh, thank you.” This man barely knew her, but he believed her. She couldn’t restrain herself as she stood, crossed the small space between them, leaned down, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him fiercely. “Thank you.” It should’ve been an awkward hug, as he was sitting and she was leaning down, but his shoulders were broad and almost as beautiful as his face. She buried her face into the warmth of his neck, the short hair of his beard tickling her lips, and she felt like she’d done this a hundred times, yet it was all new and exciting.
He wrapped his hands around her upper back and actually returned the hug for a few seconds. It felt good, but embarrassment over how rash and impulsive she was acting crept in quickly. She was often rash and impulsive, but this man didn’t know her. She was asking a lot from him, and she didn’t want him to think she was unstable or using her feminine wiles to get her way. She pulled back and plopped down onto her seat. Her face was probably beet red. Heath was staring at her with an interesting look in those lovely eyes of his—as if he were confused and yet drawn to her.
Suddenly she was imagining a lot more hugs as they sat by a fire with a Christmas tree nearby, skied hand in hand down a glistening white slope, and kissed under the mistletoe. She tried to force away the image of spending Christmas with this splendid man and focus on the trouble she was in. Darn that Brigham. What a gormless git. And poor, poor Jamison. Yet Jamison had to have known the danger he was flirting with. Why had he brought her, or any of his friends, into that git’s lair?
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
He pulled out his
phone and tapped it against his palm a few times. “I’ve got a close friend in the police department back in Park City.”
That was good news. Obviously, the Lord was looking out for her in leading her to Heath. If only he wasn’t so blooming handsome that she had to remind herself to breathe when she stared into those lovely brown eyes. She shook her head, wondering if she should go splash some water on her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“Oh, nothing. It’s hot in here.” She pulled her sweater in and out to create some air flow.
Heath’s eyes dipped to her fitted sweater; then he quickly looked away. He picked up a remote and tapped it twice. She hoped he hadn’t turned it down too much. The temperature in the plane was comfortable, and if she got cold and she had to put her coat on, how was she going to explain that? Maybe she could ask him to stare at her; that would surely heat her up. She fanned her face.
“You’re really hot,” he said, tapping the button again.
“No. I’m fine. I’m just … stressed.”
“I can understand that.”
“Do you think I should call your 911 people and tell my side before you call your police mate?”
Heath nodded. “Maybe. Then you can at least have your story out there that contradicts Brigham’s, and then I can wait a little bit before I call Jed and get the scoop. Hopefully keep him from getting suspicious that you’re with me.”
“But what if Brigham’s police mates are after me and your Jed comes to find me and you get in trouble?”
“I’ll use some of that decorum your mum claims you don’t have.” He winked.
Hazel fanned herself again. He had more charm than decorum. Or maybe he had both. Her mum would adore him. She pulled out her phone to get her mind off of hugging him again. She was in serious trouble, and she needed to be serious. Trouble was, she’d never been too serious about anything in her life besides her photography. Even that was sheer joy and had never felt like work to her, no matter that it was her career and her pictures sold for heaps of money online.
Don’t Fall for a Fugitive: Strong Family Romances Page 3