Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
My eyes burned with exhaustion and every bone in my body begged for sleep, but I continued to fight against it. These could be the final minutes of my life. I climbed out of the seat, forcing myself to get on with it. My gaze fell to the side compartment.
The metal latch popped open under my hurried hands, and I reached in, retrieving my logbook.
His voice was soft. “What are you doing?”
I stood, kicked the compartment closed, and thrust the small journal at him. “I’m old-school. I log every flight.” He peered down at the book, skeptical, until I added, “I made detailed notes.”
Understanding glanced through him. He took it quickly and tucked it in the back waistband of his pants, concealing the little journal beneath his shirt.
Footsteps pounded up the aisle. Gio was furious; at least, I assumed so. His high-pitched voice grated on my ears. I couldn’t see around the hulking American who had to bend his neck to the side so he could fit in the cockpit when standing.
But whatever Ethan was saying had a calming effect, and after a tense minute, he must have convinced Gio to do something other than kill me. The irritated Italian strode to the cabin door and began to unlatch it.
“Let’s go,” Ethan said. “Stay behind me.”
In case Gio wants to be unpredictable again, I thought warily.
As soon as Gio had the stairs deployed, I expected him to scurry down them, but instead he remained in the aisle, leering at me. His expression was sick, full of evil malice. I was hyperaware of every subtle move of his hands, waiting for him to go for his gun.
But he didn’t.
The door was open, and the cold, fresh air of freedom seeped in, beckoning.
He flung a set of keys at Ethan then turned his attention to his phone, waving for us to go out onto the runway.
It was sometime after five in the morning, and the horizon had begun to lighten with the impending sunrise, but the November air was chilly. There wasn’t anyone waiting for us at the base of the stairs, just as Gio had said. This way, Ethan could unload the bodies.
“Do I run?” I whispered when we were clear of the plane. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?
“No, we stay together.” His cold hand clasped my wrist, preventing me from going anywhere. “You’re going to help me load the bodies into the car.”
“What?” I gasped.
It was hard to keep up with his long strides as he moved toward a sleek sedan parked to the side of the hangar, practically dragging me along. How on earth was I going to do that? The headlights on the car flashed once when he unlocked it and pulled me to the passenger side, my feet clumsy with exhaustion and trepidation.
“How did you get him to stay on the plane?” I asked.
His only answer was to yank open the door and gesture for me to get in. I sat down and watched him dart around the front of the car before getting behind the wheel. He reached beneath the seat and pushed it back as far as it would go, but his knees were still buried in the dash.
“I told him to stay onboard,” he said finally, “so if anyone saw us, he could claim ignorance.”
It took all of thirty seconds for him to pull the car up to the rear of the plane, and my heart bottomed out. I only wanted to remember my friends alive, to not have this horrible final memory.
Ethan’s direct and cold attitude about this act should have bothered me, but I found it oddly distracting and clinical. Like a doctor hurrying efficiently through an unpleasant but necessary procedure.
“Try not to think about it,” he said on a low voice, hoisting Stuart’s body over his shoulder. The trunk of the car popped open when he pressed a button on the key fob.
He placed Stuart in the trunk, and transferred Renzo next. His slow, methodical movements showed he was trying to treat the dead with respect. He didn’t need my help until it was time to move Rory, who weighed considerably more than the other two.
“Can you open the back door?” he asked quietly.
I did. My stomach turned as I grabbed the copilot’s arms to help slide the body in so he was lying on the seat. Maybe feelings of horror would come soon, but I was numb right now.
“No,” he said when I tried to close the door.
His dark gaze made my breath catch. And when he pulled out a knife and took a step toward me, that made my heart stop.
I knew what was coming next.
17
ETHAN
I never had a hard time doing what needed to be done. I was well trained in recognizing the bigger picture, and it had gotten me through the worst of Croatia. But now, there was hesitation in my hands. Worry pooled in her eyes and echoed what I felt.