His arms tight but not too tight.
I am in a bo?—
Nope—not that—his chest hair under your fingertips, that was awesome, right?
The bands around her chest tightened, making every inhale painful.
How much longer?
She linked her fingers together, moving them in a wave motion, and concentrated on how her knuckles shifted under her skin. She counted in her head backward, skipping two numbers at a time, just to ensure she had to think as she did it.
She strained her ears, trying to make out the sound of voices, searching for his voice. Caleb’s voice. It was ridiculous how fast he’d become the touchstone she searched for in the dark. Had she not learned her lessons with Janek? If there was one thing her ex had taught her, it was that she had terrible taste in men.
That thought sent her spiraling in another direction, and her brain imagined Caleb as a serial killer and his team as his cohorts. She unlinked her hands and stuffed her fist into her mouth, afraid if she didn’t, she’d scream, and someone would notice the weapons box contained weapons that walked and talked instead of ones that went boom.
The darkness gave way to light, and she blinked, covering her eyes with one hand. It took a couple of seconds for her to realize the box was open. She scrambled to stand up, smacking at his hand when he reached for her.
“Baby girl?”
She shouldn’t love that he called her that, but she freaking did. It made her feel like she was something important to someone. Even if she wasn’t important to him, it was enough to pretend she mattered. He was certainly making her feel like she did. But right now, she’d cheerfully smack him silly for being the asshole who’d had the oh-so-fabulous idea to smuggle her onto a plane in a freaking weapons box.
“What’s wrong?”
He reached for her again, and she bumped her lower back as she retreated from him. “Let me out. Can’t breathe.”
“Fuck.”
His growl sounded angry. Why the frick frack was he angry? He wasn’t the one locked in a box that got smaller by the second.
“You’re claustrophobic. Why didn’t you tell me?” He ignored her struggles and lifted her out of the box.
“Let me go.” It was probably bitchy to yell at him, but she didn’t have the spoons to stop herself from doing it right now.
“Easy.” He steadied her until she got her bearings, then released her.
She stumbled forward to the closest seat and sank into it.
Oh God. Never again. I’d rather meet Janek in the dark every freaking night.
“I’m not going back in that box.” She rubbed her nose with her sleeve. Disgusting or not, she hated the sniffling and dripping.
“Here.”
She snatched the paper puke bag from his hand and put it to her mouth, sucking air through it like she’d never have another chance to breathe.
“Just breathe for me, baby girl.”
What had been sweet before now sounded patronizing. “Don’t.” She smacked at his hands. “Just don’t.” She was so embarrassed. How could she ever look any of these people in the eye again? She was making an idiot out of herself, but there was little she could do but concentrate on breathing.
Caleb, the ass, made soothing noises as his hand rubbed up and down her back as she hunched over the puke bag. He switched from those noises to crooning words close to her ear. It was just as damn shame they sounded like gibberish to her. It could be English, French, Arabic, or maybe Martian. Because, like Dorothy, she was no longer in freaking Kansas. The only difference between her situation and Dorothy was her tornado had a name—Caleb Freaking Hunt.
She could hear a baby babbling, which told her Dalton’s family was on board the flight, too. That little nugget of information helped ease some of the disquiet inside her. What serial killer took their baby along for the ride? None that she’d ever heard of.
“Is she okay?”
“She will be in a couple of minutes, Boss.” Caleb reached across her stomach, ignoring her, smacking at his fingers. “I need to fasten your seatbelt.”
Seatbelt.
