by Vonnie Davis
Soaring over the rugged beauty of the Highlands was always a treat fer Bryce, especially early in the morning as the sun rose in its pink and gray glory to announce another day. He loved it best when the fog hugged the mountains and steep hills of rocks and the pines and other Scottish trees like a blanket of heavenly thistledown. Leaning his head against the window, he absorbed every detail. Aye, these Highlands were rough and unbreakable, just like their inhabitants.
Bryce heard Kenzie’s voice. He stirred in his seat, evidently asleep and dreaming. And what a comforting delusion it was, hearing his beloved saying the same words over and over even after he opened his eyes. He pulled the earphones down around his neck, glanced out the window at the hills and rocky streams they flew over, and shook his head. “Effie,” he whispered.
She wrapped one of his hands in the coolness of hers and leaned his way. “What is it, sweetheart? Your aura looks troubled.”
He looked into her different-colored eyes. “Am I awake?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Your eyes are open and you’re making sense when you talk. Why do you ask?”
“I’m hearing Kenzie.” He leaned forward and forked his fingers through his hair. “I’m losing me mind. I’m so worried about her, I canna think straight.”
Effie patted his hand. “Maybe not. She might be trying her damnedest to send you a message. With her powers, she might be able to. What is she saying?”
“It’s a rhyme she’s repeating over and over.”
The old woman nodded and smiled. “I’m betting it’s her. Tell me the rhyme.”
He unhooked his seat belt so he could whisper in her ear; he didna want anyone else to hear. “I’ll love ye, Bry, until I die…Fauste in his mania is flying me to Romania…I truly love thee, please dinna hate me.”
Effie shook her finger at him. “It’s unusual for a Wiccan message to reach a human, but there are a few written records in the ancient books about it being done, especially when the emotional connection is strong.”
“Can I send one back to her so she kens I’ve heard her?”
She shook her head. “I can try reaching her with something brief like ‘He’s heard you’ that will put her at ease, but I can’t be sure she’ll get it. The two of us don’t have the connection you two do.”
“What if I try? It couldna hurt, right?” He had to let his calico-eyed darling know, to ease her mind. He didna want her to die or suffer thinking he hated her. Damn, he had to try to reach his woman through thought transference.
“The world is full of possibilities, Bryce. It never hurts to try. Sometimes people give up too easily. They focus on the negative instead of the magnificence of what could be.” Her fingertips swept across his forehead. “Unclutter your mind.” She pressed her hand to his chest. “Open your heart. Keep the message brief and repeat it after she says hers. Don’t try to talk over her. I’ll close my eyes and do what I can to open the channels of communication. Hold my hand while you try to contact her.”
Bryce closed his eyes, clasped Effie’s hand, and waited fer Kenzie to finish her poem. When she did, he silently answered. “I understand, luv. I’m coming fer ye.” She spoke again, repeating the same little rhyme. When she was through, he mentally reiterated his words. Back and forth the noiseless, repetitive communication went. He should have checked his watch to keep track of how long he’d been at it, but the thought never occurred to him. All that mattered was hearing her voice and hoping against hope she’d hear his.
Then, nothing.
Their rhythm had stopped. His heart seized mid-beat. No! No, God, no. I need the security of her voice.
“She’s gone silent.” He leaned forward in his seat and forked his fingers through his hair again. Bloody hell, he’d go insane if he didna hear her. As long as he could receive her chant, he knew she was still alive.
Kendric banked the helicopter to the right and Bryce leaned his head against the coolness of the window. Pain twisted his heart and clutched his gut. He’d lost her.
“Bry?”
He jerked straight in his seat. “Beloved?”
“Airport.”
“I’m coming er ye.” He hadna lost her. He’d battle his way through hell to get Kenzie back. Fighting Fauste would be akin to doing that, but the end result would be worth it if he could secure his future with the woman he loved.
“Yeah, Maisie?” Kendric said into his mouthpiece.
Bryce slipped his earphones back on to pick up whatever information was being passed to Kendric.
“Pilot one. A Gulfstream private jet, Juliet-Foxtrot-Six-Six-Six, has registered a flight plan to Baia Mare, Romania, with a stopover in Frankfurt. No doubt to gas up or maybe to pick up a passenger. It’s currently setting on private runway Charlie-one-two.”
“Yer a genius, Maisie. What time is it scheduled fer takeoff?”
“In twenty-eight minutes, sir. Refueling is still taking place. So is maintenance.”
“Copy that. Thank ye, darlin’. Ye may have saved two lives this early morning—the young lady who was abducted and her fiancé, me cousin Bryce.” Kendric began normal communications with the landing tower, identifying his official rank and fudging Ronan’s a tad.
Earnan shifted in his seat to examine Bryce. “I’m going to inject ye with a strong painkiller fer yer leg. I typically use it on horses. ʼTwon’t make ye sleepy or slow yer reaction time. I dinna like to use it often on humans, fer it can be habit-forming. Can ye reach back fer me brown leather bag?”
Once Bryce passed him the briefcase, Earnan prepared the injection while Bryce raised in his seat to slide down his sweatpants. He soon realized he wore no boxers. Earnan saw his predicament and handed him a sweater he’d taken off earlier. Bryce used it to cover his cock and balls.
The veterinarian slipped out of his seat and crouched in front of Bryce. He removed the bandage and examined the incision. “ʼTis healing nicely on the outside. Let’s hope the inside is doing as well.” He laid his hand over it. “Dinna feel a fever. Aye, always a good sign.”
A cool rub of an alcohol wipe, the prick of the needle, and the sting as the medicine spread through Bryce’s thigh. Earnan covered it with an extra-thick bandage, nearly double and as dense as the previous patch. The momentary cold numbness changed to pain-free normalcy. Damn, these are some fukin’ good drugs.
“ETA fer the airport is fifteen minutes. I’ve cleared it with the runway tower on the western end, the one they use fer international flights, fer both of us to land in front of the Gulfstream. Then we’ll disembark and board the jet. Creighton and Ronan will lead the charge to hold Fauste so Bryce can stab him with the dagger.”
“No, that won’t work. We’ll be giving Fauste too much of a warning. He’ll only change form,” Effie insisted. “I must go on the plane first. Bryce will follow. We’ll have to move fast. I suggest you land far enough behind the aircraft so neither Fauste nor the pilot sees us. Maybe along the side of a hangar. Ask for one of those carts the maintenance guys drive around in and two pairs of their overalls, one in their smallest size and one in their largest. I’ll drive Bryce to the plane in the service vehicle. Hopefully we’ll blend and won’t be noticed as quickly.”
She leaned forward to tap Kendric’s shoulder as she spoke. “Inspiration just hit me. It’s genius! Contact the folks in the tower to alert the pilot of JF666—and how so like Fauste to use his initials and the sign of the devil on his plane. Have them tell the pilot that the same person of interest and his bald-headed cohort who installed defective parts in two planes that crashed recently—one over the Mediterranean Sea four months ago—were visually identified in the maintenance areas for private aircraft. Tell the tower crew to inform the pilot that security is chasing the pair and that no private airplanes are to leave until both are apprehended.”
She smiled at Bryce. “Fauste will think it’s the person who caused Rune’s private jet to go down. He’ll be livid and not thinking clearly. He’ll want to stick around for revenge. It’ll give u
s the edge we need.”
“Why do I have the distinct impression I lost control of this ‘mission’ from the time ye marched into Bryce’s room with yer flattery and yer ‘I might have a wee weapon in me purse’?” Kendric shot her a narrow-eyed glare over his shoulder.
“You know, I find men who are pissed are very, very sexy.” Effie batted her eyes.
“Oh, bloody hell. Someone, please fuk me blind.”
“Copy that, boss,” Maisie’s voice came over the speakers, loud and hopeful.
Male laughter rolled in from Ronan’s helicopter, where evidently all four guys were having a hellofa grand laugh at pilot one’s expense. “Aye, copy that, boss,” Ronan said in a high falsetto voice. More male laughter exploded over the communication system.
“Fuk all ye sonsabitches.”
“I called fuk-ya dibs first,” Maisie offered.
Kendric shifted in his seat, anger vibrating off him. “I’m the bloody police officer in charge here, so why do I feel like the bampot who goes running fer whatever everyone needs? Maintenance vehicle. Faulty parts. And where the fukin’ hell am I to find a short bald guy in this gang of misfits?”
Effie lifted her wig and shoved it in the outside pocket of her large purse. Bryce had to bite the inside of his cheek and palm a snigger. Her strawberry pink lipstick and lime green earring hoops presented quite the look. She leaned forward and crossed her skinny arms over Kendric’s shoulders. “One bald-headed misfit at your service.”
The pilot spared Effie a glance and gaped fer a moment, then the helicopter banked sharply to the left. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Fuk me running with a pogo stick! Ye got to be freaking kidding me!” From there he went off on a tangent that included “I was born ready. Keep up and don’t dawdle” and “I might have a wee weapon” and “Pissed-off guys make me horny.” Whatever he grumbled between those remarks was part Gaelic curses and part nonsense that Bryce doubted even Kendric understood. Fer all the emotional turmoil Bryce was in, he had to smile. He’d never seen his cousin so damn pissed. He was always calm and in control. Too bad Effie wasna forty years younger. She’d give the policeman a run fer his money.
Bryce closed his eyes and blocked out the ranting and raving from the pilot’s seat. He went into the mental zone he’d used before and concentrated on Kenzie again.
“Beloved.”
“Bry.”
Chapter 22
“ ‘Beloved.’ ” Fauste imitated Bryce’s Scottish burr so well he sounded almost exactly like him. “Isn’t that sweet? I might need a visit to a dentist to fix the cavities, it’s so damn sweet.”
Kenzie’s gaze snapped to Fauste’s. He’d been listening. Of course, he would. With all the powers he had, it was a wonder he couldna read her mind. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; no, surely he couldna.
The airport came into view, a large, low, white complex situated in a flat area surrounded by mountains and green countryside. If she and Bryce were together, with little Colleen in tow, coming here would be cause fer wonder and excitement as they watched the jets take off. Or they could travel to Ireland, to where Bryce’s mum grew up. Dreams. All dreams, to be sure, fer she would never see either of them again.
Fauste slowed the Rolls as he waved the crossbar up to enter the car park area, evidently not feeling the need to get a ticket from the automated machine like everyone else. He drove around the airport building to a group of smaller hangars where private jets and propeller airplanes were parked. He stopped the vehicle next to a Gulfstream labeled JF666 and turned off the ignition. His audacity almost made her laugh. In fact, a giggle did escape.
“What do you find so funny?”
She pointed to the number on the plane. “How droll. Is that the best yer limited imagination could think of? Yer two Wiccan initials and the sign of the devil? Oh, yer a pretentious piece of work, ye are.”
The taste of copper filled her mouth when he backhanded her. Did the arsehole think he’d scare her with a slap? Hell, she’d been trampled to hell and back by Duncan, had two bairns beaten from her. Did this cocky wizard think he could intimidate her with a mere smack? She faked the reaction he no doubt expected, unbelted her seat restraints, and punched him in the eye.
Poor schmuck was so surprised she had the audacity and the speed to attack, he screamed like a banshee and lunged.
“Oh, look!” She pointed. “Is that Madonna getting off that jet over there?” Fauste turned and she belted him in the ear. Hell, she was going to die anyway. She might as well have some fun before he delivered the fate she’d accepted as her future.
“Enough!” He undid his seat belt and dragged her by her arms across the console and out of his side of the car. His grip on her arms was damn painful, but it would all be over as soon as he got her blood. He shoved her up the steps to the aircraft. “Micah, how soon can we take off?” Fauste pushed her onto a seat and belted her in.
“Micah, answer me! How soon can we lift off?”
The pilot stepped out of the cockpit into the seating area of the plane. “We can’t, boss. All private planes and jets are on hold until a new maintenance crew goes over all the planes.” He shook his head. “Every damn one.”
“What the fuck are you babbling about? Since when do we listen to rules? Fire up the engines and hit the runway.” He waved his arms about his head. “Why does a different crew need to do more checks on aircraft?”
“There’s two men, a big dude and a bald-headed short guy, that’s been spotted doing safety maintenance on planes. They’re not employees. Facial recognition identifies them as the two who put defective parts into planes that have had to land early with engine trouble. They’ve also been responsible for two crashes.” He locked gazes with Fauste. “You’re not going to like hearing this. One of the crashes was the private jet Rune was on.”
“Dear God! My brother’s murderer is running around here on the loose?”
“Quiet!” Fauste snapped. “You’re sure of this?” His fingers curled into fists and he glared at his pilot as if he were a numpty-headed fool.
“Got it from the control tower. They’ve got fresh crews in little trucks heading for our jet, the two next to us, and that green and white propeller plane parked behind us. Everyone’s in an uproar. Interpol is reportedly in on the hunt. There were twenty-six passengers killed onboard Rune’s plane. They’re taking this as some serious shit.”
“Yeah, well I’m taking it as some serious shit too. Get back in the cockpit, put your headphones on, and listen in on all the chatter. If they catch the bastards, I want to know, for I will rip them apart with my bare hands! Because if I had my Rune, I wouldn’t have need for this mouthy hellion.”
Kenzie was about to thank him fer the compliment when a two-man white service truck roared toward their jet. Heaven help them, it was the two culprits airport security was looking for! A big guy with a ball cap worn backward on his chestnut hair and a short, bald-headed dude driving. Oh God, Fauste’s smack to her head must have gotten her concussion acting up again. She could swear the bald dude was wearing bright pink lipstick and green earrings.
She shifted in her seat to warn Fauste, who was prancing and raving like a lunatic, and thought better of it; for all she knew, she was hallucinating and the service vehicle and the man in pink lipstick werena even there. She pressed her face against the window. The big fellow, about Bryce’s size, hefted a sword out of a lime green purse. Oh sweet Lord, it was Effie, without her wig. Effie and the love of me life.
Both scrambled out of the little truck. Bryce limped toward the Gulfstream. He’d come. Just as he’d kept chanting to her. Her man had come to save her.
Effie, in blue coveralls rolled up several turns and green high heels, charged into the cabin first, heading straight fer her. “Don’t move. Bryce must do this. He must become barbaric to save you.”
Fauste, in a state of near lunacy, whirled and, seeing the bald head, bellowed with outrage as he dove fer Effie. She spun out of his way.
The wizard barely had time to react when Kenzie’s Highlander roared into the seating area, bloodlust in his eyes and wielding a strange-looking dagger over his head. Effie foot-swept Fauste. He stumbled against the wall of the cabin. Bryce stabbed Fauste once in the heart, withdrew the blade, and, with a Gaelic curse, jabbed him in the neck. Fauste dropped to his knees, blood spurting from his jugular.
“Quickly, Bryce. Navel! Navel!” Effie ran behind Fauste, wrapped her arm around his bleeding neck, and pulled him back so his navel was exposed.
Bryce drove the weapon home.
Effie lifted her head and spoke:
“Our chosen hero did not waver,
Heart, the jugular, then the navel.
The evil wizard has surely died,
In hell’s eternity, he must reside.
This ancient weapon ye blessed
Can now come home to rest.”
Effie extended her arms. “Lay the dagger here, Bryce.” No sooner had it touched her forearms than the weapon shimmered a blinding golden light and was gone. Effie removed Kenzie’s cell phone from the top pocket of her coveralls and dialed a number. “It’s done. We’re all okay except for one dead sumbitch.”
Bryce, his face, neck, and right arm blood-splattered, hobbled toward Kenzie, and she unbuckled her seat belt so she could reach him. Blood or no, never had a man looked so handsome, so virile. His left arm snaked around her waist and drew her to him so tightly she didna know if she could breathe. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ye protected me. Ye promised ye would and ye did. I love ye.”
He buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Ye are me woman. No one takes ye from me without paying. I’m sorry ye had to see me be violent. Beloved, that doesna mean I’ll ever be violent with ye.”
She burrowed closer to him, as if she could immerse herself in his skin. “I ken ye are a good, loving, and gentle man. Aye, strong as hell in all ways. I want to kiss ye.”
“Not when I’m covered in that evil man’s blood, me sweetheart.”
