Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4) (6 page)

“A bit?” Her nails were digging into the leather and she looked fucking tense.

“Okay. A lot. I’m scared shitless about flying. Most people who work in an airport are. Scared, I mean. We see too much.”

Damn reassuring.

On the plus side, she was talking to him again after his stunt. On second thought, scratch that; it wasn’t a plus, it was a minus.

The fasten seat belt sign hadn’t gone off yet when one of the flight attendants brought Elle a double Scotch. “Paul sends his regards. He asked me to keep you stocked.”

Elle took the glass and emptied it. “Thanks. Tell him I’ll try to behave.”

As the flight attendant walked away, Elle turned to Jack. “Paul is the pilot. Old friend.”

“Why would he want to keep you drunk? What did you do to him?” He could think of a number of possibilities and none of them were good.

Her eyes fired up. “I didn’t do anything. I got a bit nervous once. He knows flying rattles me.”

“Don’t worry,” the older lady sitting behind them said, leaning forward and patting Elle’s shoulder. “We won’t crash. I have it on good faith that we will be hijacked.”

Elle stiffened.

For the love of God. “Lady…” Jack grumbled.

But she ignored the acrimony in his tone and continued, “My grandson told me flying is the safest way to travel, and that more planes are hijacked than crash. Then again, forty-five percent of the hijacked planes end up crashing too.”

“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.”

“I’m not in danger. Not yet anyway. I might not be asked to testify. They’ll get the plane, link it to Aalto, and the feds can make those bodyguards sing, right?” His expression probably wasn’t that reassuring, for she added, faltering, “What do you think my odds are?”

“If they crack the case without you, great. If not, not so good, I’m afraid.” Testifying would mean having to look over her shoulder forever. Maldonado was that dangerous and bloodthirsty. Jail wouldn’t stop him. And standing up to him would mean witness protection. Jack kept that to himself. She hadn’t realized it by herself, and he wasn’t too keen on upsetting her more than necessary.

“No good deed goes unpunished, right?” She smiled sadly.

He didn’t answer. Her good deed had been fucking illegal, but yeah, he could understand the sentiment.

“You didn’t tell me what you were doing at the police station,” Elle said after a long pause.

“No, I didn’t.”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “And you won’t.”

No, he wouldn’t.

At that moment, the crazy lady, Eve, came back from the bathroom.

“Dear, could I change seats with you?” she asked the woman sitting beside Jack. “I have some things to discuss with this gentleman.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Damn, damn, damn.

“There are two suspicious men in row thirty-two,” Eve said to him. “I think we should—”

The flight attendant approaching, a third Scotch in her hand, interrupted her. “Here you go.”

“No,” he said, before Elle could grab the glass or even say anything. “She’s had enough.”

“I could use a little sip,” Eve chimed in, holding out her hand.

In any other circumstances, he would have kept his mouth shut and let the chips fall where they may, but he found himself saying, “I don’t think the Scotch would go with the blue pill.”

Eve waved him off. “It’s just an itty bitty pill. How bad can that be?”

Famous last words. Especially when the person taking the itty bitty blue pill was already paranoid enough.

The flight attendant handed her the drink and then turned to him. “Can I get anything for you, sir?”

He shook his head. “Not thirsty.”

“Something to snack on?”

He shook his head again. “Not hungry.”

“Be sure to let me know if you need anything at all,” she replied with a smile, then left.

Elle jabbed him with her elbow. “Dummy, she wasn’t talking about drinks or food. She was checking you out, and what she was offering was herself.”

“She’s right,” Eve mumbled after downing her Scotch. “Even I noticed it and I’m a bit…absent.”

Absent. Sure.

“Not my type,” he replied curtly, hoping the conversation would end there.

Fat chance.

Elle turned her inquisitive eyes toward him. “What’s your type? And what’s not to like about her? She’s a gorgeous blonde, much like the one you brought to James’s wedding. Smaller rack but stunning nevertheless.”

“That blonde from James’s wedding was a babysitting job I got stuck with. Pretty much like now,” he growled.

She let out a giggle. “Boy you’re rude. Good I’m a bit buzzed or I would be frigging offended. Now answer, what’s your type? You said that you wanted to get married. A guy as task-orientated as you must already have a list of attributes your future bride requires.”

It looked like this crowd was not going to let it go, so he opted for the shorter way to end this conversation. “I want a traditional wife, whose priority would be our children and me. I want a homemaker, not a career type.” Or anything closely resembling the irresponsible, party-crazy woman he’d had at home while growing up. He wanted his kids to have a mother greeting them with a smile and a plate of cookies when they came home from school. A present, involved mom.

“You mean one of those women who bake their own bread and sew their own underwear?”

“I don’t care about the underwear but, yeah, I’d like my wife baking our own bread. Growing our own produce. I’m an old-fashioned guy.”

Elle looked at Eve and both burst into laughter. “You should ask Violet if any of her friends are available at the Eternal Sun. If that fails, you can always try Amish communities.”

Ha-ha.

The flight was three hours, but it felt like thirty.

He recalled his eleven-month stint in Afghanistan more fondly. And that had gone faster.

When they started descending, they hit a pocket of air, and the whole plane rattled and jumped.

The captain’s voice came over the speaker, announcing turbulence due to strong winds.

Great. Bumpy landing on top of everything else.

“Shit,” Elle mumbled as the plane trembled. All the relaxation and chatter were gone. She was tense, clawing the armrests again.

“They’ve taken the plane,” Eve whispered almost in tears. “The captain is just trying to keep us calm.”

“I neutralized them,” Jack muttered against his better judgment.

“What?”

“When I went to the bathroom. I neutralized the hijackers,” he lied shamelessly. “I have them tied down and gagged at the end of the cabin. Nothing to worry about.”

He caught Elle’s smile, and for some reason he felt ten feet tall. And that her smile mattered to him one way or the other pissed him off to no end.

Eve sighed. “I guess that means that my grandson’s system was wrong and we’re just crashing.”

Yep. No good deed went unpunished.

The flight attendants were hurrying around, picking up the drinks that the passengers were holding in their hands. Well, the glasses, because the liquid had already gone flying all over. One cart got loose and went careening down the aisle, scaring the living shit out of everyone.

With the landing maneuvers and the opening flaps, the sounds grew exponentially louder while the plane bounced up and down and swung sideways.

Elle was frozen in place.

Jack grabbed her hand and shrugged at the question in her gaze. “Look at it this way. If we crash, by holding on to me you ensure you drag me down with you.”

“Fair enough,” she said with a wavering smile.

The turbulence became worse and everything started shaking, so Elle clutched his hand. Hard. Man, for such a tiny woman, she was strong.

Then Eve latched on to his free hand. She was terrified so he tried to smile reassuringly. He was so out of practice comforting people that it probably came out as a grotesque grimace, but she didn’t seem to mind because she didn’t release him.

“I…I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.

Getting better and better. Jack looked up.

Jesus fucking Christ. Let the plane crash and put him out of his misery.

* * * *

While driving to Elle’s place, Jack heard his cell ringing. He threw a glance at it. James. Since turning the device on after landing, he’d done nothing but get calls from him, and some colorful messages too.

“Yo,” he said, answering.

“Finally. You already in Boston?” James asked.

“Yeah, we landed a while ago.”

And thank God for that. He’d been in controlled airplane crashes. He’d parachuted from shitty planes with even shittier parachutes into enemy territory. Crawled miles with a broken leg. He’d repeat any of those experiences—heck, all of them together, in a blink of an eye—if that meant deleting the one he’d had today.

“The grandmas from the Eternal Sun called, saying that some Terminator-looking guy had come to pick Elle up and was escorting her back to Boston. I figured it was you. What gives?” James asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nothing.”

James didn’t believe him. Not even for a second. Jack knew him well enough to read his friend’s silence.

“Elle with you?” James asked.

“I left her at her house to rest a bit. Now I’m going to her.” He’d had to pick up some of his stuff and Elle had told him she needed to sleep. She’d been running on fumes, so he’d driven her home and ordered her to wait for him and open to no one.

She hadn’t seemed to be too happy about it, but she’d saluted him mockingly and hadn’t challenged him.

James’s tone was concerned. “How much trouble is she in?”

“She saw something she shouldn’t have seen while doing some dumb shit she shouldn’t have been doing. Nothing you should worry about. I’m on it.” James wanted answers, but Jack couldn’t give them to him. The Bowens would freak out, get in Elle’s face, and try forcing her into hiding…which was actually what Jack thought she should do, but she’d trusted him. He knew how important it was for her to stay and do right by her sister and the restaurant, and for some unfathomable reason, he wanted to give that to her.