by Cassie Miles
Sean came through the hatch and sat in the chair opposite her, where Dylan had been sitting. As easily as Dylan had pulled down the table, Sean removed that barrier between them. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His gentleness threw her off guard. She noticed that he hadn’t shaved, and dark stubble outlined his jaw. By asking how she was, he’d given her an opening to rationally discuss how she should be kept in the loop. Right now she should assert her needs and desires, let him know she was in charge. Right now! This moment!
Instead she stared dumbly at his face, distracted by the perfect symmetry of his features. Why did he have to be so gorgeous?
“Emily?” His eyebrows lifted as though her name were a question. “Emily, tell me.”
“When did you find time to change?” He’d discarded his turtleneck for a cotton shirt and a light suede bomber jacket. She couldn’t say he looked fresh as a daisy. Sean was much too rugged to be compared to a flower.
“Only took a minute,” he said. “Are you—”
“You asked if I was okay.” She stumbled over the words. “Okay about what?”
“Going to San Francisco,” he said. “We’re set to leave in ten minutes. A flight plan has been filed, but this is a private jet. You can change your mind and go anywhere.”
She wasn’t following. “What do you mean?”
“San Francisco is dangerous. There are alternative destinations, like Washington State or heading south to Mexico. We could even go to Hawaii.”
Irritated, she pushed herself out of the cozy chair and stalked toward the rear. “I’m not afraid.”
“I didn’t say you were.” He followed her down the aisle.
“But you think I might want to run away.” She pivoted to face him. “Maybe I’d like to take a vacation in Hawaii and lie on the beach. Is that what you want? For me to hide in a safe place while Wynter runs his human trafficking ring and his son gets away with murder.”
“It’s not about what I want.”
“I’m glad you understand.” But she almost wished he’d be unreasonable. Making her point was easier when he argued against her. His rational approach meant she had to also be thoughtful.
“You don’t have to step into the line of fire,” he said. “You could keep researching the crimes on computer. Work with Dylan. There’s no need for you to confront Wynter in his lair.”
“I’ve considered that.” There were threads of evidence that she needed to be in San Francisco to follow. With Sean to accompany her, she had more access.
“I need an answer on our destination.”
“I’ve got a question for you,” she said. “How do you rate a private jet?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I sincerely hope you’re not charging my aunt some exorbitant fee.”
“This trip is a favor, and it’s free,” he said. “You’ll recognize the pilot from our wedding. David Henley.”
She knew the name. “The guy who plays the banjo?”
“Flying planes is his real job.”
“Good for him. He couldn’t have made much of a living as a banjo picker.”
“In addition to this sweet little Gulfstream, he has a Cessna, an old Sabreliner and two helicopters. He freelances for half a dozen or so companies, flying top execs around the country.”
The aforementioned David Henley swung through the entry hatch and marched down the aisle toward them. “Emily, my princess. It’s been a while.”
Though David was an average-looking guy with wavy blond hair, she most certainly remembered him from the wedding. He’d hit on each of her sisters and ended up going home with her former roommate. He tapped Sean on the shoulder. “May I give this princess a hug?”
“Don’t ask me,” Sean said. “She can speak for herself.”
He held his arms wide. “Hug?”
“Don’t get too snuggly,” she said. “I see that wedding band on your finger.”
His arms wrapped around her. “I like to tease the princesses, but that’s as far as it goes. My heart belongs to my queen, my wife.”
“My former roommate.” She remembered the announcement from a few years ago. “Please give Ginger a hug from me.”
“She’ll be bummed that she didn’t have a chance to get together with you.”
She preferred this mature version of David to the horny banjo player. “Thanks for the plane ride.”
“I’m sorry you’re in so much trouble.” He held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Are we going to San Francisco?”
“Yes, so be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.”
“Still cute.” He turned toward Sean. “I won’t be using you as copilot. This flight is a good opportunity to train the new guy I hired. Now, I’ve got to run some equipment checks before we take off. Ciao, you two.”
While David went forward to the cockpit, she asked Sean, “You know how to fly a plane?”
“David’s been teaching me. The helo is more fun.” He gestured toward the seats across the aisle from the sofa bench. “Get comfortable. I’ll see if he’s got any food back here.”
In the rush to get to the airfield, they’d forgotten the Chinese food. She couldn’t honestly say she had regrets. Fast food from Denver didn’t compare with San Francisco’s Chinatown, but the remembered aroma tantalized her. Her stomach rumbled again. No doubt, Dylan would munch the chicken fried rice, chop suey, broccoli beef and General Tso’s for dinner. With an effort, she managed to pull out the table between the two seats.
Sean didn’t have much to put on it: Two small bags of chips and two sparkling waters. “This will have to do.”
Not enough to appease her hunger, but it was probably good that she wouldn’t be settling down and getting comfortable. Other than being starving, things seemed to be going her way. She wanted to go to San Francisco, and that was where they were headed. If she was smart, this would be a good time to stay quiet. But she wanted to lay down the basics of a plan for her investigation, with emphasis on her.
She cleared her throat. “I want to talk about what we’re going to do when we land.”
“Right,” he agreed. “I need to make hotel reservations.”
“We can stay in my apartment.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not really.”
He regarded her with a disbelieving gaze. “Morelli came all the way to Denver to find you. I’m guessing that Wynter’s men have found your apartment.”
“But they think I’m in Denver.”
“These aren’t the sort of guys to play cat and mouse with. As soon as they figure out where you really are, they’ll be knocking at your door or busting a hole with a battering ram.”
She deferred to his expertise. “Make the reservations.”
“I like the Pendragon Hotel,” he said. “It’s near the trolley line and close to Chinatown.”
“We’re not going on a sightseeing trip.”
The copilot boarded the jet, bringing cold cuts and bread for sandwiches. Food! She almost kissed him.
While she and Sean slapped together sandwiches, they dropped their discussion of anything important. The sight and smell of fresh-sliced ham and turkey and baby Swiss made her giddy. And the copilot hadn’t stinted on condiments, providing an array of mustard, mayo, horseradish and extra-virgin olive oil. Her mouth was watering. Tomatoes, cucumbers, baby bib lettuce and coleslaw.
She sliced a tomato thin and placed it carefully on the ciabatta bread between the mustard and the lettuce. “I suppose we should make something for David and the copilot.”
“We should.” He glanced in her direction. “But you really don’t look like you can wait for one more minute.”
“I�
��m ravenous.”
“Get started without me. I’ll take food to the cockpit.”
“Best offer I’ve had all day.”
The sandwich she’d assembled was almost too big for her mouth, but she tore off a chunk and chomped down on it. The explosion of flavor in her mouth was total ecstasy. As the sandwich slid down her throat, she relished texture, the taste and the nourishment. She took another bite and another.
The last food she’d had was that morning in the mountains, and that felt like a lifetime ago. While she continued to eat, her eyelids closed. She groaned with pleasure.
After a few more bites, she opened her eyes to reach for her water and saw Sean standing behind his chair, looking down at her. He grinned and said, “Sounds like you’re enjoying the sandwich. Either that or you’ve decided to join the Mile High Club all by yourself.”
She swallowed a gulp of water. “How do you know I’m not already a member?”
“Are you?”
“No way,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it takes two.”
“I’d be happy to volunteer.”
Standing there, he was devilish handsome with his wide shoulders, his tousled hair, his stubble and his hands, his rugged hands. Too easily, she imagined his gentle caress across her shoulders and down her back. His eyes, when they’d made love, turned the color of dark chocolate, and his gaze could make her melt inside.
She shoved those urges aside and returned her attention to the sandwich. She needed refueling. Before she was full, the Gulfstream taxied onto the runway.
“Don’t bite my arm off,” Sean said as he scooped up the remains of her sandwich. “The food has to move before takeoff. Or you’ll be wearing it.”
David opened the door from the cockpit. “Fasten your seat belts.”
She buckled up, gripped the arms of her seat and braced herself as the whine of the engines accelerated and a tremor went through the jet. Though she’d actually never been afraid of flying or of heights, she suffered an instinctive twinge in her gut and a shimmer of vertigo when a plane took off or when she stood at the edge of a cliff. Again, she closed her eyes.
Her mind ran through various streams of evidence they’d investigate in San Francisco, ranging from a meeting with the feds to a possible reconnaissance on Wynter’s luxury double-decker yacht.
In moments, they were airborne.
Her eyelids opened. She looked at Sean and said the first thing on her mind, “Don’t let me forget Paco the Pimp.”
“I’m hoping that’s a nickname for something else.”
“He’s a real guy. I met him about a year ago when I was doing an article on preteen hookers.” She shuddered. “That was a painful experience, one horrifying story after another. I almost decided to quit journalism and go back to soothing poetry or lyric writing. Paco changed my mind.”
“By offering you a job?”
“Oh, he did that...several times. Not that either of us took his offers seriously. Anyway, he reminded me of my obligation to shine a light on the ugly truth in the hope that people would pay attention. And the horror would stop...or at least slow down.”
He lowered himself into the seat opposite her and pulled out the table. Instead of returning the last few bites of her sandwich, he placed a bottle of red wine and two plastic glasses on the flat surface. “And why do you need to remember Paco?”
“He’s got an ear to the street. He hears all the gossip. And I want to find out if he remembered anything from that night.” She hesitated. Maybe she was bringing up a volatile topic. She didn’t want Sean to be mad at her. “He might have seen something I missed.”
He used a corkscrew to open the wine. “Are you talking about the night of the murder?”
Averting her gaze, she looked through the porthole window. The lights of Denver glittered below them. Ahead was the pitch-dark of the Rocky Mountains. She didn’t want to answer.
Chapter Ten
Sean was familiar with most of Emily’s tactics when it came to arguments. When she didn’t answer him back right away, her silence meant she was hiding something. He sank into the plush chair opposite hers. He didn’t want to fight. They were on a private jet headed toward one of the most romantic cities in the world, and he hadn’t completely ruled out the possibility of inducting her into the Mile High Club.
But he couldn’t leave Paco the Pimp hanging. Apparently this Paco had been a passenger on Wynter’s deluxe yacht. “You’ve told me about the night of the murder. You claimed you were at a yacht party. True or false?”
“True.”
He poured the wine, a half glass for her and the same for himself. “But you never told me how you got an invite to this insider party. I’m guessing it had something to do with Paco the Pimp. True or false?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“And I know why,” he said. “Your pal Paco was invited to provide a bunch of party girls for the guys on the yacht. And you convinced him to take you along. You went undercover.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “You’re right. I was all dolled up in a sparkly skintight dress, four-inch heels and gobs of heavy makeup.”
“A hooker disguise.”
“Sleazy except for my long hair. I had it pinned up on top of my head when I went there. I thought it was sophisticated.” She sipped her wine. “Paco said I should wear it down. He thought the men would like it.”
Imagining her being ogled in a sexy dress made his blood boil. Of course they liked her long, beautiful hair. “What the hell, Emily? You used to believe that hiding your identity was dishonest and unfair.”
“You’ve got no room to talk,” she said. “You used to go undercover all the time.”
“And you never approved.”
“Maybe not.”
“And I was trained for it. I have certain traits and abilities that lend themselves to undercover work, namely, I’m good at deception.” He downed his wine in two glugs. “You’re not like that. You’re a lousy liar.”
“I’ve changed. I know when to keep my mouth shut instead of blurting out the truth. I can be circumspect.”
“You can’t change your basic nature,” he said as he poured more wine. “Undercover work is not your thing.”
“I pulled it off on Wynter’s yacht.”
He glared at her. “Not a shining example of a successful mission.”
“I made mistakes,” she admitted. “Okay, all right, it was gross. Witnessing the murder was the worst, but being pawed by sleazeballs was bad. One of them grabbed me by my hair and kissed me. Another patted my hair like I was a dog. The very next day, I went to the beauty shop and told them to cut it off.”
“You’re never going to go undercover again, understand?”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Through clenched teeth, he said, “I’m sorry.”
She looked at him as though he’d sprouted petunias from the top of his head. “Did I hear you correctly?”
“You’re right. I can’t tell you what to do. However, if you decide to go undercover again, I want to know. Give me a chance to show you how to do it without getting yourself killed.”
“My turn to apologize,” she said. “You’re also right. I had no business waltzing onto that yacht without the proper training. The only reason I got out of there in one piece was dumb luck.”
He held up his plastic glass to salute her. The wine he’d already inhaled was taking the sharp edge off, but he was still alert enough to realize that something significant had occurred: they hadn’t gotten into a fight.
Both of them had been ticked off. They’d danced around the volcano, but neither had erupted. Instead, they’d talked like adults and settled their differences. Maybe she’d matured. Maybe he’d gotten more sensitive. Whatever! He’d gladl
y settle for this fragile truce instead of gut-wrenching hostility.
He didn’t want to discuss their successful handling of the problem for fear that he’d jinx the positive mood. What had they been talking about before takeoff? Oh yeah, the agenda for their time in San Francisco. He wanted to take her to dinner at the Italian restaurant where he proposed.
He gazed toward her. She looked youthful but not too young. Had she changed in the past five years? If he looked closely, he could see fine lines at the corners of her turquoise eyes, and her features seemed sharper, more honed. With her black sweater covering her torso, he could only guess how her body had changed. A vision of her nicely proportioned shoulders, round breasts and slender waist was easy to recall. He hadn’t forgotten the constellation of freckles across her back or the tattoo of a cute little rodent above her left breast that she referred to as a “titmouse.”
Since he wasn’t allowed to touch her without disobeying half a dozen of their weird ground rules, he had to stop thinking like this. Her unapproachable nearness would drive him mad. Back to business, back to the investigation, he said, “Tomorrow, our first appointment should be a meeting with Levine to see if the FBI has any new info.”
“But not at the fed office,” she reminded him. “Dylan thinks their phones are bugged.”
He considered it unlikely that Levine was working with Wynter, but Sean didn’t want to take any chances. “I’d rather not let him know where we’re staying. We’ll meet him for breakfast.”
“After that,” she said, “we should go to Chinatown. I had a couple of leads there, and I’d like to talk to Doris Liu again. She’s the woman who took in Roger Patrone and raised him.”
He’d almost forgotten that Patrone was an orphan who had been taken in by a family in Chinatown. “There must have been something remarkable about Patrone when he was a kid. Most residents in Chinatown aren’t welcoming to strangers.”
“It’s been hard for me to ask around,” she said. “Patrone’s gambling operation—last I heard it was a stud poker game, Texas Hold’em and two blackjack tables—is in the rear of a strip club in the Tenderloin. Even with the attempts at gentrification, I don’t blend in.”
