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Me:Yeah, well, you said yes. Twice. I adore you for it. Safe flight, beautiful.
I back up as the jet’s engines fire to life and the roar becomes almost deafening. I shouldn’t be so close, and yet, I have no desire to be a single step further away.
But I glance down at my phone again and find the rock emoji. Tapping it a dozen times, I fill the screen and hit send as the plane taxis away and heads toward the runway. On that plane, in a seat nestled above the wings, my wife receives her gifts and hopefully, if the universe could be so kind, makes her smile.
Safe flight, Malenka. I’ll be here when you get back.
My phone buzzes again, this time with a call, but when I glance down,hopeful it could be her, my lips turn when I find Fletch’s name instead. Accepting and bringing it to my ear, I peer up again and study the ass-end of the plane. “Yeah? You good?”
“Still in the station. Delicious get away okay?”
“She’s rolling onto the runway now. Give me five more minutes, then I’ll be in the car and heading back your way.”
“No problem. You got the brain-space to talk this out for a minute? I have a theory about our perp, and I kinda need to bounce it your way until it’s straightened out in my mind.”
“What did you find?”
“Actually, it’s what Officer Clay found. That kid’s a fuckin’ genius.”
MINKA
Flying east means losing daylight hours. It means even if it’s still sunny in Copeland, New York City lights shine up from beneath the plane. The Rockefeller glistens and the Empire State Building stands proud. What were once the twin towers, is now something else. But the space glows, and taxi lights create a long, constant stream in every direction.
The pilot is skilled in their work. Smooth in their descent. So despite the smaller aircraft, apt to feel every bump and movement the skyline has to offer, this one brings us toward JFK without a single hitch that would, inevitably, make my stomach drop.
They have the wheels touching down with barely a bump, and soon after, the plane taxiing to whatever gate private planes use.
I took my rings—wedding and engagement—off the chain hung around my neck somewhere over Minnesota, so now they sit on my finger, providing me something to fidget with as the plane comes to a stop and the hostess paid to feed and water me unbuckles her seat belt and makes fast work of preparing the cabin for disembarking.
She grabs my bags and hands them off to the guard whose eyes, I’m certain, haven’t left me since we took off. His firm, square jaw is tight with purpose. His guns—I know he carries multiple—within easy reach, and yet, tucked away so I don’t have to see them.
He’s been tasked, whether by Felix, or possibly Archer, to be my securityfor this flight, and he’s a man who obviously takes his job extremely seriously.
A for effort.
“Doctor Mayet?” The hostess, blinding smile and perfect hair—a little like Fifi—comes to a stop beside my chair, carrying my briefcase in one hand. “You can disembark at your leisure.” She beams when the guard opens the plane’s door, as though his actions prove her point. “Mr. Malone has a car waiting for you outside. And Michaels,” she gestures to the watchful guard, “will ride with you the whole way. I sincerely hope your flight has been an enjoyable one.”
Flying is flying and planes in the air are far superior to planes smushed against the side of a mountain. So by those standards… “It was enjoyable. Thank you.” I release my seat belt and push up from the insanely comfortable chair, nothing like those on a commercial plane. No one’s elbows bumped mine. No one’s foot encroached on my personal space. Wondrously, no one smelled like onions, and though alcohol was offered and declined, the gesture was appreciated far more than the standard ‘peanuts or pretzels?’
Accepting my briefcase, I pull the long strap from its confines and drape the bag over my shoulder, freeing up my hands, then I step into the aisle—if an aisle is the correct word, when there aren’t rows and rows of seats to wander through—and make a beeline for my duffel. I reach out for it, intending to hang it from the crook of my arm, but of course, Michaels shakes his head and firms his grip on the straps.
“I can hold your briefcase too, Doctor Mayet.”
“I’ve got it.” I show him a small, comforting smile, then I gesture toward the front of the plane. “After you?”
“Of course.” He starts toward the door, not too fast, so he doesn’t leave me behind. But not so slow that I’m tempted to kick the back of his knee and rush him along. He’s the perfect escort, I suppose. Practiced and polite. Best of all, in the six hours we’ve spent together so far, it’s become apparent he has no desire for small talk.
My favorite kind of companion.
“I’m staying on Fifth Avenue,” I tell him, though no doubt, the man knows everything he needs to know. Archer would have ensured it. “Cato booked me and left a screenshot of the confirmation on my phone.”
“Yes, Doctor.” He stops at the top of the steps and offers a hand. It’s not a romantic gesture, and there are no hurt feelings when I wrap my palm around the railing instead. He offered. I declined. And still, the world goeson. “Mr. Malone sent over your itinerary. I’ll ride with you tomorrow to the courthouse, also. Mr. Malone’s orders.”
Narrowing my eyes, I glance out at the fleet of cars, a similar view to the one I had in Copeland, but swap day for night. Then I stare at the town car closest, its windows tinted black and the shadow of a driver in the front, awaiting my arrival. “Which Mr. Malone are you taking orders from, Michaels?” Slowly, I start down the steps, careful not to fall on my ass and create a tread-patterned bruise on the backs of my thighs. “Felix or Archer?”
He looks everywhere but at me. Scanning for danger? Or avoiding it? “Both, typically. Detective Malone advised me of your Fifth Avenue accommodations. Felix Malone assigned me as your detail for as long as you’re in the city.”
“I don’t require a detail.” I move off the last step and touch down onto the blacktop, finally, after a flight that felt entirely too fast, and yet, like time dripped through an hourglass to taunt me. “I don’t have a detail in Copeland. And I’m not, like…” I flick my hand toward the car. “In the same business as Felix. I don’t need security.”
