Colleen shrugged, tossing her shoulders as if she were far more competent than she probably was. “I’ll just show up at the nearest embassy and tell them I got kidnapped and human-trafficked. I’ll have my driver’s license and stuff. It has the star on it for airports in the US, so it’s an official US ID, even if it’s not a passport. I can figure it out.”
He sighed. “I wish you had a passport.”
“A passport isn’t magic. I’ll be fine.”
“And how are you planning to get home?”
She shrugged. “I kind of want to see Europe. I’ve never been anywhere outside the United States. Heck, I’d never even been anywhere outside ofArizona.Arizona is pretty big, but still. I want to see some stuff before I have to go back. And then I’ll go to the embassy and have them help me. My tax dollars at work.”
“And how are you going to tell them you got there without a passport?”
“I stowed away on a private plane.”
The skin around Tristan’s eyes creased, and he glanced to the side. “Damn, I wanted to show you the world, princess.”
“Don’t count yourself out yet.”
“Fine. Hand me your license and write down your social, and I’ll set up a bank account here and transfer money into it. I’ll use your Phoenix address.”
“‘Kay, fine.” She dug into her purse and tossed her driver’s license at him. “And I am going to nap now. It’s been a hellacious week.”
“Yeah,” Tristan said, his eyebrows pinching together. “A week. We met at the Devilhouse nine days ago.”
She snorted as she stood and stretched. “Yeah. A week ago Saturday night, and it’s Monday.”
He looked up at her, his bright blue eyes searching hers. “But we’veknowneach other for over a year.” His firm tone brooked no discussion.
Colleen smiled down at him. “Sure, TwistyTrader. We’re old friends. Or old adversaries. We’re nemeses. And we’re arch nemeses at that. You’re a pain in the patootie on the Sherwood Forest forums. Always up to something.”
His mouth dropped like he was insulted. “I am not.”
“PikachuMod over there will back me up on that.” She looked toward the rear of the plane where Anjali and Jian were sleeping on their recliner-beds, holding hands. “Just as soon as she wakes up.”
The flight time from Phoenix to Newark, New Jersey, was just over four hours in a private jet, which meant they arrived just before ten in the morning.
Tristan had arranged for a car to meet the plane on the tarmac to ferry Jian and Anjali to a small hospital, where they were seen within the hour.
With some X-rays and a confirmed diagnosis of broken ribs and a dislocated but now repositioned shoulder, Jian was cleared to fly wherever he wanted.
Colleen saw Tristan’s shoulders slouch in relief when the doctor confirmed it was nothing worse. The guilt must’ve been killing him.
Anjali was given a clean bill of health, but she sat and talked to the nurse practitioner for an hour. She left with a card for a trauma therapist who did telehealth.
After that, Tristan bustled around the plane making phone calls, ensuring the plane was provisioned and had its necessary inspections and fuel before their transatlantic flight.
“I can help,” Colleen offered.
“I’ve got it,” Tristan told her. “I used to do this all for myself before Jian came on board. It’s still kind of weird. I’m a little bit of a control freak. Most coders are.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Colleen said.
“The flight time is about eight hours,” he told them. “And Paris is about six hours ahead of us. If we can leave around four o’clock, that means we’ll land at the Nice airport at about eight o’clock Tuesday morning. Then it’s just a fifteen-minute helicopter ride to Monaco.”
“Monaco?” Anjali asked. “I thought we were going to Paris.”
“If you and Jian want to go there, there are flights leaving the Nice airport every hour for Paris. I’ll arrange it and pay for it. Just tell me what you want. But I live in Monaco. My boat is there.”
Anjali brightened. “You live on a boat? Like a houseboat?”
