Page 2 of Polestar (The Global Paranormal Security Agency #3)

TWO

A naliese lurched at the sensation of falling in darkness, then skipping over a series of speed bumps at racetrack speed.

Her heart hammered wildly, and her limbs flailed, slamming against too-close objects.

Chest heaving, her hands clutched the arms of her chair as soon as she found them, then she reached up and ripped the mask off her eyes to dispel the nightmare.

Plane. Charter. Giant pilot. Going to Iceland.

Had she slept the entire flight? She glanced at her watch, then pushed the window shade up.

Chaos filled the small window.

Rain poured down the glass. The plane swayed. The steel-tinted sky lit with a flash, followed by a deafening crash.

Ana slammed the window screen shut, then threw herself back against her seat, eyes closed as she prayed. Her fingers gripped the seat handles, feet securely against the plane floor.

Her gaze darted to the small door, blocking her view to the pilot. This particular plane had a thin wall dividing the cockpit from the rest of the cabin. Probably to stop passengers, like herself, from screaming at the pilot in terror.

A dull ‘pong’ drew her attention to the ceiling.

The pilot had illuminated the seatbelt sign.

No shit.

The plane lurched and continued to descend.

Breath stuttered through her chest. One of her nails cracked as her grip tightened on the seat.

She hated flying almost as much as she hated the cold.

“If I die… in a plane crash… in the North Atlantic… I’m going to friggin’ haunt you, Carson Perenga,” she spat through her clenched teeth.

She was almost sorry for all the complaining she’d done while at the mercy of Lirikai’s driving. Almost.

At least, in that case, she was already on the ground.

She waited for the ‘brace for impact’ message to come over the com. Instead, the plane leveled out and eased downward. She held her breath till the wheels touched the ground and they rolled to a stop. The seatbelt sign went dark, then the engine went silent.

Ana disengaged her nails from her seat and unbuckled her belt, still cursing Carson’s name.

The scowling giant pilot squeezed through the cockpit door. “Slight delay in plans. We’ll stop here to ride out the storm.”

“We’re not at our destination? Where are we?” Ana shoved the window blind back up again, now that it was safe to look outside. There was nothing but rain-lashed barren rockscape pockmarked with small bodies of water between a few stubborn trees.

We’re nowhere.

“Fogo Island.” His expression remained unchanged.

She wracked her geographical memory, trying to recall where Fogo was as she stared at the pilot.

“Newfoundland,” he provided, then turned toward the exterior door to release the steps. “We departed a little bit late, and the storm arrived a little bit early, so here we are.”

Ana recalled Carson’s warning on the phone ‘The pilot will wait, but don’t keep him waiting too long. He gets grumpy.’

She’d only been an hour late. It had taken her that long to find all her ‘winter’ gear and choose the right shoes for the office.

Carson had neglected to tell her if she needed field or boardroom wear for the duration of the case.

She had to be ready for anything. And she was currently dressed for the office.

Not a frigid rainstorm off the coast of apocalypse-scape.

“Where are we going?” She pulled the edges of her thin jacket close as a gust of wind wound through the cabin once the door was open.

“Out.” He descended the steps.

Ana found a large hand extended through the open door to help her down the steps.

The pilot’s bear-like grasp was warm as it engulfed her hand. She gasped. Her fingers felt as though she’d inserted them into a warm energy current. Images flashed through her mind’s eye, too rapid to grasp before she could throw her barriers up to block the transfer of energetic information.

She descended quickly, sliding past his trim torso to the tarmac, trying to shake the sudden onslaught of images and sensations.

Ana grit her teeth trying to control the influx of information.

I’m never going to get used to that.

He gestured toward a squat building, indicating she should enter. Trotting forward, she glanced back to see that he was securing the plane, impervious to the rain soaking his clothes.

The door was locked, so she waited under the narrow overhang, holding her jacket closed, shivering as rainwater dribbled down her bare legs to pool in the toes of her office pumps.

She’d expected to be chauffeured to an office like Maeda’s—or her own, for that matter.

Ah. Field work.

She sighed. She would soon find out if this was worse than Odson Blackridge’s mountain cabin. She prayed that this facility at least had running water and an indoor toilet. Cell service would be nice.

Though, as she peered through the driving rain and saw absolutely nothing, she had her doubts.

Finally, the pilot strode in her direction, unhurried by the downpour. She blinked at the alluring vision of the tall man, t-shirt plastered to a mountain range of muscle and valley. Withdrawing a key ring from his jeans pocket, he unlocked the door and gestured for her to precede him.

Shivering, she darted inside the black interior.

A few seconds later, lights flickered on. “No customs agent on duty?” she asked through chattering teeth.

“Private runway. They know our tags and leave us alone.” He strode across the open space of the small hangar toward an office door set in the wall between a work bench and a large tool chest. “I’ll radio in to let them know we’re grounded for the time being.”

Radio.

No cell service.

Damn.

Ana followed him through the door.

“Oh, thank God!” she blurted on seeing a bathroom door, and rushed toward it. After the stress of that unexpected landing and the icy rain, Ana had a sudden emergency of her own.

M agnus’ gaze trailed the pint-sized agent as she bee-lined for the lavatory and slammed the door shut.

He sighed and made his way toward the kitchenette to fill and set the kettle to boil before powering on the radio.

He contacted Joey Kane, his superior, confirming his position and status. They’d continue on as soon as the storm let up—with a change of destination.

Negotiations weren’t going as smoothly as Kane had hoped.

“Sorry to do this, Magnus. We need Agent Ortega’s skills on this, but until we resolve this disagreement, we need to delay revealing too much to our partners .”

“Understood. An extended journey it is, then.”

He switched off the radio and returned to the kitchen to pull mugs from the cupboard.

The agent approached, rubbing her hands together, shivering in her damp jacket.

Magnus poured water over the tea, handed her a mug, then went to fetch a space heater from the utility closet. “Sit over there.” He set the heater on the floor next to the chair and plugged it in.

She followed his instruction, grasping the mug with both hands. “How much further to Iceland from here?”

“We’re not going to Iceland. Ireland.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’re going to Iceland. I wouldn’t confuse ‘pack warm’ for frigid Iceland with Ireland. Ever.”

“Plan’s changed.”

“Since when? Why?” Agent Ortega jumped to her feet, still clutching her mug.

“Since the order came when I radioed in.”

“What’s going on?”

Magnus shrugged.

Agent Ortega scowled at him. “Listen, Mister—what’s your name?”

“Bjornson. Magnus Bjornson.”

“Of course it is. Look at you,” she muttered. “Mr. Bjornson. My orders were to meet my team in Iceland. I packed for Iceland. Two very large suitcases. For Iceland. Until I can confirm that my orders have changed. You will fly me to Iceland.”

He lifted a brow, looking down at the bossy woman shivering in front of him with a pink nose.

“Agent Bjornson,” he corrected, leaning over her.

“Your orders depend on mine. And I have just been told to fly you to Ireland. So unless you want to walk around this little island in the driving rain to find your own ride, you will accompany me to Ireland.”

She sniffed, bright spots appearing on her tanned cheeks. “And how much longer do I have to fly with you? If that’s what you call flying? What was that, anyway? I think I lost ten years of my life in that landing.”

Magnus stiffened. “That maneuvering saved your life. Had you arrived as expected , we’d have missed that storm and be nearly to Iceland by now. Then someone else could have flown you on to Ireland now that the plan has changed.”

When she opened her mouth to speak, she swayed on her feet. Magnus grasped her wrist to steady her.

She gasped and dropped her mug as her eyes rolled back.

The mug hit the concrete floor with a crash as Magnus jerked her forward toward himself to stop her from falling backward. “Agent Ortega?”

He caught her as she slumped against him. Her head lolled; eyes closed. While supporting her, he checked her vitals and eased her into the chair.

What’s wrong with her?

“Agent Ortega?” he said again, easing her back into the chair. “Ortega?” His hands swept her forehead and cheeks. Her skin was pale despite her pink tipped nose and rosy cheeks.

Magnus swept her slight form into his arms and carried her into the small bunk room, tucked away beyond the kitchenette.

Gently laying Agent Ortega on the cot, he pulled off her shoes.

Her bare feet and calves were wet and cold.

He eased her upright so he could remove the soaked jacket.

The thin silk blouse beneath clung to her damp skin, outlining the contours of her lacy bra.

“Shit.”

Easing her head back onto the small pillow, he went to fetch the space heater, to plug it in next to the cot. He cranked the knob, so that the filaments ticked as they grew to bright hot orange. It wasn’t heating the room fast enough.

“It’s not even winter. How can anyone catch a chill so damned fast?” he grumbled, rubbing her arms and legs to warm them up while the heater worked to bring the room temperature up.

The sensation of her silky skin beneath his palms didn’t go unnoticed, just ignored.

Trembles wracked her body.

Quickly, Magnus unbuttoned her blouse, peeling it from her skin to drape it over a couple of hooks screwed to the wall next to the door. Then he pulled his own t-shirt up over his head.

Dragging a chair from the office, he sat, then carefully pulled Ortega onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her lean form, ensuring her back was pressed to his chest. After a few moments, the trembling eased.

“Antony.” She sighed, easing her head back onto his shoulder.

As soon as he was sure the agent could maintain body heat on her own, Magnus slid her back onto the cot, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and torso, then moved to rub the warmth into her feet and ankles.

The electric heater continued to tick furiously, working hard to warm the concrete and steel room.

After about ten minutes, Magnus went back to the plane, bare chested, to fetch one of the agent’s suitcases. When he returned to the hangar, he left Ortega’s suitcase at the foot of the cot, grabbed his wet shirt, and draped it over the back of the chair, pulling it back into the office.

Retrieving his own mug of tea, he sat down, impervious to the cool air. As a polar bear shifter, the cold didn’t bother him.

He positioned his chair so that he could see Agent Ortega through the open door. She was a burrito on the thin cot. Her dark hair framed her small, round face, making her look younger than she probably was. And vulnerable, which she probably wasn’t.

The only sounds were the steady ticking of the heater over the howling wind driving the rain against the steel roof of the airstrip hangar.

In the morning, he’d refuel the plane and get his new colleague to Ireland.

It would have been easier putting her on a commercial flight, but Kane had insisted that Ortega arrive as soon as possible, hence the private charter.

Magnus rubbed a hand over his face. Whatever they needed her for, it was important. Given their verbal exchange before she passed out, the sooner he delivered her, the better for both of them.

He didn’t appreciate anyone slamming his flying skills, not even a feisty little agent from the Global Paranormal Security Agency.