Her frozen lungs didn’t agree.
Neither did the piston firing in her chest.
“It’s like a Band-Aid,” he said. “Just rip it off.”
She was going to hurl.
This wasn’t a Band-Aid she was ready to rip off. She needed mental preparationtime. She needed a paper bag. She needed a happy pill.
Lance pulled her door open. “Where’s that badass pumpkin chucker I know? Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Somehow she got out of the truck.
Her legs wobbled, but he had a firm grip on her hand.
And he didn’t even comment on how ice-cold her fingers were.
“If I die, you damn well better take care of my cat,” she forced out.
“You got it, Pixie-lou.”
He pushed her into the meatlocker that doubled as the office for the private runway. A dude in a Hawaiian shirt greeted Lance by name, then passed over a clipboard. He didn’t seem to notice how frigid the room was. Nor did Lance. Not a goose bump or shiver from either of them.
She sank onto a blue-and-red pinstripedcouch that had seen better days and springier cushions. If Lance noticed her head hanging between her knees, he didn’t comment.
She didn’t think.
She couldn’t entirely hear over the roar in her ears.
“C’mon, Kace. We’re ready.” His hand was hot on the back of her neck. His thumb rubbed into her hairline, and despite herself, a longing pull pulsed deep in her center. His breath tickled her ear. “Got a big reward for anyone brave enough to get in a plane with me today.”
“Evil,” she gasped out.
“You’re going to Germany. We’re not letting those fuckers win.”
That did it.
She was still light-headed, but she shoved to her feet and snapped her spine straight. “Don’t make me hate you for this.”
He looped an arm around her waist and steered her toward the back door. “You’re going to love me for this.”
Their plane was a single-propeller Cessna with room for four passengers. It smelled like old sweat and burnt jet fuel. He swung open the passenger-side door, a thin sheet of metal with a flimsy latch.
“Sweet baby jalapeño,” she whispered.
He slapped a white paper bag on the blue leather seats covered in sheepskin. “Barf bag,” he said. “Just in case. You want to walk around it with me, or you gonna stand here?”
“Stand.” Maybe drop to the ground and hug it and ask it not to let her leave. Pray to the flight gods.
Squeeze her eyes shut and pretend her daddy was here to reassure her.
He’d loved flying. Loved being in the air. Her memories had gotten hazier as she’dgotten older, but she still remembered the unique scent of his flight suit, a combination of cotton, grease, and gasoline. The way his smile would light up the whole house when he came in from flying a day mission. The stories he’d tell about bending the laws of physics in his fighter jet.
Too soon, two arms encircled her and pulled her against warm leather. “All good on the outside.” Lance pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. “Climb on up. I’ll talk you through everything.”
Her toes felt as though they were lead bricks, but she let him boost her into the seat. There was a space-age steering wheel sticking out of her side of the dash identical to the one in front of Lance’s seat.
She also had pedals at her feet.
