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“Fionnella—”
“Piece of advice, Lucky. Don’t sweat the small stuff or the things that are out of your control. You chose to do this. Your reasons are your own, of course, but if the end game is important to you, learn to surrender to the journey. It’s the only way you’ll come out the other side intact. Have a safe trip. And try the grilled shrimp when you board the plane. They’re to die for.”
She hangs up, leaving me with even more questions than I started the conversation with. I don’t have time to dwell for long. The limo slowly weaves through an area peppered with private planes and pulls into a brightly lit hangar. It stops a dozen feet from a white and gold G650.
My jaw is too paralyzed to drop, and I stare at the aircraft as another boatload of WTF-are-you-doing punches me in the face.
“Miss? We’re here.”
I manage a nod, force my feet to move and step out. I look at the driver. His face is politely neutral and I know I won’t get any answers from him. Nor from the attendant and pilot waiting at the foot of the airplane steps.
I clutch my backpack and put one foot in front of the other.
“Welcome aboard, Miss.” The pilot doffs his cap.
“Thanks.”
“If it’s all right with you, we’ll be taking off in the next fifteen minutes.”
I swallow a snort. We’re taking off whether I freak out or not. We all know this. But it’s cute how they make me feel as if it’s up to me.
Silently, I climb up the steps and arrive in a different world. The Midtown apartment, the Hell’s Kitchen loft, the makeover have all been indicators that Q is extremely wealthy. But the undeniable luxury of the private jet finally drives home to me the potential scale of what I’m dealing with.
If a man like Q has the power to buy me without once meeting me in person, he has the power to do other things. Like make me disappear.
And really, aren’t those who fall through the cracks, or make an attempt to hide, easy prey to a ruthless predator?
My senses clang and I turn around. Before I can make a dash for the door, the steps lift and slide home, sealing me in the world’s most expensive tube.
Panic cloys through me.
“Wait!”
The pilot bolts the door and turns. “I’m sorry, Miss, but we have to take off now or we’ll miss our slot.”
I eye the shut door. “Open the door. Please, I have to get off.”
His eyes remain steady on mine. “I’m sorry. It’s too late.”
Although I hear the whine of an engine powering up, courtesy of the co-pilot, I know the pilot isn’t just talking about the door. My thudding heart echoes the message in his gaze.
Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve crossed an invisible line into the point of no return. Q may have chosen me a week ago, but everything that has followed has been a further test.
A test that I’ve passed, if the sudden ramp-up of activity is any indication. And now he’s decided, there’s no going back.
“Take a seat, Miss. The attendant will be along shortly with your pre-flight drink.”
He heads off to the cockpit, and I hear the definitive click of the door.
I turn around. The attendant is pouring a glass of champagne, but I sense her attention on me. I have no doubt if I attempt anything foolish, like opening the door to the airplane, she’ll be on me in a second. I can probably take her, but then what would that mean for me?
At least one thing is certain. If I don’t make it out of whatever this fucked up situation is that I’ve got myself into, Clayton won’t get his hands on the secret. My fingers tighten around the handle of my backpack.
As I release the lock on my legs and head for the cream leather sofa in the middle of the plane, I let my fingers drift over the secret compartment I sewed into the bottom of the backpack. Perhaps it’s foolish to carry the letter and document Ma gave to me. But it’s only one half of the puzzle. I memorized the other half before I burnt it in the hope that it’d buy me further time should Clayton catch up with me.
Thinking about him weirdly settles my panic. The fire I jumped into after escaping him hasn’t consumed me yet. So while I still have breath, I still have hope.
…surrender to the journey.