by Angel Payne
Everyone’s attention swung toward the front of the plane again. Zoe could only discern that someone from the airline’s crew had attempted to tangle with one of the hijackers. Stripes on the man’s uniform confirmed that the brave soul was one of the pilots, obviously not as disabled as the hijackers preferred. Zoe was joined by many others in wincing as the man was subdued by the bad guy, who fought like Bruce Lee incarnate.
As the ninja tore out a coffee maker cord and hogtied the pilot with it, another hijacker leapt free from the cockpit and raced down the aisle toward the leader, tapping nervous fingers against his thighs. “We’re through the magic mirror, boss. Officially in A-fifty-one airspace.”
“Really?” Growl Man’s rejoinder dripped with sarcasm. “Thanks for the update. And here we were, thinking we’d simply crossed paths with a psychotic skeet shooter.”
“Hey.” His leader glared at him. “Play nice, assface.” He cocked his head. “That’s normally not a problem for you. What the fuck has crawled up your backside?”
“Other than knowing that those two shots were purposeful misses? And that the next one won’t be?”
“That won’t happen.”
“Your confidence is moving. And terrifying.”
For some strange reason, the guy finished by sweeping another glance down at her and Brynn. For an even stranger reason, Zoe wished he’d do it again. Despite his scary tone and his gentle-as-a-porcupine manner, there was a protectiveness in him, a ferocity that made her feel he’d leap in front of bullets for her, if this nightmare came to that.
Caramba. This was crazy. A textbook case of captive falling for predator to lessen the terror of the trauma. She needed to grab reality by the horns again. The leader of these lunatics had just shot a man’s kneecap off for tossing a little lip. The ninja specialist up front had taken out both pilots, the air marshal, and a flight attendant in about two dozen punches. All these men were one mental snap away from actually exacting lives for their cause.
It was clear. She couldn’t afford the luxury of trusting in silly romance anymore. Fate had given her that chip to cash in already, and the incredible hours with Shane had been well worth the gamble, but that kind of lightning didn’t strike twice. If she wanted the memories of Shane to live on, she had to live—and stop imprinting his qualities onto this coldhearted criminal of a stranger. This time, there’d be no surging ballads or a prince in disguise. Only living through the next minute. Then hopefully the next.
The engines changed speed again, coinciding with a shift in altitude. They were already descending. The comprehension hit her with hope and dread in the same heartbeat. Boss Man didn’t aid her conflict by hauling her back to her feet, then pulling Brynn up after her. “They’re not going to fire again,” he said to his skeptical minion, “and our sweet dancerina dolls are going to help seal that deal.”
Zoe kept her fingers twisted into Brynn’s, using the strength for composure. She nodded back to the man who held the bloody mess that had once been his knee. “What about wrapping him?”
“Changed my mind,” the man drawled. “You can wrap him up when we’re safely on the ground—which now makes him a good incentive for helping us out. Right, honey?”
Her nerves screeched like a fork on glass. It was the second time the man used the endearment on her. Two times too many. She instantly noticed how Growl Man seemed to agree. His tall frame tensed and he stepped closer, once more giving off an aura of protectiveness she couldn’t ignore—but had to resist. Those two factors, as well as the entire situation they came wrapped in, contributed to her own snarl of a response.
“Fine. Let’s get this the hell over with.”
* * * * *
If this experience was nerve-wracking from the cabin, it was a composure killer from the co-pilot’s seat in the cockpit.
Zoe bit her lip as she looked out the windows, across the desert and its palette of tan, sage, and copper. The Sheep Mountains glowed in the morning sun up ahead, flanked by the Spring Mountains to the west and the Muddy Mountains in the east. The valley they formed was filled with the sprawling checkerboard of the Las Vegas metropolis.
Weirdly, she remembered the first time she’d seen this landscape, from the passenger’s window of Ry’s Acura as they’d approached down the 15 highway. To a born-and-raised Tacoma girl, the vistas around Vegas had been an alien world, stark and unforgiving, but the last three and a half years had taught her differently. The desert was now full of so many textures, moods, and colors—and it was home.
No. It was only the start of what she knew as home.
Home was also the couch back in Tacoma, where she’d cried so many times on Papi’s strong shoulders over blown auditions or asshole boyfriends. Home was happy hour at Commonwealth with Ry, clinking dirty martinis and making up naughty labels for every hunk that walked in the door. Home was going to be the altar at the winery in Sonoma, when she watched her little sister walk down the aisle to begin her new life as Mrs. Ethan Archer.
She had to get home.
She couldn’t die today. She wouldn’t die today.
The affirmation gave her the strength to raise her head. And push words out of her lips.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
Boss Man’s lips lifted the inner edges of his ski mask as he smiled. “Good girl.”
Zoe glared. “Let’s not go there again, pendejo. Just tell me what the hell to say so we’re not blown out of the sky.”
His mouth sobered but his eyes retained the gleam, still going for the tease. Zoe barely refrained from openly shuddering. Why did this cabrón make her feel so filthy while his guard coaxed nothing but butter from her limbs and desire from her core? And why did figuring out the answer feel so important?
And why did she keep allowing thoughts like that to seep in, when so many people’s lives depended on her concentration right now?
Another hijacker leaned in over her, not Growl Man or the leader. He punched a button on the console that made her dizzy from its levers, switches, and lights. Two fingers of his other hand tapped his thigh, confirming he was the frantic status messenger they’d seen before. Oddly, the stare he swung at her was the polar opposite of frantic. Zoe shivered a little beneath the man’s glacier regard, until a baritone voice boomed over the cockpit speakers.
“Hello? Hello? Sunset flight four-oh-three, do you copy? Sunset four-oh-three, be advised that this will be our final attempt to communicate with your aircraft. We’ve intercepted passenger cell transmissions from your plane and we know what’s going on. We’re willing to discuss demands, but if you don’t alter course out of this airspace now, you’ll be blasted out of the—”
“No!” Zoe screamed it. “Don’t shoot! You’ll be killing hundreds of innocent civilians!” They’d never coached her what to say but it felt logical. And terrifyingly truthful.
“Errr, to whom am I speaking?” The baritone almost sounded like a different person. Zoe was grateful for the guy’s gentler side. Adrenalin and stress still techno-stomped her nerve endings, taking a hard toll on her sleep-deprived body. She yearned for this nightmare to end. “Hello?” the man prompted again. “Identify yourself at once, ma’am. To make this perfectly clear, we’re not fucking around anymore.”
“Neither are these guys,” Zoe snapped. “The air marshal’s unconscious. They used some kind of Jedi-ninja chokehold on him. His gun’s been used to shoot another man. The guy’s not dead but bleeding a lot, and they won’t allow him medical attention until we land. There are more bullets in the gun, and I’m certain this man will use them if provoked.”
Boss Man let out a satisfied whoosh. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Thank you, honey.”
“Fuck off,” she retorted.
A harrumph rustled the connection, lending maturity to the baritone. “Sounds like you’re doing your best to keep those scum suckers in line, young lady.”
Zoe tried to smile, appreciating the man’s attempt at comfort. “I’m not sure that’s what I�
��d call it, sir. Sometimes you just have to put one foot in front of the other.”
“Spoken like some of my best soldiers.”
“Or some of my best dancers.”
“What’s your name, firecracker?”
“Zoe Chestain. I live in Vegas.”
“Zoe, I’m General Kirk Newport. I’m going to do my best to get you get home safely.”
Any thread of ease she’d allowed herself was canceled by the pistol’s barrel, pressed to her temple with ruthless force. “Social hour’s over,” the leader barked. “Stay on task, dancerina.”
Zoe dipped a tense nod. She fought back the thousand shards of new terror ripping up her throat. “General, this man is serious.” The panic won, anyway. The spikes shot higher, making her chin tremble and her words wobble. “Please, please let him land the damn plane.”
Boss Man ground the pistol tighter against her head. “Beautifully spoken, Miss Chestain, but I believe General Newport already knows how serious I am. Don’t you, Kirk baby?”
Curiosity snuck in beside her fear. Kirk baby?
“Cameron. It’s been too long. Wish I could say it’s a pleasure to have found the rock you crawled back out from, but they say honesty’s the cornerstone of a great relationship.”
Okay, there was history between these two. Would that bode well or worse for a safe landing once they got done with their pissing match?
“Honesty.” The man behind her sounded like he’d just chomped a cyanide pill. “Have you ever known a day of the shit in your life, Kirk?”
“And do you really want to dredge up the past now?”
“‘The past.’ That’s what you’re calling it now?”
The general let a low snarl reverberate through the line. “I’m two minutes away from giving those F-18’s permission to fly back in and blow your ass out of the sky.”
“But you won’t.”
“That so, dickwad?” The general snorted. “Then you’re crazier than I thought, Cam.”
“I prefer calculated risk taker, but you call it like you see it. We’ll see what the world says, after those jets blow a packed commercial airliner to shreds.”
Brynn, pinned against the cockpit’s entry threshold by the ninja who’d wordlessly taken down the flight crew, let out a sharp whimper. Zoe twisted her hands together in her lap until they burned from her tension.
“Was that really your plan, Cam? You think the upper muck gives a shit about the PR fallout of this? You remember everything that’s at stake here, don’t you?”
Slowly, the pistol barrel slid away from her face. Zoe still didn’t let herself breathe, unsure whether to exhale in relief or start confessing her sins before death. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I used a lot of bad words yesterday. Then there’s the issue of the man who gave me two orgasms that I’ll confess, but only if you let me remember…
Her captor spoke again. His determined tone revealed nothing about whether to finish her supplication.
“I remember everything, my friend,” he stated. “And that’s why I’ve left a memory stick of very interesting information with—let’s say—a dear friend. If I don’t leave the base within twenty-four hours with this plane full of our valuable new guests, my friend will know to take that information to the nearest news outlet.”
A long pause preceded the general’s response. Zoe glanced at Brynn, whose thin lips confirmed her suspicions. The man was taking a moment to seethe.
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”
“Kirk.” The word was a tease in its condescension. “You know, for better or worse, I’m a man of my word.”
The general was noisier about his fury now. There was a loud thump, several seconds full of static, then a harsh grate. “And if I do give you clearance, you jizz-slurping shit?”
“My friend feeds the stick to his pet crocodile.” The guy actually laughed. “It’ll go well with the clock, right?”
Zoe bowed her head. Peter Pan has always been one of her favorite fairy tales. She wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
Newport’s reaction, once more sucking up an interminable pause, gave her lots of time to ponder the dilemma. In reality, the delay was about a minute, though it was hands down the longest sixty seconds of her life. Her own hands were her new focus, torture-twisting in her lap as she listened to Brynn make an attempt for normal breathing. In the meantime, the pilot took the aircraft lower, aiming for a set of domed buildings that appeared like a collection of buttons on the desert floor.
Newport finally clicked back on. “Sunset four-oh-three, you have clearance to land at KXTA,” he bit out. “Groom Lake Tower will guide you in, but you must patch to them on secured radio frequency. Dial in your radio accordingly.”
“Thank God.” Brynn’s whisper was thick and tearful. Zoe longed to echo her friend’s outlook but was stopped by a volition from deep inside, an instinct she couldn’t explain. The tension in Newport’s voice was only her first trigger. The weird energy flowing off Cam the Boss Man was the second. She’d never picked up on anything like it, his anticipation bordering on violence, creeping her out even more. His scarily serene drawl only intensified the feeling.
“General Newport,” he drawled then, “thank you for your time. A pleasure, as always.”
“Fuck you, Stock.”
The hijacker next to her cut off the line with a low laugh. His boss joined him. Brynn fell silent again. Zoe barely noticed any of it. Her mind was a chaos of connecting neurons and oiled gears, revving toward the conclusion she’d been craving but now dreaded. “Ay Dios mio,” she stammered.
One trigger. Two triggers. And now the third, slamming into her with the force of a Mack truck.
Fuck you, Stock.
The lead hijacker’s name was Stock. Cameron Stock.
She knew that name. With horrific clarity.
As the director of Dress Blues, the TV show Ava had worked on as a stylist, the man had once been her sister’s well-liked boss—until he’d colluded with the terrorist who’d almost killed Ava and Ethan. That radical, Ephraim Lor, had been shot and killed in their failed plot to launch nuclear warheads at all the western states, but Stock escaped and quickly disappeared. He’d been a ghost ever since.
Not anymore.
Not here, where he shared a triumphant fist bump with his minion as his pilot guided the plane lower. Not now, a moment in which he indulged another disgusting laugh, congratulating himself on a victory that had come from the fear and pain of others.
No. He wasn’t invisible anymore.
Which meant Zoe no longer had to guess where to aim her fury, frustration, and hatred.
She whirled and sprang to her feet in the same movement. As she’d hoped, the move landed her in front of Stock. Fear almost slammed her back down but desperation and exhaustion—likely mixed with a good shot of stupidity—re-juiced her bravery, firing up her arm. In one whisk, she ripped Stock’s cap off his head. The stunned expression on his square quarterback face was practically worth her risk by itself. Same went for the weasel-like expression of his thigh-tapping minion.
But she wanted more out of the bastard than his shock. Preferably his blood.
“Percanta,” she spat. “You’re dirty and disgusting, and so are all your trained monkeys.”
The weasel lunged at her but Stock shoved the guy back without a waver of his insolent grin. “But I like monkeys. Don’t you…Miss Chestain? Hmmm. I knew another Chestain once. Well, I didn’t know her, if you follow me; not that I didn’t want to. Seemed like she’d be a good fuck, but just never—”
Zoe punched the man as hard as she could.
It felt great. She wanted more.
Growl Man’s entrance into the cockpit only spiked her rage higher, especially at herself. She’d practically had gooey panties over the cabrón. Had let herself tremble from the timbre of his voice, and practically thanked him for yanking her away from Stock’s flirtation. But he wasn’t some noble antihero. It had taken the shock of putting
Stock’s face to this crime to crystallize the realization. Whatever had motivated each of these men to this act, which remained a baffling mystery, they were still criminals—creatures crawling in the sludge just shy of terrorism.
As Ryder would say, damn straight. She refused to waste a moment more of her misplaced hormones on the creep. Unmasking him would help her accomplish that better than anything else. And once she saw his disgusting face, she’d hit it, too. Twice as hard as Stock’s.
“What the hell’s going on?” His growl was back in place, just as daunting and riveting as ever, but Zoe only smiled because of it now. She was immune to it now. Empowered. In control.
She stomped toward the guy. Growl Man countered by shuffling backward like she’d suddenly contracted leprosy.
Which wasn’t supposed to happen. Nor was it supposed to make the hairs on the back of her neck turn to spikes. What the hell?
“Boss,” he leveled, “What the fuck are you letting her—”
“Everyone calm down,” Stock ordered. “Just calm the hell down and—”
“Have you flipped?” The man pulled on his mask like it was his virgin underwear while snarling like the dragon who’d screwed half the maidens in the kingdom. “Put your lids back on, both of you.”
“Okay, listen. Your cheek isn’t cute anymore. You want to help? Restrain your little gal-pal, dickwad. We’re landing this bird in twenty minutes, dammit, and—”
Zoe cut the man off. By shrieking.
It was the closest description of the sound her throat made after she reached, uncapping Growl Man—who shocked her by not letting out a single growl.
And stunned her even more by looking just like—
“No.”
He didn’t just look like Shane. He was Shane.
“No.”
It all made such sense now. Horrible, hideous sense. His strange behavior last night after she’d told him her flight information. The way her body reacted to the vibrations beneath his careful growls, knowing the sound that had pulled it to heaven last night, even when her head didn’t. Even when her heart denied it. She’d refused to believe the most magical lover of her life could be one of the criminals who’d taken over this plane. Had taken hundreds of people hostage at thirty thousand feet, and nearly gotten them all shot out of the sky.
