Chapter 21
36,000 feet over the Atlantic…
Emily glanced down the aisle of the swanky private jet at the lavatory door. Still closed. Which meant Christian was still inside tending his wound.
She had asked if he needed any help, but he had waved her off, looking so tired and defeated that her squishy, far-too-tender heart hadachedfor him.
Nothing that had happened duringthe last twenty-four hours was his fault. But Christian being Christian, all noble and principled and self-sacrificing—when the big, dumb dope had told Lawrence Michelson to take him into the woods, she’d nearly had a heart attack—was determined to shoulder at leastsomeof the blame for the brothers’ deaths.
Ridiculous, since it’d beenAngelwho’d offed one of them.
Wondering if the formerMossad agent was suffering any aftereffects from the night, she glanced over to find him reclined back in a plush armchair. He was fast asleep. Like, seriously. His face was as still as a picture. His arms were folded over his chest. And he was so ethereally beautiful that she was reminded of all the vampires that’d taken over television since that whole Twilight thing went gangbusters.
Nope.No guilt or regret there.
“I can feel you watching me.” Angel’s deep, scratchy voice made her jump. Okay, so obviously hewasn’tasleep. That was even spookier. “And I know what you think.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, even though he had yet to open his eyes or turn toward her. “And what do I think?”
“That I should feel remorse for snapping Ben’s neck. But you know as well as I do that theMichelson brothers had come to kill us all. I waited until I was certain of that before I made my move.”
“I know that.”
He cracked an eye open, pinning her with it. “Do you?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Good.” He closed his eye and turned back into the undead.
Emily made a face and glanced around to see if either Rusty or Ace had something to add to the conversation. But Rusty wasstretched out on the comfy leather sofa bolted into the fuselage in front of Emily’s seat. One big arm was across his flat stomach, the other tossed over his head. He pretended to sleep. But, occasionally, he would glance over at Ace, a look of confusion and longing contorting his handsome face.
For his part, Ace was kicked back in the seat behind Angel’s, going through a stack of magazineslike he was determined to read every damn article. Considering the one he was perusing now was titled “Cuticle Care and the Art of Flawless Nails,” Emily figured his magazine fascination had more to do with avoiding conversation with Rusty than anything else.
Okay, so obviously they had nothing to add. Which was good, she supposed. She wasn’t all hyped to rehash the horror of the night. And,honestly, she wished the two of them would find some common ground and stop—
Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of the lavatory door opening. Turning, she saw Christian exit the bathroom. A stark white bandage showed through the hole in the arm of his sweater—that wasanotherthing that’d nearly given her a heart attack: when Lawrence had pulled his trigger and she’d seen Christian inthe way of the bullet. But Christian didn’t join her now. Instead, he pushed aside the curtain at the back of the plane, the one separating the sleeping compartment from the main cabin, and disappeared behind it.
Chewing her bottom lip, she debated whether to follow him. Back at the manor house, he hadn’t wanted her anywhere but at his side.
Together, the two of them had replaced the quilton the bed and helped Angel remove any trace that any of them had been inside the manor house. Together, they’d watched Angel reset the alarm while Ace and Rusty dumped the Michelsons’ weapons into a nearby pond. They wanted to leave as little evidence behind as possible that could paint a picture of what had happened to the brothers. Together, they’d climbed into the farm truck for the rideto the airport. Since it was still dark, and since they were working against a deadline, they had chosen to take their chances with the truck as opposed to stealing another vehicle.
Together, they’d wiped the truck free of fingerprints after Angel parked it behind a billboard close to the private jet hangar. And together, hand in hand, in fact, they’d said hello to Brigitte—pronouncedBrigeet, Philippe’s partner and their pilot—and then loaded onto the private jet, breathing sighs of relief once they were airborne and officially leaving England behind.
But maybe now Christian wanted to be alone. Maybe now he needed time with his thoughts and—
Fuck that.What he needed washer. And who cared if going to him was crossing their coworker-with-benefits/fuck buddies line. Becauseit certainly didn’t cross their friends-with-benefits line. And she’d come to realize that more than anything else, Christian was her friend.
She opened her backpack, searching for a granola bar she might have left and— Aha! She pulled one out and saw it was a little squished, but no matter. It would still taste great. Dark chocolate, nuts, and sea salt were a delicious combo any way you slicedit. She shoved the bar in her pocket.
She’d just pushed up from her seat when Angel spoke again. “Tell Christian the next time he wants to borrow a condom, all he has to do is ask.”
Her cheeks heated. “I, uh, I told him I’d be too embarrassed if he did that.”
“Nothing embarrassing about practicing safe sex,” Ace muttered.
“Oh,nowyou decide to join the conversation?”
Ace blinkedat her in confusion.
