1
The tight smile on Mickey’s face made her cheeks hurt.
They’d only been in the air an hour and already her feet screamed in agony from being in heels and she’d wanted to smack at least one passenger. Why passengers thought it was all right to be rude to flight attendants was beyond her.
She glanced toward the front of the plane as the pilot slipped out of the flight deck. He stepped into the bathroom and the occupancy light turned red.
Dammit, he didn’t shut the door to the flight deck. Does this guy ever follow protocol?
Mickey shook her head and pressed her teeth together. Leaving the door to the flight deck open while in the air was a major security breach, even if only for a minute while the pilot used the bathroom.
She glanced over her shoulder and spotted the other two flight attendants twelve rows behind her. She stretched onto her tiptoes and craned her neck toward them, but their focus remained on attending to passengers in the back of the plane.
Shit, she’d have to deal with this herself. She needed to close the door to the flight deck, but the stupid drink cart blocked her path to the front of the plane. A flutter of movement caught her eye. A middle-aged man in the fifth row stood. A light brown baseball hat sat low on his head, casting a dark shadow over his face. His head swiveled from side to side and his eyes darted around the plane before he stepped into the narrow aisle. With squared shoulders, he strode toward the cockpit.
Panic tightened her throat and fear caused pressure to build in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She’d never trusted the security check flying out of Cancun, and something about the determined set of the man’s shoulders had alarm bells blasting in her brain.
“Sir?” Her voice shook and she pushed her cart up the aisle at a quick trot. Perspiration clung to her palms and her hands slipped on the handle. Shrieks of protest sounded as the cart ran over passengers’ toes in aisle eight and bumped against a hulking shoulder in aisle seven. She didn’t care. The sinking feeling in her gut told her she had to stop the tall, lanky man in the tan jacket.
A softdingsounded and the red occupancy light switched to green. Captain Fuller stepped out of the bathroom, blocking the path of the man in beige. Mickey drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with air, and relief seeped into every fiber of her muscles. The man pulled something from his pocket with his left hand, and the light caught the smooth metallic sheath. “No!”
Captain Fuller frowned as the man drew his hand back and slashed the weapon through the air. The pilot’s eyes grew wide and he doubled over. A knife stuck out of his side. Crimson seeped around the protruding knife, spreading out onto his crisp, white uniform like an intricate spider’s web. Terror stole the air from her lungs. Gasps of horror sounded all around her.
The man shoved Captain Fuller back into the bathroom, pushed the door closed, and disappeared into the flight deck. The door slammed shut. Bile backed up Mickey’s throat. The sour, acidic taste filled her mouth and burned her esophagus. She fisted her hand in her hair and scanned the plane. Wide-eyed passengers sat frozen to their seats, but a few hurried to their feet. None of the heroes-to-be were close enough to the front of the plane to make a difference. The door to the flight deck was already closed and locked from inside. Her breaths came out in sharp gasps. Screams echoed around the confines of the plane. She’d been trained for this, but her feet wouldn’t move from their rooted spot.
Oh God, I don’t want to die.
Someone pulled on her arm, and she stared down into the terrified eyes of a young woman. “What’s happening? Is he okay? Do something!”
Hurried footsteps fell behind her, and she whirled around to see the other two flight attendants barreling toward her.
“What happened? Is Captain Fuller dead? What about the co-pilot? He’s locked in there with that maniac. What do we do?” Panic drew deep lines on her co-worker’s tense face and she spoke in a quiet, shaky voice.
Mickey focusedon evening her breaths and her mind raced. None of them had ever dealt with this before. They had to stay calm. Or at least pretend to stay calm while they did something. She was in charge and she needed to act. Now. Mickey straightened herself and forced down the panic clawing at her throat. They had to get into the flight deck. She locked the cart in place, hitched her tight blue pencil skirt high on her thighs, and climbed over it. Her knees knocked a stack of plastic cups to the floor and something wet seeped into her skirt.
“Get this damn thing out of the way, and one of you contact Air Traffic Control,” she yelled over her shoulder to the two other flight attendants and raced toward the front of the plane. She needed to get to the keypad on the cockpit door.
The nose of the plane dipped low and Mickey stumbled forward. Her palms slammed against the door to the flight deck and gravity pressed her weight against cold steel. Pain shot through her body like sparks from a fire. She sank to her knees and turned, pressing her back to the wall.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the screams, and tried to regain her equilibrium. The plane shook as it plummeted down at a sharp angle toward the ground. Chaos unfolded around her. She opened her eyes and air masks dangled above the passengers and they struggled to get them on. Luggage fell from overhead bins.
A strong hand gripped hers and hauled her to her feet. She tipped her head back to bring in the full length of the man in front of her. The intense gray eyes of the passenger she’d wanted to smack stared down at her. His mouth was set in a firm line, and his broad shoulders blocked out her view of the hysteria taking place in the cabin behind him. The plane shook even more, testing her balance, and she squeezed his hand. His unwavering stare brought a sense of calm over her.
“You need to get me in there.” He nodded past her toward the cockpit.
She let go of his hand and her stomach pitched like the waves of a tsunami. Mickey didn’t have time to deal with a demanding passenger who wanted to play hero; she needed to get into the flight deck and figure out how to get everyone off this plane alive. But how could she do that if a psychopath was in control of the aircraft?
Captain Fuller.
She neededto make sure he was alive, and maybe he could still land the plane.
“Get me the hell in there.”
They staggered as the plane dipped to the side. He fell forward, pinning her back to the wall. Her chest heaved in and out while her pulse spiked as the hard muscles of his body pressed against her. He reached behind his back and pulled a gun out from underneath his jacket. “I’m FBI.”
A sharp gasp escaped her lips and her eyes searched his. The intensity never left them, but this time the gray steel gazing down on her gave her strength, courage to do whatever the hell she needed to get out of the plane alive. She choked down a sob, turned toward the keypad, and typed in the code. An FBI agent with a gun could do a hell of a lot more than she could.
The FBI agent pushed past her and swung open the door. He stormed into the flight deck while Mickey stared in horror at the man in beige sitting in the captain’s seat, the co-pilot slumped over the controls in front of him.
