Assassin Territory [Assassins Book 1] (2 page)

Vacating their vehicle, Christy slung her duffel bag to her shoulder. The sky was blue, though a few clouds dotted the horizon; there was a crisp bite to the air. They approached their pilot, Howard, a small, eccentric, charming man in his early sixties. His plane was smallish though roomier inside. He loved to fly and called himself the limo of the airways, wanting to poke holes in the sky. Christy thought he liked the company while flying, this way he could kill two birds with one stone. Howard came forth and extended his hand to Sam.

“Good trip?” Howard inquired.

“You bet,” Sam responded, and with his normal boisterousness shook the man’s hand.

“How about you, little lady? I see no dashing bear made off with you,” Howard said.

Strands of fine hair blew into Christy’s eyes and she lifted a slender hand to brush her locks aside. The pilot was assessing her with a small smile; his look was appreciative, not predatory, and she wasn’t offended. She was only about five foot two. Maybe one hundred and five pounds fully clothed and soaking wet. She had thin sunset hair but lots of it which hung past her shoulders. She was often told her dark brown eyes complimented her lighter hair. Christy was used to a man’s open stare, it happened often enough, and had learned to differentiate long ago between lewd and admiring. Lewd she ignored, admiring she thought to be delightfully sweet.

“I’ve got a slight change in flight plans; you know, a last minute thing. I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable, but it’s only a two-hour flight,” Howard mentioned as they walked toward his plane.

“Oh, and what’s that?” Sam questioned as they boarded.

Christy stopped dead in her tracks. On board was a police officer. Dressed in plain rumpled clothes, unshaven, his expression somewhat haggard, she could tell he was a cop, as his handgun was in plain sight, strapped to his large chest under his opened jacket. It wasn’t the weapon giving his occupation away. It was the dangerous, dark-haired, dark-eyed, powerful, angry-looking man in handcuffs beside him. A man whose gaze bore into Christy’s, keeping her more captive than he was.

“Ma’am.” With a tip of his head the officer respectfully acknowledged her.

Christy felt herself impaled by the dark-haired man’s intense stare. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The only thing working was the pounding of her heart in her ears. Four men in a plane with her. It was too confining.

I can’t, I can’t.

“Come on Christy, everything will be fine,” Sam said, his tone coaxing.

Sam took Christy’s arm and propelled her to the two back seats. She didn’t think she’d make it. Her hand touched the officer’s large shoulder and she drew back, feeling her skin sizzle. Christy collapsed into her seat, her throat constricting.

Breathe, breathe.

Sam buckled them both in. Christy had never mentioned Chad and the horrible abuse she suffered to anyone. Sam couldn’t know the terror she battled. If she tried to run from the plane, he would never bring her back next year. Christy made a point of looking out the window, at the floor, into her sweat-dampened hands. She knew the dark-haired man’s gaze was following her every move, burning her image behind his cold, calculating eyes.

“Sam?” Christy finally mumbled, her gaze fleeing to his. She hated the fear of being trapped. There was nowhere to hide. The small, fine hairs on the back of her neck rose to stand tall with her apprehension. She would have liked nothing more than to crawl under her seat.

“It’s all right, ma’am,” the officer was quick to say. “You’re in no danger.”

The pilot gave a meaningful scowl at the officer. “Mr. Morrison is a regular and extremely well-paying customer and a good friend. If he even so much as mentions he doesn’t want your prisoner in the same plane as himself or young colleague, you’ll have to be get out.”

“So, it’s your call, Sam,” Howard said. “But the next plane out won’t be for at least three days and I’m told a storm is brewing, so it could be longer before I can make my way back. You know the conditions of the cabin here. Outdated enough to be considered spooky.”

“Sir, you have my word that neither you nor the young lady is in any danger. It’s imperative I get my prisoner to our destination. I can’t afford a delay,” the officer said.

Christy could detect the slightest hint of urgency in the man’s tone, he seemed agitated. His jaw clenched and unclenched. She felt goose bumps rise on her skin. She wondered what this prisoner could have done that the officer was in such a hurry to get him detained. From the looks of the powerfully built dark-haired man and his unnerving glance, she was certain she didn’t want to know. A cold feeling of foreboding ran icy fingers up her spine. She again resisted the urge to run from the plane.

“Just keep his eyes front,” Sam grumbled with obvious annoyance.

The officer gave a quick jab to his prisoner. “Cool it, Lando.”

After offering Christy a smug, lascivious smile that made her cringe with apprehension, the dark-haired man turned with exaggerated slowness to face front, then settled back.

“All right, everyone, seatbelts on and sit back. Remember to keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” Howard offered, though no one smiled at his lame attempt at a joke. “Whew, tough crowd.” He shook his head.

Christy closed her eyes and gripped Sam’s arm. She hated takeoffs and landings. They seemed worse in smaller planes, though she knew Howard was a competent pilot. On their trip out he had been witty and kind. Their flight had been uneventful, if mildly turbulent.

The engine revved and Christy felt the tingle on her ass through the seat. The somewhat uneven, grassy airstrip jolted them as the plane gained momentum; the numerous coniferous trees at the sidelines whisked by. With Howard’s practiced ease they were soon airborne. Christy gave a soft sigh once the aircraft evened out. When she opened her eyes the man—Lando, the officer had called him—was again staring at her. His dark eyes were the most intense she ever encountered. She noticed Sam’s dark glare as he locked his own angry gaze on the man, once again trying to divert his attention from Christy.

“I said,
cool it,
” the officer snapped at his prisoner, and again gave him a good jab.

Lando offered him a contemptuous look. “What the hell are they gonna do, open the door and ask me to leave?”

“I got two parachutes,” Howard said with a wide grin.

Christy watched as Lando narrowed his unnerving eyes, assessing the pilot. She could see his grudging respect for the scrappy little man. It was apparent Howard wouldn’t take any of the man’s nonsense. The feeling was a comfort. She could see Lando’s annoyance as he settled back, and she gave a sigh of relief when he closed his eyes, apparently deciding to drop the issue.

* * * *

Christy woke with her head on Sam’s shoulder. She sensed she hadn’t been asleep very long. After Lando decided to leave her alone, she’d thought her situation through. Sam would never hurt her; he wouldn’t allow anyone else to hurt her. There wasn’t a single time in her life a police officer hurt her, and Howard was a sweet man. With Lando settled she relaxed, then gave in to her well-deserved weariness. Now fully awake, she yawned, and then realized she felt a bit of discomfort.

It had been a busy and exciting week. Neither she nor Sam really had time to stop for a decent meal and her tummy growled, embarrassingly loud. She looked up as Lando shifted in his seat to once again gaze at her. Christy felt the blush creep over her throat and face. Lando lifted an amused eye, determining where the sound originated from, and once more faced front.

“Hungry?” Sam asked.

“Starving,” she replied, her head nodding in enthusiastic confirmation. Sam laughed and she could just see his thoughts.
Now who was being melodramatic?

“Once we get to the airport, I know of a little restaurant where we can go. It’s like a bed and breakfast. Mrs. Jones makes the best spaghetti and meatballs you’ve ever tasted. She bakes her own garlic bread from scratch and heaps on gooey, melted mozzarella. That, coupled with her fine handpicked wines made from her vineyard. She grinds the fresh Parmesan onto your food right at the table, and her handmade Caesar salad has garlic-roasted, home-baked croutons, with warm, crisp-cooked, thick slices of maple bacon that just melt in your…”

“
Sam,
” Christy whined. “You’re not helping.” She was mortified when her tummy once again rumbled out a loud, angry protest.

Sam chuckled and offered a soft apology. “I’ll feed you when we land,” he modified.

“Thanks,” Christy mumbled.

“Sounds good though,” Christy heard Lando mutter.

“Yeah,” the officer wistfully concurred. “Sorry, Lando, you and I have a date with a vending machine,” he said, abrupt, then added grouchily, “I’ll be happy to deliver you to the proper authorities. I want to go home to my beautiful fiancée, whom I haven’t seen in well over a month.”

“I should charge you with cruel and unusual punishment,” Lando commented, with obvious annoyance. Christy could see his deep scowl of distaste as the men continued to bicker.

“Although the vending machine will be a relief from soggy wieners, rock hard beans and burnt macaroni. Christ, does your fiancée realize what a horrible cook you are?”

“Just be grateful you’re still alive,” the officer replied, his lips settled into a fine, grim line.

Lando snorted at him and scoffed, “If my people found us, we both know who’d stand a better chance of survival.” The officer colored brightly.

“So just what is it you did, son?” Howard asked.

Christy had been wondering the same thing; their conversation was intriguing. Though the officer was fairly young, it was apparent he’d been chosen to stay with the prisoner because his own large stature almost matched the size of his charge. Even with Lando wearing handcuffs, she could sense he was dangerous as he flexed and un-flexed massive muscles. The only possible reason Howard would have agreed to take them on must be because he didn’t like the idea of leaving the young officer stranded at the secluded airstrip. It was just a small cabin, almost no amenities and an outhouse, with a somewhat bumpy field to take off on.

Sam had mentioned this time of year the weather was unpredictable, volatile at times. She doubted Howard would want to chance flying back for them. From what Christy knew of Howard, as much as he liked to fly he prided himself with safety first.

“I’m a hit man for the Mafia,” Lando replied, deadpan. He said this while his gaze locked on Christy.

“Enough,” the officer bellowed.

Christy felt the blood drain from her face. It was all too apparent the fearsome man wasn’t joking. Her eyes widened fearfully on the two men, who appeared on the verge of a verbal battle once more.

“You jab at me again, you little prick, and I’ll send you out the window without a parachute,” Lando warned. The officer scowled darkly at him and Christy was amazed; it looked as though the officer stilled his hands from fear. Christy shuddered at the realization. What kind of brutality was this man capable of to frighten such a large, armed police officer?

“Harmless, eh?” Howard commented casually to the officer. Christy was impressed as the small man, having witnessed the same scene, still remained undaunted.

“We’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” the officer said. His gaze was drawn to his watch.

“Not soon enough for me,” Christy muttered. She clamped her lips shut as Lando once again leveled an intense stare in her direction. Christy could feel the sensation of the hair on the back of her neck rising. The plane seemed to become more confined. She resisted the urge to bury her face in Sam’s chest.

Instead, she lifted her chin and leveled a hard glare at the large arrogant man, hoping to stare him down.

Lando narrowed his eyes, accepting the challenge, with obvious amusement. His almost black eyes bore into Christy’s until she was sorry for eliciting the confrontation. Lando’s gaze intensified until Christy’s defiant stare contorted with fearful concern. She hazarded a glance at the window, noting with trepidation she could fit through it a great deal easier than the officer.

She lowered her gaze in defeat, sensing Lando’s satisfaction at her fear and his victory. She doubted she would make another comment like the last, if she ever spoke again throughout the rest of the flight. Christy was out of her league. This man looked brutal, and she was no match for him.

Christy jumped as Sam reached over to take her hand. She almost snatched her hand away at the sudden contact; she then blushed with deep embarrassment at having her fear found out. It was apparent Sam had witnessed their battle of wills. She knew he admired her spirit, but she also sensed he guessed who would prove to be victorious. They were only half an hour into their flight. Christy couldn’t help but feel a sense of panic. She felt a deep certainty this would be the longest hour and a half of her life.

“Why don’t you try going back to sleep?” Sam suggested in a gentle tone.

Like that would ever happen.

She would likely wake screaming in terror. She could never fall asleep this close to a confessed killer. She would rather be closer to the Kodiak. No, she decided, the very last thing she needed was a nap.

* * * *

Not much time passed before Christy noted the dark clouds creeping in on them from over the horizon, billowing and ominous. She could hear a distinct rumbling over the roar of the engine. It didn’t help that Howard kept fiddling with his push talk button on the left hand yoke.

“Blasted piece of junk,” he finally muttered.

“What’s wrong?” the officer inquired.

“Mountains interfering with my reception. Happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about, it’ll come back, it gets a bit cranky.”

“He’s right, Christy. I’ve flown this route enough to know it’s happened before; everything will be fine,” Sam said offering a soothing touch to her arm.

Christy felt her face pale as the flight progressed. Her fear had been increasing as the wind seemed to pick up and the small plane rocked and dipped at the turbulence. Her hand clutched at the touch Sam offered.