Touch of Betrayal, A (4 page)

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 around 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.