Page 17 of Lethal Illusion (Six Points Security #8)

Situated approximately twelve miles south of Asheville, North Carolina, Thundering Hills was a small private airport with a single paved runway suitable for light to medium-sized aircraft.

Though not a commercial hub, it offered basic amenities such as fuel, restrooms, and a terminal.

It served as a gateway to the Blue Ridge Mountains for private pilots, tourists, and businesspeople who wanted to avoid the congestion of a larger facility.

After a feather-soft landing, Sierra’s jet taxied to its designated spot near the terminal.

Once it came to a complete stop, a member of the flight crew unlocked and opened the cabin door.

A gust of cool mountain air greeted Navarre from his spot by the door, taking the edge off the queasiness he’d felt the entire flight.

After all these years, he still felt better jumping out of a plane than flying in one.

Last he checked, the high temperature was expected to reach the upper fifties, with the overnight low dropping close to freezing. Not bad, but chilly by Florida standards. And even though he’d worked in much colder climates, he was glad he’d brought his leather jacket.

He and Jackson descended the stairs and assessed the area for potential threats.

Generally speaking, private airports maintained stricter access controls than their commercial counterparts, while the limited passenger volume made them safer from a security standpoint.

There wasn’t a whole lot going on at the moment, just a tanker truck parked alongside a small plane to the right, a hose from the truck pumping fuel into the aircraft’s tanks.

To his left, about twenty or so feet away, were two black four-door Mercedes SUVs with dark-tinted windows.

The armored vehicles had been delivered by a specialty outfit based in Charlotte.

At first glance, they looked like regular SUVs, but each was equipped with a heavy-duty frame, armor plating, bulletproof glass, reinforced bumpers, and special tires that allowed you to keep driving in the event of a flat or puncture.

The added weight of the enhancements put a dent in the vehicle’s maneuverability and laid waste to any sense of fuel efficiency, but it was a small price to pay for the extra layers of protection.

A tall Hispanic man in a midnight-blue three-piece suit stood in front of one of the vehicles, his arms crossed over his chest. Late thirties, early forties at the most. Smooth shaven.

Curly dark hair, conservatively cropped.

His appearance—neck tattoo and all—matched the picture sent by the rental agency. So far, so good.

No photographers in sight, which was always a good thing.

Seeing no threats, Navarre gave the all clear signal for the rest of the group to exit the plane. Rosario came out first, with Sloane following close behind. Garrett brought up the rear.

At the base of the steps, Sloane zipped up her shiny pink jacket, for which he gave a silent thanks because the pushup bra under her tight-fitting blouse was wreaking havoc on his concentration.

“Are those our rides?” she asked him.

“You got it.”

They watched as Jackson approached the guy in the suit.

After a brief conversation, the guy handed over two sets of keys.

They shook hands, and as the guy headed for the terminal, Jackson used one of the keys to unlock and open the rear passenger side door to the vehicle closest to the jet.

He looked their way and gave a curt nod.

“Okay, we’re clear,” Navarre said. “Let’s go.”

She followed him to the SUV. Once she was inside, he closed the door with a soft thud and circled to the rear of the vehicle. Jackson tossed him a set of keys and then climbed into the other SUV with Rosario and Garrett.

Once the luggage was loaded into the vehicles, Navarre slid behind the wheel.

“Where’s Jackson going?” Sloane asked.

“He’ll be riding with Rosario and Garrett.” He sensed her incoming question and added, “According to Sierra’s staff, she prefers to ride with only her driver during this stretch of the trip.”

“Why?”

“How should I know? Rich people tend to have quirks.” He’d worked with a few wealthy clients who seemed fairly normal, but they were the exception to the rule.

Some of the quirks were weird yet benign, like the insurance executive who paid a chef to prepare gourmet meals for his pet alpaca.

Another guy, this one a Silicon Valley tech bro, would lose his shit if anyone outside of his immediate family made eye contact with him.

In order to communicate, regardless of importance, you had to stare at a spot over his shoulder or at the floor while you spoke.

He never asked why; that wasn’t part of his job description.

A turn of the key, and the SUV’s engine came to life.

Though Navarre had already committed the route to memory, he switched on the vehicle’s GPS and entered the address for Sierra’s estate, where Austin and his crew had already secured the property.

From their location, it was an hour’s drive away, which meant they’d reach their destination well before sundown.

As he fastened his seat belt, his gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, and there it was again, that warm, fuzzy feeling that spread through his chest whenever he caught sight of Sloane.

Only this time she didn’t look like Sloane.

She was staring out at the tarmac, watching a small prop plane as it taxied toward the runway.

With all the makeup, she looked nearly identical to Sierra.

Except for the eyes. Without the sunglasses, there was no way to disguise the sharp intelligence that made her unique.

As if sensing his stare, she turned her head and met his gaze in the mirror. “What?”

“Nothing. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

With Jackson and the rest of the crew a few car lengths behind in the second SUV, Navarre followed the signs to the airport exit and hooked a left onto the two-lane road.

Traffic was light—no surprise there. It was mid-afternoon in the middle of nowhere.

The town a mile or so outside the airport wasn’t even big enough to support a Walmart.

And traffic would only get lighter as they moved farther away from humanity.

Two vehicles, a silver sedan and a black SUV, followed at what would have been a discreet distance in the city.

Out here, with few other vehicles on the road, they were impossible to miss.

In all likelihood, they were paparazzi, hoping to snap candid pictures of Sierra that they could sell to the tabloids.

He’d spotted them shortly after leaving the airport.

How they got their itinerary, he had no idea, but it didn’t come as a surprise.

The lengths some of these jackals were willing to go for a juicy piece of gossip could put the CIA to shame. He wasn’t thrilled with their pursuit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. It was a public road; they weren’t breaking any laws. They had as much right to be here as anyone.

He reached for his two-way radio and held it close to his mouth. “We got company.”

It didn’t take long for Rosario to respond. “Copy that. We’re keeping an eye on them.”

Sloane straightened in her seat. “Is there a problem?”

“No. We picked up a tail, but they’re keeping a respectful distance.” There was no point in worrying her over what appeared to be a nuisance. This kind of thing happened frequently with celebrities. He would have been more surprised if nobody had been waiting for them outside the airport.

“What if they stop being respectful?”

“Then we’ll deal with them accordingly.” Direct confrontation was a last resort, especially in a civilian environment, but sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. Still, they were required to operate within the legal limits regarding the use of force.

For a second or two, Sloane looked as though she might ask what that entailed, but then she must have thought better of it, because she took her phone from her ridiculously small purse and swiped at the screen.

To be fair, it wasn’t her purse; it was given to her by Sierra’s people.

The purse she usually carried was almost as big as the rucksack he’d tossed in the back seat.

She angled the screen toward the passenger window and snapped a picture of the passing scenery.

He should probably tell her not to take pictures.

It wasn’t something that Sierra would do.

But the SUV’s windows were tinted dark. Nobody should be able to make out what she was doing.

Even if they could, they were driving on a two-lane road.

It wasn’t like anybody could pull alongside to see what she was up to.

Besides, he didn’t blame her for wanting to take pictures.

It was beautiful out here. It wasn’t flat like most of Florida, with sweeping views of the mountain ranges and their mist-covered peaks.

As they ascended, rolling meadows and open vistas gave way to dense forests of oak, hickory, and pine.

The road meandered through the hills, twisting and turning, inviting drivers to slow down and take in the breathtaking scenery.

“Have you ever been here before?” she asked once she finished taking pictures.

He checked the rearview mirror to confirm the two vehicles were still shadowing their movements but presented no immediate threat. “Here in particular or the area in general?”

“Let’s start with here and branch out.”

He shot her a glance. “This is my first time in the western part of the state, but I’ve been to North Carolina a number of times while I served in the Army. The base is a few hours east of here.”

Sloane shifted in her seat. “What did you do on base?”