Owen doubted there could be anything more painful than watching someone you loved die while you were helpless to prevent it. No wonder it messed with her head.
He held her and wiped her tears away with his thumbs while he kissed her. Eventually her tears stopped. He brought her a cold cloth and laid it across her swollen eyes. He didn’t know what else to do, besides hold her.
“Can you stay here tonight? I know you don’t want to, but I—”
He put a finger over her lips. “I’ll be here tonight. And every night from now on.”
“Perfect,” she said and kissed him.
The emotional roller coaster of the last half-hour slid to a stop, leaving her drained. She needed something to take the place of the heartbreaking images she had talked about. Not something. Someone. She kissed Owen again, twining her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. Her invitation was unmistakable, and Owen responded with tenderness and passion.
He teased her with his fingers and tasted her until she was nearly frantic for completion. He entered her and kept his rhythm slow but ever deeper, drawing out their lovemaking until she was desperate for release.
“Please, please, please,” she begged, arching off the bed and grinding against him.
He reached between them and circled her nubbin with his thumb. She exploded, her orgasm spiraling through her with an intensity she’d never experienced. Seconds later, he followed her, his release adding to her own climax until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. For those few moments, they were a single being. Together, heart and soul, body and mind.
In a bedroom three houses away, someone listened and fisted himself to their rhythm. The result wasn’t nearly as satisfying, but a job was a job. He grinned as he wiped his hand on a towel. Nice of the owners to leave the house furnished while they tried to sell it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Owen had already completed his pre-flight checklist when the limo from Casa Blanca finally drove onto the apron and stopped a few yards away. This was the curse of all charter flights—clients who weren’t on time. If they could afford to charter a plane, that plane could wait until they were damn good and ready to show up. In this case, since they were not making a connection, the only person discomfited by the forty-five minute delay was the pilot.
The bodyguard, whose name was Gregor, helped Mrs. Jansen exit the limo, then began to unload their luggage. Owen forced a smile and walked over to greet them.
“Mrs. Jansen, how nice to see you again.” He put his hand out. She shook it, her grip surprisingly firm. He hated dead-fish handshakes.
“It’s a pleasure to fly with you again, Mr. Ziegfeld. I had some fears that we might be forced to fly commercial.” She shuddered delicately at the repugnant idea. “My husband was so pleased when you and he arranged to buy Jonathan’s plane.”
“It was serendipitous,” Owen agreed. He turned to Hank and Arianna. “Lord Blackley, good afternoon.” Miranda had already warned him about Arianna’s predisposition to have his rank acknowledged. Hank shook his hand, but his gaze was wary. “Miss Jansen, how nice to see you again.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, dismissing him as she would a baggage handler.
Owen looked at the stack of bags and decided that was an accurate description. He’d need to add a weight limit clause to the next local charter contract. He helped Gregor settle the bags behind the seats. The man outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, which appeared to be all muscle.
“Two of the seats face the rear of the plane. Will any of you have a problem with that?”
“I want to face forward,” Arianna immediately spoke up.
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Arianna, you are such a child. What difference does it make?”
She crossed her arms. “I want to face the front,” she insisted stubbornly.
“Fine.” Owen pointed as he gave out seat assignments to distribute the weight as evenly as possible.
Safety checks completed, they were in the air in fifteen minutes. Compared with the nightmare of JFK, Naples was a piece of cake. “There is bottled water, sparkling and still, plus several wine varieties in the compartment between the seats.” In spite of the fact that he wanted this woman’s husband in jail, he was determined to treat them as he would any other multi-millionaire.
Hank did the honors and served. Owen and Gregor naturally refused wine, but Owen took a bottle of water.
The flight was short, the skies were cloudless, and they landed in about an hour.
Mr. and Mrs. Courtenay were on hand to greet them, and the women walked toward the house. Hank managed to get next to Owen as he unloaded the luggage. “Keep alert, O. I have a strong suspicion this is where they plan to make the swap.”
Gregor took three of the bags and headed toward the house. When he was out of earshot, Owen said, “Well, I doubt much will happen until Mr. Jansen gets here from Miami. I don’t know how long I can reasonably hang around before they start wondering why.”
“Surely there is something mechanical that may need adjusting.” Hank picked up his own bag and clapped Owen on the shoulder. “Excellent flight, Captain. I’ll be sure to recommend you to my friends,” he said loudly enough for the returning Gregor to hear.
Owen played along. “Thank you, Lord Blackley. I look forward to having you in my aircraft again soon.” As Gregor hefted the last two bags, he asked, “Where may I use the, uh, facilities, Gregor?” He pointed to the structure at the end of the runway. “Is there a washroom in the hangar?”
“Please wait here. I will be back to escort you,” Gregor growled.
“Certainly. I think one of the tires is low,” Owen said. “I’ll just check it out until you get back.”
Hank glanced back over his shoulder as he followed the bodyguard to the main house. He didn’t look happy.
Owen climbed back into the plane, retrieved his Walther PPS and tucked it in his waistband holster.
He wanted a look inside that hangar. There was air-conditioning equipment on the side and several antennas on the roof. He began to walk toward it.
“Captain Ziegfeld, wait!” Gregor loped toward him.
Owen kept on walking. He pointed to the hangar. “Listen, Gregor, I really need to use the bathroom, understand, man?”
The bodyguard caught up to him and put a restraining hand on his arm. Owen stared down at the man’s hand until he released it.
“Mrs. Courtenay wishes you to use the guest house, Captain. The facilities there are much more pleasant. Come with me, I’ll show you the way.”
Shit. He had no choice but to follow. Later, he could make up some mechanical malfunction excuse to get inside that building. Gregor wouldn’t know an aileron from an Airedale.
Inside, the guest house had all of the amenities: coquina fireplace and hardwood floors, full kitchen, two bedrooms, and two baths, if the other bedroom was a mirror to the one Gregor pointed him to. He flushed the toilet to maintain the charade, and when he emerged, he found that Gregor had acquired company.
Arnold Courtenay leaned against the fireplace with his elbow on the mantelpiece. He offered Owen a seat on the sofa. “Can I get you something to drink, Captain Ziegfeld?”
“Nothing for me, thanks. I need to check the tires on my plane before I leave. I think one may be low.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to check your tires, Captain. You won’t be leaving any time soon.”
Owen didn’t like the look of the smug smile on Courtenay’s face. Gregor had come to stand behind him, no doubt to restrain him if necessary. “Actually, I need to leave very soon. I have another commitment for this aircraft.”
“The aircraft you own jointly with Mr. Jansen? I believe his priorities will take precedence over yours. We have some cargo you’ll need to transport on the trip back. My men are loading it onto your plane as we speak.”
Shit. He’d bet parachutes to pinballs the cargo was drugs. That was his line in the sand. No way was he transporting illegal
narcotics. “Not going to happen, Arnold. My deal with Jansen didn’t involve carrying cargo. I have passengers waiting for me in Homestead.”
Arnold sauntered over to the flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall. It came to life, revealing a closed-circuit, black and white feed of a room sparsely furnished with a desk, a filing cabinet and two chairs.
Miranda was tied one of them.
~~~
When Miranda came to, she was tied to a chair in a room she didn’t recognize. Her head throbbed, and she blinked repeatedly in an attempt to clear her blurred vision. The room circled slowly and settled, although her stomach still did acrobatics. She took deep breaths through her nose to quell the nausea. Her heart pounded, fast and furious, as fear coursed through her.
What the hell had happened? The last thing she remembered was Owen kissing her goodbye before he left for the airport. Then … nothing.
She struggled to free her hands, but the plastic zip ties around her wrists and ankles held tight, abrading her skin so deeply she was afraid if she kept it up, she might open an artery. She listened intently and heard only silence. Wait. Was that a seagull? Probably. Duh. That told her nothing. Gulls were everywhere in Florida.
There was a door in front of her with a small glass window in it. From her vantage point, all she could see out of it was another gray metal wall and part of the roof. It was dim but not pitch black. So there was daylight coming in from somewhere. Next to her was a desk and another chair. There was a filing cabinet on the far wall and that was it. A single overhead light bulb cast a paltry glow.
All she could think was how disappointed Mike and Owen would be. Had she even tried to fight off her attacker? Obviously, she’d not succeeded. And, surveying her prison, she couldn’t come up with anything that might help her escape. She’d just have to wait until her captors came back. They wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if they were going to kill her.
They must want something.
~~~
Owen glared at Arnold Courtenay. He’d never wanted to kill anyone—even during his stint over in the sandbox. Unless, of course, they tried to kill him first. Then all bets were off. As of right now, the threat against Miranda was every bit as personal as the enemy he’d faced in A-stan. He had no qualms about disposing of anyone who wanted to hurt her.
“Where is she?” he growled.
“A foolish question, Captain. It matters not where she is, but that we have her. If you want her to remain alive, I suggest you do as we say.”
Owen considered his options. Until he knew more, procrastination was his safest choice. “Okay, where do you want me to deliver the cargo?”
Arnold’s smile broadened. He nodded to Gregor. “You can help load the plane, Gregor. I believe Captain Ziegfeld will be quite docile from now on.”
Gregor left and Arnold sat in the armchair across from Owen. “Tell me, Captain, how much does Agent Rossman know about our plans?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please, Captain, do you think we’ve come this far without finding out your connection to him? How disappointing.” Arnold glanced at the TV screen. Miranda’s eyes widened as Gregor and Eva Jansen joined her. “Since we need you to fly the plane, Captain, our only resort to get your full cooperation will be to cause your girlfriend pain.” He pressed a button on his remote. “Eva, darling, our pilot is reluctant to cooperate. Perhaps Gregor could ...?”
Eva’s voice came over the speaker. “Gregor, persuade Captain Ziegfeld, please.”
The bodyguard swung a beefy fist and backhanded Miranda hard enough to make her head snap back. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Owen had never felt the kind of rage that coursed through his body at the sight of that blood. He had no idea how many men Courtenay had at his disposal, but he no longer cared.
“All right. Don’t hurt her again. I’ll do whatever you ask.”
Miranda must be in the hangar at the end of the runway for Gregor to have gotten there so quickly. He tried to keep his voice even. “I’ll answer your questions, but first, I need to see how your men are loading the plane. If the cargo isn’t distributed evenly, she’ll be unmanageable in the air.”
Arnold switched off the TV. “Fine.” He motioned to the door. “After you, Captain.”
Owen retraced his steps. One man carried a crate from the hangar. Arnold told him to get Gregor’s help. When the man disappeared inside the hangar, Owen pretended to examine the landing gear. “This has to be fixed before I can take off,” he told Arnold. “I noticed when we landed that the nose wheel seemed to wobble. Here, take a look.” He pointed to something Arnold had to bend over to see. When the man followed his direction, Owen slipped his gun from its holster and hit him on the head. He crumpled to the ground. Resisting the urge to beat him into a bloody pulp, Owen dragged him out of sight behind the wing. Then he ran to the hangar. When the other thug came out carrying a crate, Owen brained him and shoved him around the side of the building.
Inside, there were more crates stacked along one wall. A crowbar lay across the top of the one on the end. Its top had been pried off. Owen used the light from his cell phone to examine the contents. Clear plastic containers were filled with thousands of round white tablets. He snapped a picture. The rest of the space was empty except for what appeared to be two offices or storerooms at the back. Miranda had to be in one of them. He moved quietly across the huge hangar and listened at one of the doors. Nothing. The second room had a glass window in the door. Cautiously, he peered inside.
Miranda looked back at him, shock in her wide eyes. A bruise darkened one cheek. He could hear Eva talking to Gregor inside.
“Help Manny finish loading. I have to go back and deal with Arianna and Hank.”
Owen glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide. He flattened himself against the wall by the door, hoping to catch Gregor by surprise and knock him out, too. A gunshot would only alert Eva.
Gregor was too quick for him, though. He spotted Owen immediately, and they struggled until Eva shouted, “Stop. Or I’ll shoot your little girlfriend.” She stood in the doorway with a nine millimeter aimed at his chest.
Bested, Owen gave up, and Gregor shoved him into the room with Miranda.
“Tie him up.”
Gregor relieved him of his weapon, shoved him into the other chair and lashed his arms behind him.
“Harold will deal with him when he arrives. Once we’re sure how much the FBI knows, we can decide what to do with both of them. Somehow I doubt Captain Ziegfeld will agree to help us, so we’ll have to rely upon his friend, Weasel.”
“No. I’ll do whatever you want. Let her go.” Owen refused to look at Miranda, whom he had promised himself to keep safe. No way would he let anything more happen to her. No fucking way, he swore silently.
Mrs. Jansen smiled pleasantly. “Now why would I do that? We’ll need to get the truth out of you, Captain Ziegfeld, and I can see no more powerful motive for you to give us what we need than watching Gregor carve pieces of flesh from Miranda’s body.”
Miranda blanched but glared at the other woman.
Eva patted Gregor’s cheek. “Thank you, Gregor, I know I can always count on you.” She sighed heavily. “Now I must go deal with Hank. Arianna is going to be so unhappy.”
She left, and Miranda watched Gregor stare after her, adoration written large on his face. “You’ll never have her, you know. She only sees you as a tool, not as a partner. And certainly not as a lover,” she scoffed.
Gregor whirled from Owen, and slapped Miranda with enough force to rock the chair. She spat blood at him, and he raised his hand again.
“Leave her alone, you bastard,” Owen shouted. “You want to fight, pick on someone your own size.” He struggled to free himself.
Gregor laughed. He took a penknife from his pocket and cut the ties that held Miranda’s ankles to the chair, but left her hands tied together. “Since I can’t have Eva,” he jerked Mir
anda to her feet, “I guess I’ll have to settle for you.” He knocked her to the floor with another stunning blow, then pushed her legs apart and knelt between them, fumbling with his fly.
Owen redoubled his efforts to get free. “If you touch her, I swear, I will kill you.”
Gregor merely laughed. “I like that you’ll have to watch.”
Miranda looked up at Owen and mouthed “I love you.” Then she winked.
Owen understood immediately. “Remember what Mike taught you, Miranda. Remember your first goal.” His eyes begged her to run if she got even a second of freedom.
She shook her head no.
~~~
If I were alone, maybe. But I would never run and leave someone that I love behind to die.
How many times have I practiced the “shrimp escape”? Dozens. Enough to let my muscles do their thing without conscious thought. She stared at the huge man between her legs. I’ll only have one chance, so do it fast and do it right. Right foot on the floor, left leg straight.
Gregor held her bound hands over her head with one of his while he worked the buttons on his fly. Miranda pressed her left shoulder to the floor and used her right leg to scoot her hips to the right, making just enough room to get her left foot on his hip. Another quick squirm in the opposite direction, and her right foot was on his other hip. She saw his enormous erection spring free and shoved with all her might, forcing him backwards as her bound hands grabbed at his wrist. One good kick to the chest and the second one to his crotch. His head came down as he howled in pain. The last kick under his chin. He went down like a sack of potatoes. Yes!
“Run, Miranda, run, damn it,” Owen urged as she found the penknife Gregor had taken and began to cut his bonds.
“Can it, flyboy. I’m not leaving without you.” She cut the final one then held out her wrists to him.
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