Dearly Departed

Chapter 1

1

CATHERINE

I should have known from the second the pilot stepped out of the cockpit with an evil-villain smirk on his face that something had gone terribly wrong, but you know me—Catherine Chambers née Bettencourt, professional optimist and holder-out of hope until well past its expiration date.

Reality began to sink in when the pilot said I came to say congratulations on your marriage and let out a genuine evil-villain laugh, but it’s not until he finishes with now sit down, Mr. Chambers. I’ll get you and your new bride to where you need to go in the most sinister tone I’ve heard out of anyone’s mouth since my father died that I know:

We’re screwed.

The bloodless, stricken expression on my husband’s face is just the cherry on top.

Jacob had not looked happy to see me on the plane. He’d gone too pale for his sandy hair, absolutely stunned , then heartbroken. And, of course, I was ridiculous and naive and in love with him, so I thought he felt bad because he’d forgotten to bring me on the surprise honeymoon.

Only he didn’t take my hands in his and say kitten, I’m so glad you’re here.

He said what are you doing here?

Even then, I was willing to chalk it up to post-wedding fatigue, but that doesn’t make sense. Jacob Chambers is so good at being the charming life of the party that New York society celebrated when he came back last year.

They celebrated by gossiping and, in my mother’s case, by trying to rope him into an engagement with me like we’re in a Jane Austen novel. My mother’s initial plan failed, but when I needed an escape from my father’s house, Jacob and I used my mother’s machinations to our advantage, and one thing led to another—a real-enough engagement led to a real-enough temporary life together led to a very real wedding, complete with marriage license and our signatures on paper—and now Jacob is my husband.

But.

But!

Before we’d even had a chance to discuss the secret honeymoon, he’d leapt out of the seat beside me and rushed up toward the cockpit to tell the pilot to turn the plane around.

I’m beginning to suspect this wasn’t meant to be a surprise honeymoon after all.

Jacob stares at the pilot. He must be a real pilot, since he got the plane into the air in what felt like a normal fashion, but he’s very clearly not just a pilot. He’s evil, and Jacob watches him like the man is an apex predator who will kill us if we don’t have eyes on him at all times.

The pilot smirks back. He’s proud of himself. Whatever he’s planned to do when he takes us where we need to go, it’s probably not deliver us safely to Jacob’s planned destination.

My heart, which had been beating at a slightly faster rhythm in my excitement over surprising Jacob, feels like a clenching fist between my ribs. I keep wanting to believe that this man—this pilot—is only playing a prank, but playing pranks isn’t a thing pilots on private jets do. It’s not a thing Jacob would have paid him to do. There is no reason for the pilot to be looking at Jacob like his next murder victim unless he actually wants to kill him.

That means we’re alone on a private plane, speeding through the air above the ocean, with a psychopath.

Who wants Jacob to sit down. He might be doing reverse psychology to get Jacob to do the opposite of sitting down—attacking him, maybe—and that way he can murder him before we land, but if that’s the pilot’s plan, it’s not going to work.

I reach over and tug Jacob’s sleeve as surreptitiously as possible.

Jacob drops himself heavily into the seat beside me, his eyes still on the pilot.

Neither of them breaks eye contact. If I were being monitored for heart trouble right now, the doctors would have to assume I was about to die.

Am I about to die?

Are we about to be double-murdered less than an hour into our honeymoon?

Are we even on a honeymoon?

Yes. Of course we’re on a honeymoon.

I am choosing to believe we’re supposed to be on a honeymoon. It’s post-wedding fatigue that made Jacob try to take us back, and it’s being reasonably afraid of a sinister murder-pilot that’s making him so pale and freaked out.

The pilot huffs, like Jacob is being laughably predictable, then turns his back on us, goes into the cockpit, and closes the door. He doesn’t slam it behind him. It closes with a soft whoosh and a firm but quiet click. If there’s a lock, I don’t hear it. We’re on a private jet. Even having the murder-pilot shut us out comes with an aura of luxury.

Jacob and I sit in complete silence, neither one of us moving.

It’s as complete as silence gets on a plane. The jet is outfitted with soft leather seats and dark wood accents. It has large portholes and, I’m assuming, more than the average amount of soundproofing. Still, air rushes over the plane, as constant as the hum of the engines, covering us in pleasant, luxurious white noise.

I wish I could enjoy it.

Fleeing from London to have my sister and her in-laws throw us a last-minute wedding was stressful . Noticing that my fiancée had gotten too thin and jumpy was scary. I thought we’d made it past all that, and tonight was about relaxing on the first stage of our journey to whatever highly secure private property or resort Jacob has chosen.

And now this pilot is royally screwing it up.

I angle my knees toward Jacob’s, pressing us closer together and breathing as calmly as I can given the circumstances.

“Okay.” One deep breath, then another. “You don’t have to tell me where we’re supposed to be going, but if we’re going to make it to our reservation, you should probably let me know if there’s, like, an escape plan.”

Jacob’s blue eyes come to mine, and my heart stops panicking for a second to do a flip-flop move that’s more powerful than my first-ever crush. This is not the ideal time to realize that it was on a handsome blond boy who was magnetic and handsome and a senior when I was a freshman and even he , the boy I pined for and languished over and dreamed about, was nothing in comparison to Jacob Chambers.

“Escape plan?” he repeats, sounding defeated. . Not the best idea for salvaging our honeymoon.

I gesture at the front of the plane. “The pilot seems evil.”

Jacob sighs. “That’s not the pilot I hired.”

A strained giggle sneaks out of my mouth. “Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want you to have hired a psychopath on purpose.”

“I wouldn’t have hired him.” Jacob glances toward the closed cockpit door. “That’s the man who shot me.”

“ What ?”

“Raymond Harris.” Jacob drops his hand to his lap and meets my eyes, the blue shadowed in the dim overhead light. “He was the guy who shot me when I went to New York.”

“Oh.” The stress lately has been higher than usual, but I’m pretty sure my blood pressure just ratcheted way up. “I think I’m actually going to have a stroke this time. Are you serious? Are you sure ?”

My pulse hammers at my temples. All my emotions have come together to force the blood in my body up into my skull, where the pressure makes me want to scream.

“I’m sure,” Jacob says. “Catherine, you weren’t supposed to be here.”

“Where do you keep getting that idea?” I turn to face him even more, the pressure behind my eyes growing. “Did you get hit in the head and lose your memory? Today was our wedding. This is our wedding night. We’re supposed to spend it together.”

“No. You were supposed to spend it safe in New York, and I was?—”

“Running off to abandon me? If you didn’t want to get married, you should have just said ? — ”

“I did want to get married!”

“Then what the fuck are you talking about?” I burst out. “What do you mean, I was supposed to be safe in New York? I thought this was a surprise! I thought you weren’t lying when you left the hotel room, you just forgot to bring me with you!”

“I didn’t forget,” Jacob shoots back, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to protect you. And the only way I can protect you is if I’m dead .”

My mouth drops open until I regain control of my face and snap it shut, my lower lip wobbling.

“What. The. Fuck, Jacob? You married me in front of everyone so you could come kill yourself?”

“No. Jesus. No . I was going to fake my death.” He rubs his hands over his face. “I was going to disappear, and then you’d get everything. You’d have my name and my money and the Hills to protect you?—”

“We have gone over this!” I don’t want to make the murder-pilot come back here because we’re arguing too loud, but this is ridiculous. “I don’t want the Hills. I want you! That’s why I married you. Because I wanted to. And now you’re telling me you’d rather be dead .”

“Catherine, please.” Jacob takes my hands in his. “Please. I don’t want to be dead. These people are always going to be coming after me, and you weren’t supposed to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Too late, I guess. Here I am.”

“Here you are.” Jacob’s shoulders slump. He squeezes my hands, then seems to realize he’s doing it and stops. “Fuck. Here you are.”

“I am so mad at you.” I’m furious, actually, and if I were in a drama from the thirties I might be mad enough to slap Jacob right across the face. But this isn’t a movie, and he looks worn down, his expression bleak, and slapping him wouldn’t make either of us feel any better. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to disappear? I would have gone with you.”

He meets my gaze again, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s not the kind of life I want for you.”

I drop my head back and let out a long, irritated groan. Yes, I’m probably reminding Jacob of the difference in our ages, but the truth of my heart is that I’m frustrated. When I pick my head back up, Jacob is watching me, fresh guilt creasing his forehead.

“Do you know how sick I am of people assuming their plans for my life are better than mine? My parents never even asked me what I wanted. They thought they’d pat me on the head and ship me off to get married to you.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say well, you sort of did get married to me.

“And yes . That’s what I ended up doing. But I did it my way. Our way. We decided that together. You don’t get to decide what kind of life I’m going to have without even asking, Jacob. That’s not how this marriage is going to go.”

“Kitten, I’m?—”

“Do not tell me you’re sorry. I’m not done being angry yet.” My face flames as all the pieces come together. “Faking your death ? So your ex-boyfriend could take in a stray widow? That’s even worse than being a fake fiancée.”

“That was never fake,” he says softly.

“Did you mean the vows we took?” He looked so earnest at the altar. Happy. “For richer or poorer? To have and to hold? Remember those?”

“Til death do us part,” says Jacob.

“Til death, ” I fire back, my eyes welling. My throat is starting to close up with humiliated emotion, and I can’t right now. There’s a murderer on the plane. “Not til I swan dive into the ocean. ”

Jacob shakes his head. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“What was the plan, then? Just never see me again? Was that going to be better for you?”

“It wasn’t you.” Oh, now he has a sense of urgency. “Catherine, believe me. It wasn’t you.”

“It had better not be! I literally fuck you, Jacob. Do you think I would just go around fucking anyone who asked on the street? I wouldn’t! I was in love with you!”

He sucks in a breath like I really did slap him, and I finally realize what hurts so much.

“Was?” he asks.

“You know what?” I wipe at my eyes with the sleeve of the traveling outfit I chose specially for the occasion. It’s a custom lounge set Charlotte made for me in a shade of ivory that matches my dress. “I’m not having a conversation with you about being in love when we’re on a murder plane. Which is, like, barely better than a fake-death plane.”

“Catherine—”

“Ugh. I hate that you say my name like that when you were going to leave me. When you thought it was fine to leave me.” I wipe my eyes again, and again, because they’re crying without my permission and I don’t have time for tears. “It took me forever to come to terms with getting married. I’ve seen way more examples of bad marriages than good ones. So you can make me into a fake widow over my dead body.”

Jacob turns his face away, and for a second, I think I’ve broken him. I think he’s turning away to hide his final heartbreak before we get murdered.

But then his shoulders shake.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he chokes.

“You’re laughing at me! You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m sorry, kitten, I?—”

“I can’t believe all those people just watched me get married to you when you’re such a rich, charming asshole. This is the most embarrassing moment of my life. Jacob! This is not funny!”

“I know.” His voice is thin and strained. With laughter.

I slap him on the shoulder. “Get it together. God, you’re the worst. Did you really think this was a good plan? Did you really think this was going to work ?”

“Yes,” he admits.

“It wasn’t, ” I manage, and then I can’t help it. I’m laughing, too. Because of all the situations we could have been in, we’re in this one.

It takes a while to stop panic-laughing. When I finally do, my abs feel like I’ve overdone it on Pilates crunches and the skin around my eyes burns from the tears. Jacob and I have ended up leaning on each other, shoulder to shoulder, supported by the soft leather clouds of the private plane’s sofa, which can extend into a double bed at the push of a button.

This time, the silence between us is heavier, though the sound of the air whoosh ing stays perfectly steady.

“I know how to ride a horse,” Jacob says into that non-silence, his hand over mine.

“You got us thrown off a horse.”

“I don’t know how to parachute out of a plane. In case you were going to ask me about our options.”

I swallow something that might be laughter or might be tears. “Why would I ask you about our options when you didn’t love me enough to tell me you wanted to break up?”

Jacob’s hand tightens on mine. “Maybe I love you enough that I thought this was the only way to save you.”

“From what? Having a bunch of great sex?”

“Being with me.”

“I don’t want to be saved from that, but thanks for thinking of me.”

Jacob huffs a laugh. “I’ll try to figure something else out before…”

He trails off, but we both know how the sentence ends: before we’re out of time.

I squeeze his hand back. I’m still tired and angry and bewildered, but there will be time to work through those things when all this is over.

In the meantime, I don’t know if Jacob can pull off a miracle. I’ll have to be ready to save us both.