Chapter Three
Turbulence
Rachel Williams
The moment we step onto the plane, the air between us tightens. Not because of the cramped aisle or the recycled oxygen, it’s because of him.
Bishop moves ahead of me, stiff-shouldered, jaw locked, like he’s marching into a war zone instead of row 14.
Im using all my collective willpower to keep my eyes off of his ass.
He’s furious I’m here and I’m furious because he didn’t want me here. And underneath all of it, Im hurt.
And just like that I’m a small child who was never chosen.
A version of me who begged to be seen. Who left a small town and swore she would never go back. Who always needed to prove her worth. Who lost everything once upon a time because of the choices I made.
But I am not her anymore. And he doesn’t get to unilaterally lay down the law like I don’t have a say in my own choices.
He takes the window seat. Of course he does. He is just a bunch of control issues wrapped in a suit. Even without the suit.
I mean, he normally filled it out nicely, but still.
I slide into the aisle seat beside him, our arms brushing for half a second. It’s nothing. It’s accidental. It shouldn’t matter.
It absolutely does not electrify me.
Yeah keep lying to yourself.
He goes rigid, like the contact burned him. I pretend not to notice, even though my pulse jumps.
We sit in silence as the plane fills. His thigh is inches from mine. His arm rests close enough that if I shifted even slightly, we’d touch again. I keep my hands folded tightly in my lap, like I’m afraid of myself.
Maybe I am.
This proximity is new. We normally do not interact this closely. Its making it harder to keep my wandering thoughts in line.
He finally speaks, voice low. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Not this again. We just settled this. I stare straight ahead. “You shouldn’t be going alone.”
“That’s not the point,” He says impatiently.
“It’s exactly the point,” I snap.
He exhales sharply, like I’m exhausting him.
Good. He exhausts me too.
About time he got a dose of his own medicine.
The plane takes off, engines roaring, cabin rattling. He grips the armrest, not in fear, but in tension. I know what he’s thinking. He’s spiraling. He’s blaming himself for Rourke.
I know him well enough to see it.
But all I can see is his grip on the cheap worn plastic and think how badly it was wrapped around my neck. Squeezing, his rough voice low and commanding. Uncomfortable with the direction my thoughts are taking, I jump onto the first thought I have.
“You’re not responsible for what happened,” I say quietly.
His jaw flexes. “I sent him alone.”
“You sent him on a standard recon,” I contradict him.
“In those mountains.” He sounds disgusted with himself. “He wasn’t prepared. It’s on me.”
“In my mountains,” I correct. “Which is why I’m here.”
I spent what felt like a lifetime trapped there in a small community before being shunned.
He turns his head, eyes locking onto mine. There’s something in them; frustration, and something else that makes my stomach flip. God I hope he doesn’t ask.
“You’re not expendable,” he says.
The words hit harder than they should. I hate it when he reads me. I remove any expression I might be wearing and lock it down. That is not a road I am going down with Bishop. This is why he and I going together is feeling more and more like a mistake.
He sees way too much, and I have a lot of things I would like to keep to myself. Things better left in the past.
“I’m not expendable,” I agree easily. “I’m capable.”
Deflection for the win! What now asshole?
He looks away, but not before I catch the flicker of something I can’t identify.
We fall back into awkward and loaded silence. Just him and me with nowhere to go for hours. No way this ends badly.
I possibly should have thought this through better.
At least put us in different seats when I booked them.
Or different planes.
Halfway through the flight and Im ready to start screaming, and of course that when the turbulence hits.
The plane jolts, jarring me out of my vivid daydream of all the ways I could shut him up. Preferably with his clothes off. Tied up. Driving him wild with-
Then it jolts again, dropping a few inches and the sensation of coming up out of my seat has my stomach unsure it wants to stay seated. My breath catches, and a gasp escapes before I remember I am supposed to be proving how strong and capable I am.
His hand shoots out instinctively, gripping my forearm, steadying me.
It’s just a reflex. It absolutely shouldn’t make me tingly everywhere. There is absolutely no cause whatsoever for my nipples to harden and my core to clench. But I can’t help my reaction. Breathlessly I look up at him.
But it would be fucking nice if he couldn’t read it on my face.
Trying to clear any emotion from my expression is all well and good. I can’t hide my body’s reaction.
All I can focus on are his fingers touching my skin. He realizes what he’s doing and lets go immediately, turning back to the window like he can pretend it didn’t happen.
I stare at the seat in front of me, trying to ignore the ghost of his touch.
Work. Trip. Agent. Missing. Focus. Jesus he touched my arm; he didn’t offer oral sex. Like calm the fuck down.
But the cabin feels too small. He feels too close.
And my mind is running wild with the way he held me. Wishing that, under different circumstances, he would want me that way.
But that’s a pathetic girls wish.
And I am not that little girl any more.
I push the thoughts away and stare straight ahead, going over what I know of the case from briefly reading the case notes.
Sixteen confirmed missing over the last year. Once every thirty or so days, which is why it was flagged as a possible source of investigation. The timing is too convenient. People do go missing all the time, they get lost, and there is dangerous wildlife people do not have enough respect for.
But it reads too much like a pattern for it to be coincidental.
There are no leads in the case, and it seems like a jurisdictional nightmare from my perspective. Which may be why the cases weren’t linked. No cooperation among the locals.
When we land, he’s out of his seat before the seatbelt sign even dings.
I wasn’t planning on biting him or anything. But I can work that into a conversation to prove a point.
Im feeling antagonistic. Biting feels like a safer response than what I really want to say to him.
I dutifully follow him through the tiny airport, both of us pretending we’re not avoiding eye contact.
I ignore the pulse of desire that is still simmering and the reasons behind it.
Outside, the mountains rise in the distance, dark green, jagged, ancient. The lush forest lighting up with the sunrise.
My home. My childhood. My nightmares. They look exactly the same as when I left. The thought is depressing.
So much for ‘over my dead body would I ever come back.’
Waiting outside is a mountain of a man, leaning against a government truck. Tall, broad-shouldered, and absurdly handsome. He spots us and waves.
“Agent Bishop?” he calls.
Bishop steps forward, shaking his hand.
“Ranger David Handlin.” His rugged smile is warm, and he seems relieved to see us.
David’s honey brown eyes slide to me. “Bishop said he was bringing a specialist. You must be?” I can see his interest as he subtly checks me out.
I shoot Bishop a look.
He didn’t say he was bringing me. He said he was bringing someone. Someone he didn’t want to be me.
“Rachel Williams,” I say, shaking David’s hand. “I grew up around here.”
David smiles warmly. “Then you’ll be a hell of a lot more useful than he will.”
Bishop stiffens beside me.
Interesting. Mr. ‘I don’t feel anything at all has a reaction.’
I bite back a grin. “That’s what I told him.”
David laughs. Bishop does not.
I notice his discomfort and avoid looking directly at him.
Im picking my battles. I consider the situation.
Maybe fewer battles. I’ll put some back. I have too many.
Following the ranger toward the truck, Bishop walks a little too close behind me. Not touching, but near enough that I feel the heat of him at my back.
He’s irritated. I’m irritated. And the tension between us is a living thing. But I’ll be damned if I show it. Ive had years of suppressing my thoughts from his notice.
David opens the passenger door for me. “You ride up front. Bishop can take the back.”
Bishop bristles. “I can sit up front.”
David shrugs. “She knows the area. She gets shotgun.”
I climb in, trying not to enjoy Bishop’s scowl as he circles to the back seat.
Im not going to be the bigger person. I’m the shortest one here and Im leaning into it, he can fuck himself.
Guiding the truck out onto the state highway, he fills us in on the details and I watch out the windows. The mountains loom ahead, dark, and endless.
We’re going into them together. To find a missing agent. And whatever’s waiting out there…