“Forty-five percent? That’s damn specific.”
“Andy’s a statistics postgrad. He’s worked out some kind of system, according to which the next aviation incident has to be hijacking. He also said that, statistically speaking, it’s more probable that it happens in Eastern Asia, but he hasn’t taken into account the fact that I’m a magnet for bad luck. You should ask my late husband,” she added, shivering. “Anyway, there’s no doubt in my mind this is the flight getting hijacked. I’ve already spotted several men that look mighty suspicious to me. I’m Eve, by the way.”
Elle turned to her. “Nice to meet you. I’m Elle. You are very relaxed, considering.”
She shrugged. “It’s the blue pill Andy gave me.”
Fantastic. He was surrounded by crazy women. One on her way to getting drunk, the other doped up to her ears.
This was going to be a memorable flight.
“Don’t worry. Jack here is an air marshal,” Elle whispered, gesturing to him. “He’ll stop the hijackers. Right, Jack?”
He shot Elle a reproving look. The last thing he wanted was to humor some nutty lady, but he realized that all that nonsense had made Elle forget about her own fears and her nails were not buried in the armrests anymore, so he nodded curtly.
Eve leaned toward Jack and whispered, “Can I see your gun? I’ve never seen one in real life.”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Elle smiling. “And you won’t.”
“We don’t want to scare the general public,” Elle interjected in a whisper.
“Oh. Of course,” she answered.
In between the crazy talk and the constant flow of Scotch, soon Elle was more relaxed.
“So, Borg, what’s your plan once we’re in Boston? Assuming we can make it there without killing each other, that is,” she added, turning her beautiful eyes to him. Man, black eyes. He hadn’t known those existed. So mesmerizing.
“We lay low. You put in for vacation time. Cancel whatever classes you have, if any. At the first sign that something is wrong, I’ll pull you out and into hiding.”
She narrowed her gaze belligerently. “Shouldn’t I have some say? What about reaching a mutually satisfactory compromise?”
Fuck that. “You agree with me. That’s how we reach a mutually satisfactory compromise.”
She pursed her lips, and murmured in Italian, “Nel mondo dei sogni, bello.” In your dreams, buddy.
He didn’t know Italian, but he was fluent in Spanish, so he got the idea.
“And I still believe your best bet is to disappear for a while,” he pressed on, ignoring her words.
“Can’t. Tate needs me.”
“Tate needs a live sister.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I think that too,” the crazy lady whispered, leaning toward them again. “Men tend to dramatize a lot. Now if you excuse me, the bathroom calls.”
“I have a cabin in the middle of nowhere,” Jack continued after the woman had left. “That’s your safest bet. You have to disappear.”
“Listen, I truly appreciate you getting me out of the police station, and I’m going to do my best not to murder you in your sleep, but get this through your thick skull: there’s no way in hell I’m disappearing.”
“Not asking for your opinion. Or your permission.”
“That’s kidnapping,” she whispered, irate, going nose-to-nose with him.
Such a perfect, cute little nose.
And that he was thinking about that and getting a hard-on while a confrontational woman was facing him off, he didn’t understand.
“Only if I get caught. And I don’t get caught.”
“Don’t even think about it. I will fight you every step of the way if you try to pull a stunt like that on me. If it seems like I’m not being cooperative now, you have no clue what you’ll have on your hands then.”
“An irrational female. The same as now,” he answered.
She sipped more Scotch, muttering something very unflattering.
“Give me a good reason why you can’t disappear. One that makes sense.”
The alcohol came to his rescue, because Elle dropped her gaze and fidgeted. “I failed my sister when our father and Jonah died. I ran and dumped everything onto her. The restaurant, my mother. Emma, Jonah’s girlfriend. All of it. I owe it to her to take care of everything now. She had a rough time with delivery and the baby is a handful. Even with James helping her twenty-four seven.”
Fuck. Guilt. Guilt was a powerful motivator. So was death, though.
He grabbed her chin and tipped her head up to meet his stare. “I can’t guarantee your safety out in the open, pet.”