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Stephen leaned forward. “What’s the play?”
“How did you get in?” I asked the question even as my eyes started to close. A groggy delirium seemed to leach away the strength from my limbs. I hoped he was right—if he was wrong and they poisoned me, then I was too relaxed to care. The thought of being too relaxed to become anxious actually caused the reverse effect, and a bubble of anxiety managed to burst through my euphoric slide into oblivion. It made me snicker—as per usual, the things designed to relieve most people’s anxiety often triggered the opposite effect for me.
I closed my eyes.
* * *
Shaking wokeme from my stupor, but it wasn’t exactly shaking. It took me more than a few seconds of blurry vision to realize Michael’s arms held me firm against his hard, lean body. We jostled in motion, and then I realized we were running. I lifted my head, but his hand tucked it back close to his chest. “Not now, beautiful. Really not a good time.”
I tried to wrap my bleary mind around things, and it felt like I needed to catch up. How was he carrying me? He’d just been shot, hadn’t he? How much time passed? Still, it had to hurt…?
I tried to move again, but he tucked me close, explaining. “We’re being chased. Running for the plane. Just hold on. Okay? We’re almost there.”
He wasn’t lying, since in two bounds, he had us inside a plane. Stephen and an unknown person—the driver?—followed behind us, thudding onto the aircraft. They shut the doors behind them with a definitive slam of metal.
“Strap in,” Stephen advised as he patted me on the head. “We can’t have you banged up. He’ll never forgive himself.”
Michael scowled at him as he headed to the front of the plane. “Stop it.” He slumped into what I considered the copilot seat and pointed with a single thumb. “And fly the fucking plane.”
“Absolutely.” Stephen took the captain’s chair before tossing a wry yet unrepentant smile toward Michael. “I do love these little jaunts overseas with you.”
The unknown man grinned at me then offered his hand. “I’m Roy. Been traveling with these two for years.”
“Traveling.” Stephen laughed, turning on the engines. “That’s a good way to put it. Sure, we justtraveltogether. Running from gangsters and getting shot. Rescuing kids. Climbing mountains in the middle of the night. It’s a great amount of vacation travel.”
Roy sat back, shrugging a single shoulder dismissively. “Call it what you will. Regardless, we’ve all been wanting to meet you for a long time. We met Hope, or at least Stephen and I did. But Bridget eluded us. Only the best and the brightest get to follow you around, and you’re never supposed to see us.”
Michael whirled around in his chair. “You probably both think you’re being so funny right now. You’re not. Do you need something, Bridget?”
I was a little thirsty, not that it mattered in the moment. My head was clearing up nicely, at least. “Are we being chased? Is that what you said?”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “But Stephen is going to fly us away from here.”
Roy sighed. “If only the bad guys didn’t have planes, too.”
Michael didn’t respond, which made me wonder if he considered the possibility. Would they chase us? I leaned forward, reaching toward him. “Listen, I need to be caught up. I know I was drugged, which is…somehownotsurprising, considering everything else. But things have taken a turn, and am I correct in assuming I’ve escaped my wedding?”
“Your would-be suitor and his father killed a very powerful man. Now, they don’t want people to know they did it, but you two saw them.” Stephen flew the plane easily while explaining the situation, as if the task of flipping so many switches and balancing the wings required no thought.
My ears popped, so I stretched my jaw to ease the pressure. Hope and Layla hated flying, Layla more than Hope. It never bothered me, not ever. Things on the ground always seemed more concerning to me.
Michael would never allow someone to fly if they weren’t competent.
Still, I didn’t know anyone who liked turbulence, and our ascension bounced pretty badly. I leaned back. “So my kidnapping has now landed us in more trouble?”
“The kind of trouble we’ll sort out in Germany.” Michael opened his eyes and reached into his coat pocket, but pain creased his strong features. “Call or text your sisters. They’re ready to come find you in Russia, so it would help a great deal if I wasn’t taking frantic calls from them, not to mention all the demanding texts from their husbands.”
His cell phone dinged, and I looked down on it—thirty-two new messages flashed across the screen. How many of them were from my family? I only intended to send out a text, and I knew that was why he’d passed me the phone, but the messages drew my attention.
One of them was from Hope.I know that you love her. I know that you’ll get her back.
I stared at the words from my sister. How did she know he loved me?Didhe love me? He told me he had feelings for me once. I didn’t reciprocate—or at least I hadn’t told him I did. Butloveme?
Did he talk about me with Hope?
I forced myself to focus on more important matters. There were lots of other messages, after all. Yes, mostly from my sisters and their husbands but also from three other women.
One who just had a first name.
