Chapter Five
Maggie was having a nightmare. Yes. That had to be it. Her teeth were falling out and she’d just remembered a class she hadn’t
been to all semester and, oh yeah, she was locked inside a metal tube that would soon be hurtling over open water...
With Ethan. Freaking. Wyatt.
She was going to wake up, though. It was going to be okay. This wasn’t actually—
“Hi there.”
At first glance, Maggie had thought the jet seemed huge, but it suddenly felt small. Very small. Entirely too small! Because
Ethan Freaking Wyatt was stepping out of the (presumably even smaller!) lavatory and... Had his shoulders always been that
wide? And had he always been that tall? He started forward, squeezing down the entirely too small aisle of that entirely too small airplane, and, really, did no one care about carbon emissions? Aeronautic safety? Maggie’s sanity? There was simply no way
this teeny tiny plane was large enough for Maggie. And her luggage. And Ethan Wyatt’s shoulders. And arms. And ego.
“Crime-fighting cat got your tongue?” Ethan flashed a mischievous grin that he’d probably been giving his whole hot guy life.
It was no doubt heavily insured. He could probably use it as collateral for a loan.
It was almost worth being stuck in this terrible dream to watch the smirk slide slowly off his chiseled face. He was looking
at her curiously, like maybe he’d never met anyone who was immune to his particular brand of charisma. Like he didn’t know
whether that should make him respect her more or resent her less. But more than anything, he seemed confused.
“Well, Marcie, my dear, we seem to be going on this little adventure together.” When he reached for the safety rail that ran
along the ceiling of the jet his shirt rode up and— Was that an ab? Yes, there were definitely abs under there—the kind that you can see . And presumably touch . But Maggie wasn’t thinking about touching. Nope. Not even a little bit.
“Why are you here?” Was she shouting? It was hard to tell over the pounding of her blood and that persistent ringing in her
ears.
But Ethan merely raised an eyebrow like isn’t it obvious? “Mysterious invitation from a mysterious benefactor to... well... mystery writers?”
And then Maggie didn’t speak: she laughed. The quick kind. The loud kind. The guffaw kind. “ I write mysteries. You write...” She stopped herself, but Ethan simply raised an eyebrow in a way that looked like a question
but felt like a dare. “You know what you write.”
“Oh, no. I think I want you to tell me.” There was a smile in his voice, like this was fun and not a nightmare come to life.
“What kind of books do I write?”
“You’re a leather jacket guy.” He was currently the Leather Jacket Guy, but Maggie didn’t say so. “You write leather jacket books.”
He gave her a look like I know I’m going to regret asking this but... “What, exactly, is a leather jacket book?”
As if he didn’t know. “They are books with car chases and gunfights and back covers that are nothing but giant author photos
of dudes who are always— always —wearing a leather jacket.”
“I see. So you know everything there is to know about me, then.” His tone was a mixture of wry amusement and intimidating calm. “So what about you?”
“What about me?” Maggie’s voice was suddenly a half octave higher than it should be.
“What do I need to know about you?” He adjusted his grip on the railing, shirt riding up and abs peeking out again, and Maggie
totally forgot the question. “You know... Hi, Ethan.” His voice went slightly higher too. “I’m Mar—”
“Maggie,” she cut in before he could get it wrong.
“—ga-ret,” he changed on the fly. “I’m a Sagittarius—”
“Capricorn.”
“Virgo rising.”
“I have no idea what that means.” Maggie looked around the cabin. She really needed to pick a seat. Put her things away. Die.
“I like long walks on the beach, warm chocolate chip cookies, and finding fun ways to kill a man with a knitting needle.”
Oh. That was too much and, suddenly, Maggie couldn’t stop herself. She whirled on him. “Really? A knitting needle?”
“Yeah.” He actually looked surprised. “What’s wrong with—”
“If you can’t figure out how to kill a man with a knitting needle, you’re in the wrong business.”
“But I—”
“There are actual weapons that are less inherently dangerous than knitting needles.”
“What I meant was—”
“Nobody ever died because they tripped and fell on a nunchaku.”
Had he moved closer to her or had she moved closer to him? Maggie wasn’t sure. She just knew that his smirk was slightly crooked
and a strand of light brown hair that had probably been blond when he was a baby had curled over his forehead as he stood
there, looming over her, and for a moment Maggie wondered if the jet was already moving. She felt a little unsteady on her
feet.
I’m not surprised he left her.
It was like they were already in the air, like the cabin had lost pressure. It was getting hard to breathe when a young man
in a smart navy suit appeared at her elbow saying, “Ms. Chase? Mr. Wyatt? My name is Peter and I’ll be taking care of you.
If you’d like to take your seats, we’ll be taking off soon. There’s a storm in the forecast, and we’d like to land before
it hits.”
Oh. Right. Because they were on an airplane. Together. And they were going on this bizarre trip. Together.
“This yours?” Ethan reached for the tote at her feet. Her laptop was in there. And her favorite notebook. And her backup notebook.
And her other backup notebook. But he lifted the heavy bag with one finger, sliding it into a tall cabinet as his shirt rode up. Again.
This time she saw two abs because he couldn’t keep from showing off.
But she didn’t say a word as she settled into a plush leather chair and fastened her seat belt. It was okay. He’d probably
go to the back of the plane and they wouldn’t even have to talk until—
Zzzzzzzzzp.
She turned to see him in the chair across the aisle, pressing a button and adjusting the seat. The slide of leather on leather
made a humming sound that filled the cabin as he went lower.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzp. And lower.
“Look, I think we need to get something”— zzzzzzzzzzp ; his seat started back up again—“straight. You and I have, for whatever reason, been chosen for this... this...”
“Mission?” he offered up.
“No.”
“Endeavor?” Zzzzzzp. He was heading back down.
“No.”
“Quest? Ooh! Can we call it a quest?” Zzzzzzzzzp.
“No!” Zzzzzzzzp. “We have been invited on this trip, and I think we need to—” Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzp. He was fully horizontal and the plane was starting to move. “Will you stop that?” The zzzzzp ing stopped, then started again as the seat reversed, rising slowly to the upright position as the plane began to pick up
speed. “As I was saying, we have both been invited on this—”
“I still think we should go with quest .” He nodded decisively.
“And I think we should—if possible—put aside our issues with each other—”
“What issues?” His voice sounded different this time.
“—and try to just... get along.” Maggie ground out the words as the plane roared down the runway. For a split second, she
felt almost weightless as they started to rise.
“What issues—”
“Call a truce,” she went on. “A détente.”
“A what?” Now he sounded upset.
“It means a cease-fire—”
“I know what détente means. What I don’t know is why you and I need one.”
He couldn’t be serious? Of course not. Ethan was never serious.
Deborah had asked her once why she hated him so much, and the answer had been easy: Ethan Wyatt wasn’t a person—he was a persona . A social media feed brought to life. A human sound bite comprised of charming quips and clever banter, carefully constructed
to make people fall in love before they got bored enough to swipe.
He was pretend. An illusion. A lie. Maggie had known him for five years, and they’d never had a single conversation. Not one.
Not until...
A memory landed, unbidden, in Maggie’s mind and she rushed to shake it off, while, across the aisle, Ethan blinked.
“I’m a little confused, Marcie, my dear—”
“Maggie,” she forced out.
“Why are you acting like we’re enemies?”
“Why are you acting like we’re friends?”
“What...”
“Either we’re”—Maggie made a gesture—“finger-gun buddies—”
“I don’t think that’s a real thing.”
“—or we’re not. But please don’t try to gaslight me into thinking we’re friends when you don’t even know my name.”
“Marcie...”
“ My name is Maggie. ” She died a little when her voice cracked. “It has always been Maggie, and if you can’t remember that, just don’t call me
anything at all. Please.”
For a moment, all he did was stare. And blink. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Are you serious?”
“Of course, I’m serious! Just like I was serious at the American Library Association when I told you I didn’t want your sticker.”
“How was I supposed to know that adhesive allergies are a real thing?”
“And I was serious at the Edgars when I told you—”
“Hey! The fire marshal said that could have happened to anyone.”
“And at ThrillerCon? What about what happened at ThrillerCon?”
“One: I think shorter hair looks great on you. And two—”
“I can never go back to Houston!”
He had the nerve to roll his eyes. “Of course you can go to Houston. Murder by the Book would have you. Do you want me to
call Johnnie? I can call Johnnie.”
She couldn’t even look at him. “And Tucson...”
The plane leveled off and the cabin lights went dim and Maggie wished she could pull the words back.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about Tucson.” His voice was soft and low, and the bad part was that he wasn’t lying,
wasn’t teasing. The worst part was that it was true.
“Just... please. I’m asking for a few days of peace, and then you can go back to mocking me and I can keep on avoiding
you and we can both live the rest of our lives, blissfully having no respect for each other. Do you think you can do that?”
The cabin that had seemed so lush a few minutes before was suddenly like a spaceship—foreign and cold. Lights the color of
amber were shining through the darkness, directing them to the emergency exits, but Maggie knew better. There was no way out
but through.
“Can we do that? Please?” Maggie thought she might break under the weight of all that silence, but Ethan wasn’t speechless.
If anything, he looked like a man who had so many things to say he couldn’t possibly pick just one.
Then he shook his head and settled on “Yeah. Truce. Whatever you want.”
Maggie turned and watched the lights of the city fading behind them, the dark waves of the Atlantic stretching out ahead.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that the man beside her was like that water, sweeping and powerful and beloved. But Maggie
had spent the last year feeling like an open wound. She was an open wound and he was full of salt.
“I really do like your hair.”
Colin hadn’t. I didn’t marry some short-haired girl , he had muttered when he saw it, not quite loud enough to prove she’d actually heard what Maggie knew she’d heard. It was
one of his greatest skills, like poking a stick through the bars of a tiger’s cage—irritating, taunting—and always protected
from the consequences of his own actions.
But Maggie had kept it shorter anyway. A few inches above her shoulders but long enough to pull back because, the truth was,
she liked it too.
Ethan went back to poking at buttons and opening compartments while the lights of the city were swallowed by the sea.
“Do you know where we’re going?” she had to ask.
“Nope.”
“Are you...” Maggie looked down at her hands. They were chapped and raw but not quite bleeding. They looked like how the
rest of her felt. But for the first time in a long time, there was another heartbeat in the darkness. She was scared but not
alone. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious?”
She could barely make out his face in the shadows. He should have been less powerful with his million-dollar looks off the
table, but it wasn’t Ethan’s face that made him. It was his presence. And, if anything, it was heightened in the dark. She
could hear him breathe. She could see him shift. She could feel him—thirty inches and a million miles away.
“Whatever happens, I’m with you. Whatever comes, I’m in.”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzp. The chair slowly descended until it lay fully flat and he turned on his side.
“Hey, wanna make out?” he asked. She glared. And then Ethan chuckled and closed his eyes. And slept.