The doors close, the plane moves onto the runway, and is soon in the air. I ask the flight attendant for a notepad and a pen.
She brings it back. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No," Brax replies roughly.
She forces a smile and scurries to her area.
I write,Don't talk. Cameras everywhere.
He stares at the note, then grabs the pen, and scribbles underneath with short, angry strokes.Where do they live?
I jot back,Chicago. South Side. Petrov territory.
He scratches his next question.Do you have their numbers?
My pulse jumps. I answer,Yes.
He takes deep breaths, grinding his molars.
I write a question mark on the paper.
He takes the pen.We need to set them up. More people are involved in this, and we need to know who they are.
I write,Agree.
He writes down an address in Gary, Indiana. It's on the outskirts of Chicago and not a place people like to spend any time in since the run-down city's full of crime.
I arch a brow at him.
He orders,Text them with a meeting time.
I pull out my phone and type a new message thread. I add Lev and Igor. At the last second, I add Brax so they aren't shocked when they see him.
He puts his hand over my cell.
I look at him in question.
He writes,Do it when we land so they don't have any time to think about it.
It's a good call. I nod, put my phone away, fold the note into a tiny piece, and stuff it into my bra.
Brax glances at my cleavage.
My face heats.
Don't get any ideas.
I turn toward the window, and my mind races the entire flight. It takes forever for the wheels to lower and the jet to taxi toward the hangar.
As soon as we're in my SUV, I pull out my phone and text the group.
Me: New job. Meet in one hour.
I add the address.
Igor: My flight hasn't landed.
Lev: I'm on the runway, but there are two planes in front of mine. It's going to be a bit before I'm allowed off.
