There were a couple other exceptions whose names and faces elude me at the moment—
And then there was the guy I thought was the one.
Ethan.
Ethan Robert Rider, whom I'd told myself I would remember until I was old and dying and still dreaming about what could have been.
Oh, I'm perfectly happy with Parker. Don't think that I'm not. The bond we share is stronger than anything I've ever felt. But I'd be lying if I said I've never engaged in games of "what if."
We all do, don't we?
And before that day, when I thought about Ethan, my heart always fluttered a bit—despite how it had ended between us. I remembered junior year and nights when the fumbling fingers and the awkward attempts at conversation were all mine. Ethan was a senior, but years beyond his age, and was smooth and unruffled and full of the kind of brazen self-confidence that every seventeen-year-old—male or female—only dreams of possessing. I had been with him when that confidence started to falter, but from the moment I met him I knew he was destined to go places and do great things.
Or so I had thought.
Now, to my utter astonishment, he sat cuffed to that armrest, staring at me as I stood in the small plane's doorway trying to convince myself I was merely hallucinating.
In a voice laced with the same incredulity I felt, he said, "Kelsey? Kelsey Coe?" Then he glanced at the Glock holstered at my hip—my attempt to look badass—and shook his head in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me."
If you've been paying attention, you know that I'm rarely at a loss for words. But at that particular moment, as I looked into those intense brown eyes, I couldn't find any.
Not a single one.
Ethan seemed to have expended his vocabulary as well, because he suddenly got quiet, and I knew his mind had to be tottering.
Mine certainly was.
Still fiddling with the controls, Hap filled the void. "I'm gettin' the impression you two know each other."
Neither of us responded. We were too busy gaping.
"Do I need to get Wilky back here? Because I've done enough of these runs to know a conflict of interest when I—"
"No," I said, finally able to speak. "We'll be fine."
"You don't look fine to me, young lady. What you look is flabbergasted, and in my book, flabbergastery and prisoner transport ain't a good fit. Maybe this boy needs a new escort. You look a little too young and delicate for this kind of work anyway."
"Just fly the plane," I told him, then moved down the short aisle and dropped into the seat directly behind Ethan, feeling shell shocked and a bit numb.
Hap stared at us for a long moment then shrugged, took a swig from his Thermos, and went back to his controls. "What the hell do I know? I'm just the chauffeur."
He flipped a couple switches and got on the radio and a moment later the plane roared to life, the propellers kicking into gear. I wasn't paying much attention because a couple trillion thoughts were bumping and stumbling over one another as they raced through my mind.
I still hadn't quite processed what was happening here.
Ethan, on the other hand, seemed well on the way to recovery and was once again the confident, gorgeous rock star I remembered from high school. He turned in his seat, opened his mouth to say something—
—and my cell phone rang.
The ringtone, a shrill rendition of "Boogie Oogie Oogie," was assigned to Parker (for reasons I won't disclose), and I immediately felt as if I had been caught in some kind of lie.
I have no idea why.
I answered it and Parker said, "You in the air yet?"
The plane was rolling out of the hangar. "Almost."
"Good. I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for doubting you earlier. I have to learn not to turn into a overprotective dick every time you feel like stretching your legs."
There was a joke to be mined in that statement, but with Ethan nearby I resisted the temptation. Besides, I wasn't feeling particularly humorous at the moment. I wasn't sure what I was feeling.
"Don't worry about it," I said in a clipped tone. "What's done is done."
Parker paused. "Is something wrong?"
"No, why?"
"You don't sound like you."
Actually, I did. But it was a me that Parker had never heard before. He knew the indignant Kelsey, the scared Kelsey, the furious Kelsey, the incredulous Kelsey, the loving Kelsey and the yes, yes, oh God yes Kelsey.
But despite opening a skip trace agency with him, I had never conjured up the no-nonsense Kelsey—that reserved, all-business desk bot who had recently worked part-time in a law office. There had been no reason to. And to be honest, I wasn't sure I had one now, yet there she was, as distant as a third cousin.
"I have to go," I said, "before the pilot yells at me for using my cell."
"Are you upset with me?"
"No, everything's fine. I'll call you when I get to L.A."
"Kelsey…"
We were on the runway now, the plane picking up speed. "We're about to take off. Talk to you soon."
Before Parker could say anything more, I hung up, feeling guilty as hell. I can't explain the feeling, or my actions, but at the moment I couldn't talk to him. My piece-of-cake job had suddenly turned into something altogether different and I was still trying to figure out how to process it.
As I shoved the phone back into my pocket, Ethan said, "Flabbergasted. I like that word. It's the only one that can adequately describe how I'm feeling right now. Not that I haven't dreamt of this moment, but this isn't quite how I pictured it."
"Flabbergasted is a good word," I said.
"Was that your boyfriend on the phone?"
I frowned. "Now why would you think that?"
"Come on, Pooks, you've always been easy to read. He's either your boyfriend or husband, but I don't see a ring, so I'm assuming I got it right the first time."
I glanced self-consciously at my left hand. "Still observant as always, I see."
He smiled. "Occupational necessity. Although I have to say I never thought I'd see a gun on your hip. How the hell did that happen?"
"Long story. And don't call me Pooks."
"You didn't mind back in high school. Especially when we were locked in one of the theater department dressing rooms."
Ethan and I had met in drama class, and had worked on several plays together. He'd always been a wonderful actor, while I was just a talentless wannabe who had fallen hard for the leading man.
"You lost that privilege a long time ago," I said. "And you're the one wearing handcuffs, so maybe I should be asking the questions. What happened to you, Ethan? You fall off the face of the earth and this is where you wind up?"
He shrugged. "You know how crazy I got after my father died. Especially when I found out what kind of man he really was."
"Which is why I didn't argue whenever you said you needed space. Maybe I should have."
He laughed softly. "What would you have done—reform me? Don't let the pretty face fool you. I'm not afraid to admit I'm an egotistical ass and always have been."
"You weren't back then."
"I just hid it well, like dear old dad. And when I decided to embrace my heritage, I figured I'd spare you the heartbreak of falling out of love with me."
"How considerate of you."
I probably should have had a harder time believing that Ethan had gone from high school sweetheart to wanted criminal, but I remembered how rebellious he often was. With his parents. His teachers. With cops, when he encountered them. And considering that his father had hung himself in a jail cell after an embezzling conviction, maybe the transformation from school boy to con man wasn't all that surprising.
But I was stunned nevertheless.
"Look, Pooks, that was all a long time ago and we obviously have very different lives now. I'm sorry for hurting you, but I did what I thought was right at the time."
"I told you not to call me that."
He must have sensed my anger r
ising, because he held up his free hand. "All right, all right, message received." The look in his eyes would have melted me when I was sixteen. "I don't suppose I could convince you you've got the wrong man?"
He probably could have at one time, but I knew this wasn't another case of mistaken identity. Far from it. "You said it yourself. Like father, like son."
"Then I won't play that game. But if you think this job will be easy, you'd better think again. There are people out there who have no intention of letting me step foot in a courthouse. They'll put me in a body bag before that happens. Me, and anyone who's with me."
"I'm glad to hear you've been making friends."
"I'm not kidding, Kelsey. And I wouldn't want to see you caught in the crossfire."
I laughed. "You sound like Parker."
"Parker?"
"The guy on the phone. We run a skip tracing business and Wilky hired us to make sure you get to L.A."
Ethan shook his head. "And here I always thought you'd wind up a poet. Or a school teacher."
"Shit happens," I said, trying to sound casual—although I'd never dreamed I'd be doing this, either. "And all I care about is getting you to the L.A. County Sheriff's Office."
"That's no way to celebrate a reunion."
I laughed again, but there was no humor in it. I was a mess inside and didn't want to show it. "What do you want—fireworks and streamers and the key to those cuffs? Forget the celebration, Ethan. Let's just think of this as a little bump in the road in our otherwise routine lives."
I glanced toward the cockpit, where Hap had the Thermos tilted skyward, polishing off the last of whatever it was he was drinking. I suddenly realized we were in the air and well underway, leveling off at a high altitude. I had been so wrapped up in my conversation with Ethan that I'd completely blanked on the take-off—and that scared me.
I needed to grab control of myself.
"And what if I try to escape?" Ethan asked. "What then? You shoot me? Is that part of the routine?"
I gave him the sternest look I could muster, but stern had never been my strong suit. Especially around him. "If I have to, yes."
He shook his head. "I don't believe that for a minute."
"We're different people now, remember? I'm not the timid little girl you knew in school. I've been chased after and shot at and learned quite a bit about myself in the process."
"Maybe so, but I'm betting you've never fired that gun at anything more than a paper target."
I gestured to my Glock. "This one? You're right, I haven't."
"Just what I thought."
"But I did use one just like it to kill someone I once trusted. So imagine what I'd do to the boy who left me behind…"
I would have enjoyed his reaction if I hadn't suddenly been distracted. But as the words left my mouth, I felt a rumble of turbulence and the plane's engine began to whine. I looked up sharply and saw that Hap was now slumped in his chair, no longer manning the controls, the Thermos rolling on the floor beside him.
What the hell? I'd been kidding about the whole nap thing, but had he actually fallen asleep?
I got to my feet. "Hap?"
No answer. Turbulence rumbled again, then the plane tilted and started to descend, nearly knocking me off my feet.
Oh, shit.
Ethan swiveled his head toward the cockpit. "Uh-oh. This can't be good."
I moved up the aisle. "Hap! Wake up!" But when I reached him and grabbed his shoulder, I knew I was wasting my breath. He wasn't sleeping. Not the sleep of the living, anyway.
His head lolled sideways and I realized he actually had needed that defibrillator—but it was too late.
He was Dead with a capital D.
Less than ten minutes into our flight, we were headed back toward earth—and there was every indication that our landing would not be smooth.
FIVE
The plane picked up speed. The view through the front windshield was now eerily absent of blue sky and the earth below was a lot closer than I wanted it to be. We were over a forest now and all I saw were trees.
I turned to Ethan in full panic. "Please tell me you know how to fly this thing!"
"I was hoping you did," he shouted. "Get these cuffs off me."
I wasn't sure what difference it would make, but if he was about to die a horrible death, at least he could do it with his hands free. Digging the key out of my pocket, I lurched toward him and unlocked the cuffs. Ethan immediately jumped to his feet and began searching the small cabin.
My voice teetered on the edge of a scream. "What are you looking for?"
"What do you think? Don't these things come equipped with parachutes?"
"How the hell do I know?"
He checked under the pilot's chair and came up holding what looked like an overstuffed backpack. "I think we just got lucky."
He began strapping it on and I said, "What about me?"
He gestured toward the windshield. "Does it look like we have time to search for another one? We'll have to do this together. Come here."
I didn't hesitate. I went to him and he spun me around and pulled me close. He let out the chute's waist strap as far as it would go, then wrapped it around me and pulled it taut. As he fastened the buckle, I felt him pressed up against me and realized that one thing about him certainly hadn't changed: his abs were as hard as ever.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Does it matter?"
We turned together and I reached out, jerked the handle of the cabin door, and tried to push it open, but the damn thing stuck again.
Shit.
Stepping back, I brought up a leg and kicked, hard, jamming my heel against the door. It flew open with a groan, and as I lowered my leg, the plane lurched and I lost my balance and tumbled forward.
Shit, shit, shit.
Ethan snaked his arms around me and held tight as we hurtled together through the doorway and fell into the sky. And if I wasn't screaming before, I definitely was now as the wind hit us with more force than I had expected. It contorted my face, my cheeks flapping like two balloons rapidly losing air. And if I hadn't been so petrified, I might have felt embarrassed.
I looked down and saw the blanket of trees rising up toward us. Fast.
Too fast.
"Pull the cord!" I shouted, hoping he could hear me over the wind. "Pull the goddamn cord!"
"Hold on!"
Ethan reached down, leaving me acutely aware that my only lifeline was now a nylon strap and his left arm, which was pressing against my breasts so hard I thought one of them might pop.
I felt him fumble for the rip cord, and had the sudden panicked thought that if this chute was as old as the plane, it might decide not to open. But then a split-second later I heard the whoosh and flutter as it blossomed above us.
Ethan slipped his right arm around me again and the wind caught us and jerked us upward, immediately slowing our descent.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…
We began to drift, the relief sweet, but I knew this wasn't over yet. We had slowed considerably, but we were still headed for the trees, their branches pointy and sharp and not the least bit interested in getting out of our way.
"Brace yourself," he said.
I screamed again and closed my eyes as we dropped into the forest—and believe me, this was a treat only a masochist could love. We hit hard, the trees assaulting us with the kind of relish usually reserved for serial killers, tearing at our flesh as we fell. The chute no longer buffered our descent and we were dead weight, once again picking up speed, branches snapping all around us as we plummeted through them.
If you've ever been thrown off your bicycle into a thicket of bushes, you know how painful it can be. Now multiply that by a thousand and you'll have a rough idea of this experience.
Ethan held tight through it all, refusing to let me go. Then, without warning, the chute caught on one of the branches above us and we came to an abrupt, jerky halt about twenty feet from the g
round.
Holy.
Shit.
I let out a string of expletives along with the breath I'd been holding ever since we hit the trees. We were alive, and that was good—that was fantastic—but every inch of my flesh felt as if it had been assaulted by barbed wire and sandpaper.
We dangled there, looking down at a forest floor covered with leaves and broken branches.
"You all right?" Ethan asked.
"Nothing a bucket of Neosporin won't fix. So what now?"
"Hopefully the ground is soft."
"Right. And I'm the one who gets to test it first."
"We could just stay here with me holding onto your breasts. I used to enjoy that. Still do, come to think of it."
"Don't be an ass."
"I remember a time you encouraged me to do it."
"And to think I once worshipped you."
I flinched as a loud boom echoed through the forest. Hap and his plane had finally hit. Fortunately, he hadn't been alive to experience the terror, and I was counting myself lucky that we had managed to escape.
As the last of the echoes dissipated and smoke rose in the sky, Ethan said, "I wasn't a big fan of that guy, but he didn't deserve to go out like that."
"He didn't feel anything. He died of a heart attack."
"Is that what you think?"
"You don't?"
"I told you, there are people out there who want me as dead as him. And they almost succeeded."
"Are you saying this was planned?"
"You want to crash a plane, all you have to do is poison the pilot. Be interesting to see what was in that Thermos he was so attached to."
"Oh, give me a break."
"You don't believe me?"
"I think Wilky was right about you. You're a smooth-talking jackal." I looked at the ground below us and pried at one of his hands. "Let me loose, okay? I've had enough of you feeling me up."
"That isn't what your body's telling me."
"Did I say jackal? What I meant was pig. Now let me go."
Present Tense (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 2) Page 2
