Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Sixty-Two

Juniper

R eality hit.

I saw the plane. I knew where this was going the second he’d opened the giant door. I wasn’t that far gone.

But I was.

Because until this very second, staring up into a private plane in a secluded, hidden hangar, with no one around except a Navy SEAL turned some sort of security guy that had his prints wiped from places he’d been, none of this had seemed real.

Maybe it was delayed shock.

Maybe it was exhaustion, dehydration, or lack of food and caffeine.

Maybe it was the six-foot-four beast of a man who stole my breath, but I didn’t actually think about the fact that today, right now, would be the moment I got on an airplane for the very first time. And not just any plane, but a private one with a man who carried a gun.

My brain scrambled. “You first.” If I ran, would he chase me? I looked over my shoulder at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

So many. “How did you really find me?” Because I’d been careful. I had to be.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

Dropping his hands, he stepped back. Then his jaw ticked. “I traded a favor.”

Oh God. The second he said it, I not only knew I was in deep trouble, but I knew it was a bad favor.

I turned to face him. “From who?” My only saving grace was that the one person who wanted to find me—if he had found me—wouldn’t leave me alive long enough for a SEAL to track me down, no matter what the favor was.

“Don’t know. Doing prechecks.”

Before my shock wore off enough to ask any more questions, he was circling the plane and inspecting it.

I stood there.

And tried to think.

Who would know where I was? Who would want to trade that information to a former SEAL? What favor had he given them? How had he found someone who knew where I was in the first place, and why would he even have to ask if he worked for a security company that had teams that wiped his prints? I watched TV. I read books. I knew the implication of that kind of secrecy. AES, whoever they were, should have all sorts of ways to track people down.

But he’d traded a favor .

To find me.

None of it made sense.

Stepping in front of me, he checked something on the wing, then tipped his chin toward the open door and steps. “Let’s go.”

“I think I’m safer here.” On the ground.

“For how long?”

“What?” Two words from his phone conversation in Del Cielo’s came flooding back. Target secure .

“You still think this morning was random?”

Oh God. I tried to swallow, then I looked at the plane in desperation. “I’ve never been on an airplane, and I’m not getting on one now.” You still think this morning was random? Wasn’t it? If I’d been found, I’d be dead. I was sure of it… but I hadn’t had time to die. A Navy SEAL had tackled me.

Oh God .

For two seconds, the very same SEAL who’d saved me stared down at me with his impenetrable expression that never changed, but I could still feel the irritation coming off him in waves.

Then he pivoted, climbed the two steps to get on the plane, and ducked in half before disappearing inside.

A dozen frantic heartbeats later, the propellors started spinning as a deafening racket picked up and bounced off the metal walls.

I jumped back. “Oh my God. Oh my God .” Was he going to just leave me here? By myself? With no car keys and no idea how to even find my car? And with random drive-by shooters that may not be random? Panicked, I slapped the side of the plane. “HEY.”

He reappeared, but he didn’t even look at me.

He reached to pull up the steps and close the door.

“Oh my God, STOP!”

He looked down at me with his cold, penetrating stare.

I threw my arms up. “Fine, okay?” I yelled over the noise of the engines. “You win! I’ll get on your plane and risk my life and let you kidnap me, but I’m warning you, when we’re miles in the sky and I freak out and hurl all over you, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!”

He dropped the stairs and held out his hand.

I stupidly took it.

He pulled me inside, then shut the door and turned toward the cockpit. “Barf bags are behind each seat.”

Already to the front of the plane, he was getting behind the throttle, or steering wheel or whatever the hell it was called. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“Wherever you want.” He strapped himself in with a harness-type seat belt.

I started to hyperventilate. “Where are we going?” I may not make it.

“Like I said, my place.” He flipped an obscene number of switches.

“Where is that?” How was I angry at him, turned on by him, and losing my shit all at once?

“You’ll know when we get there.” His huge hands did a billion more things in rapid succession.

“Are you a pilot? Whose plane is this? Do you even know how to fly this thing?”

He didn’t answer.

My heart felt like it was going to stop, and I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m panicking.”

He looked over his shoulder and met my gaze. Then he issued me a command. “Come here, woman.”

I dropped my bag and rushed him like my life depended on it.

He grasped my upper arm and started giving dominant orders like only he could do. “Watch the controls. Step around the seat. Sit. Lean back.” He strapped me in like he’d done to himself. “Headset to your right. Don’t speak if I’m talking to air traffic control. Swallow when we take off to equalize your ear pressure.”

He waited while I put on the headphone thingies.

Then his voice came in surround sound and filled every crack in my soul.

“Yes to pilot. Yes to knowing how to fly. Not a thing. Cessna Conquest II. I’d never unnecessarily risk your life. Cabin’s pressurized. You’re not going to hurl when we reach altitude.”

I stared at him. Then my own voice, sounding small and frightened, came through the headphones. “You scare me.”

“I know.” He turned toward the controls.