Hold on Tight (23 page)

But he was getting ahead of himself … there were still more steps. More ways to make sure Jamie panicked until his entire plan was in place.

Yes, patience was a virtue. It was at the top of his list.

It was time to explain.

“I want to tell you about me—about what happened to me when I was younger.” She allowed herself to snuggle against him, that small luxury enough to find her rubbing her feet together. A sign that she was content. Short-lived, as always, but still something to be grateful for, that she hadn’t lost the ability completely.

Saint didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a long lazy drag on the cigarette he’d lit after they’d made love for the third time, and blew fat smoke rings that rose slowly toward the ceiling.

She didn’t wait for him to respond before she continued. The only other people she’d told the story to were the men from GOST. They’d each shared their stories with one another, one lonely, bourbon-filled night in Africa.

But telling Saint—that was breaching her personal comfort level. It was putting him in unnecessary danger … but it was the only way she could possibly explain to him why it would never, ever work for her to stay in one place for very long.

She realized that by telling him, she was doing exactly what she’d been so angry at her sister for doing when Jamie let Chris in. But this—it couldn’t be helped.

“My mom was a DA in New York. There was a huge case—Russian Mafia—and she refused to back down, even when the threats started coming in. The man on trial was named Borya Frolov. A high-ranking member of the Russian crime syndicate. He worked out of Brighton Beach in Brooklyn. And my mom, this was her biggest case. Jamie and my dad and me, we went into a safe house for protection before the case was even done,” she told him. “Once my mom won, it was supposed to be different—we’d been told it would be over. But it wasn’t; it was worse. My mom joined us and the marshals hid us. Official witness protection. And we were all right for a while—for two years. As soon as Borya was convicted, his son, Alek, made no secret of the fact that he was out for revenge. He was in his early twenties at the time, and with the power of the syndicate behind him, the marshals weren’t comfortable with anything less than new identities for all of us.”

“You don’t have to do this. Not now … not ever.”

“Don’t you want to know why I’m so screwed up?”

“I want what you can give me—nothing more, nothing less,” he said, and those words gave her what she needed to continue.

And so she told him about Alek finding them, about her mom’s breach of security, how Alek tracked them down through her mom’s best friend—about that awful night when she’d found Alek standing over her parents. When she closed her eyes, she could see it all so clearly—Jamie coming down the stairs to see her … could remember guiding an eight-year-old Jamie to the closet in her room and telling her to stay there until the police came.

She remembered shutting the closet door on her sister’s scared face and knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

“They caught him—I called in time for them to pick him up two neighborhoods down, hiding in someone’s car.”

She’d realized Saint had locked his legs around her own as if to protect her. It made her feel better, not weak, as she would’ve imagined it would.

“So I saw it—I saw him and I picked him out of a lineup. And I was going to have to testify in closed court. And he would be there, and I would have to tell the jury what I saw, in front of him.”

His eyes shone and there was a fierce kindness to his words. “Jesus, PJ, you were just a kid—a baby, really.”

“I was fourteen,” she said, as if that made all the difference.

“Even then, you were so fucking brave. I can picture you.”

She’d seen several photographs of herself from that day—but what stood out in her mind the most was a sketch from the courthouse artist. It had been done in color, had captured her dark hair and sad eyes and the yellow dress she’d worn. A happy color. “I was wearing a stupid dress—it was scratchy and I hated it.”

Her hair had been in a ponytail and the marshal who was escorting her held her hand much too tightly. Everything about the courthouse that day had been too much—too loud, too bright. The smells of coffee and body odor had nearly overpowered her. She hadn’t been able to eat that morning and by the time she’d gotten to the courthouse, she’d already been sick to her stomach.

“Then the marshal who was with me got a call. And I knew something was wrong, because he got me out of there quickly.” They’d gone out the back door, into a waiting van, where she’d huddled in the backseat and wondered if she’d done something wrong. “No one told me anything until we got to the safe house. And then they finally admitted that Alek, the man who killed my parents, had escaped from police custody before I had a chance to testify.” She paused. “The death threats to me and Jamie started a few days later.”

“Son of a bitch.” His words were tight as a fist.

“The protection loosened somewhat once we were of age, we could choose what we wanted to do. We kept ourselves under the umbrella of witness protection, kept our new identities and checked in regularly with Kevin. Jamie went to traditional college. I joined the Air Force when I was eighteen. I would’ve stayed in forever if I could’ve. But after the accident, when they wouldn’t clear me to fly again for the military … it felt like I was choking. Then the CIA had offered me a job, since they needed pilots with my kind of combat training, and it seemed perfect.”

“And then GOST.”

“And then GOST.”

“Do you think … with everything coming out about what happened in Africa, you’re more at risk?”

She shook her head. “Our names—our real names—were never circulated. My identity’s still safe. And I’m back in the marshal’s database, as is Jamie, even though we’re technically not in hiding. We can take care of ourselves now. And Kevin still watches over things for us as well. They’ve never been able to catch Alek. I’m still the only thing standing between him and jail.”

“The murders were nearly twenty years ago—would you still recognize him?”

“He’s disfigured. Unless he’s received a miracle, I’d know him anywhere.” The monster who haunted her dreams, who followed her no matter what continent, what safe house … what deep sleep. “If I’d only done something then—well, things would be so different.”

“Like what? What could you have done?”

“I knew where my parents kept their guns. I knew how to use one—I’d watched the marshals show my father, I went with him to the shooting range. I could’ve done it, but I froze.”

“You were fourteen fucking years old. You’ve got to let go of the guilt.”

She stared at him coolly. “You first.”

She’d taken the cigarette from Saint’s hand, treated herself to a long tug that rushed through her system, made her feel heady. Warm.

Saint stubbed out the cigarette after taking it back from her. “Pity party stops tomorrow. For both of us.”

“You know what I want to do?”

“What?”

“I want to go flying. First thing in the morning. Okay?”

“Do I get to be your co-pilot?”

She smiled into the dark. “Yes, I guess you do.”

“Then we’ll go flying.”

“There are a lot of agents on this,” Kevin had told her. “Jamie will be okay.”

Saint had offered to change his plans so she could go see for herself that Jamie was indeed safe, but she’d refused that. He’d gone to meet his mom—reluctantly, after PJ swore to him she’d be fine. They’d agreed to meet at the plane later that day; she’d planned on looking at cars to buy, but ended up renting one instead—easier, faster, and that would give her some time alone on the plane before Saint got there. She didn’t want to have a panic attack right in front of him.

She also had time to do some shopping for Jamie, a chore she never paid much mind to for herself.

But she was pretty certain Jamie wouldn’t be out buying herself clothing to wear for a little while now. Not with her being threatened, and her house exploding.

She’d picked simple things: jeans and shirts, and the basic bras and underwear. A light sweater. A couple of pairs of shoes and a pair of running sneakers.

With that accomplished, it was time to do some more proving to herself.

She wove the car around the small metal birds until she got to Mark’s … hers. Her heart beat a little faster—it felt almost illegal being here, like she shouldn’t be allowing herself to even think about doing this, taking the plane up.

She got out of the car slowly, walked to the plane and used the key to unlock the door.

Stepping inside was like going home. In the Air Force, she’d always liked piloting the smaller jets—felt somehow protected, even though there wasn’t much more between her and the sky than thin sheets of highly constructed steel.

According to the written report the maintenance crew had left inside, the plane was well-maintained.

“She’s all ready to go,” the man named Jason had told her at the gate. “Just let us know your flight plan and when you want to take off.”

Just getting inside the plane will be a major step
, she wanted to tell him, but instead, she’d said thanks and went on her way.

Now she got into the main pilot’s seat. Hands on the controls, she felt the familiar thrill inside her belly. She slid her fingers over them, lightly tapping each one as she went through a simulated pre-flight checklist in her head, mouthing each direction softly.

And then she sat back and stared out into the bright sunlight through the front window.

She owned this plane outright. No strings attached. She could fly anywhere she liked, could open her own business.

She could do anything she wanted, which was nothing more than to remain here. There was no reason to leave for longer than a short flight.

Danger always happens around you
, the little voice in her head insisted.
One of these days, your luck will run out
.

But not today.

There was a knock on the passenger’s-side door and before she could say anything, Saint was inside the plane with her, as promised. He looked slightly distracted and he didn’t say anything once he sat down in the co-pilot’s seat.

“Tough lunch?” she asked after a few minutes.

He shrugged, stared out the window. “She wants me to quit. That’s the only reason she stopped in Virginia at all. I knew I shouldn’t have told her about Mark. But he’d come home with me for holidays when we were around.”

“I’ve been thinking about how many chances we’re given—how I’ve probably had way more than my share, and why that is,” she said, and he turned to look at her.

“Have you come up with any answers?”

“Not a single one.” She paused. “People around me die. I live through unimaginable things that other people can’t … or don’t.”

“Which is why you took jobs that don’t let you stay near Jamie for long periods of time.”

“Yes. I wanted her to be safe. In my world, safe and happy are mutually exclusive.”

“Mine too. But I’d much rather be happy. Because who the hell is ever really safe?”

She stared down at her hands, so capable when she was piloting, so helpless when it came to things like love and affection. But when she looked up, Saint’s gaze told her differently. “I could love you, Saint. I know I could really love you.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand tightly in response, and yes, he could love her too. “So, are we going to sit around all afternoon or are we going to fly?”

She nodded. With her hand on the controls, she hoped her luck would hold out just a little while longer.

“Let’s stay in the air for a nice long time. I’ll take over if you have any problems,” he told her.

She looked at him as she turned the key, and the plane rumbled to life. “I’m not going to have any problems. Why don’t you just sit back and take a nap?”

He laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Best offer I’ve had all day. But trust me, Patricia Jane, when you’re around, the last thing I want to do is sleep.”

She grinned as she let the plane roll toward the runway.