That sucks.
“There’s ginger ale on the plane,” I tell her, like that’s supposed to help.
She makes a face. “I don’t think I can even keep liquids down. I am never drinking again.”
“I think I’ve heard you say that three times on this trip.” Jett laughs behind the wheel. He’s wearing a baseball cap, mirrored sunglasses and looks like he’s a born captain in boat shoes and chino shorts.
“That’s because I’ve been sick almost every morning that I’ve been here. You’re trying to kill me,” she accuses him.
“Oh, that’s right, blame me.” Jett laughs. “I was the one pouring martinis down your throat.”
“I hate you sometimes.” She snuggles closer to Ellie.
“I love you all the time,” he replies.
Ellie and I smirk at each other during London and Jett’s little exchange. Of all the women I’ve seen Jett with—and it’s beena lot—he’s never had a rapport with any of them like he does with London.
We dock the boat and hurry the girls along.
“Ellie, this way,” I tug on her hand when she veers toward the main entrance of Motu Mute airport. We enter through a side service door in order to lay low, and then walk straight out onto the runway.
“Don’t we need tickets?” she asks confused.
“Not this time, baby.” Our private jet is already waiting with the doors open.
“This yours?”
“Mine and Jett’s. It’s smaller than our old one but it gets the job done.”
“Old one?” She raises her eyebrows.
I nod. “Liquidated.”
“Oh.” She then understands. We had to get rid of everything that tied us to our undercover op, including the G600 I loved.
“Mr. Andrews. Mr. Collins,” the captain greets us once were safely inside.
“Henry.” He’s an older man with gray hair and a crisp white uniform. He’s also an ex-fighter pilot and employed by Endeavor.
“Please sit down and buckle up. The runway is clear, I plan to have us in the air in ten minutes.”
“Sounds good.” Jett and I both shake his hand.
“Also, comms are set up in the back.”
“Very good.” We take our seats. I strap Ellie in next to me. Jett does the same to a sickly looking London. I wonder idly if she’s going to throw up during takeoff.
I watch a curious Ellie inspect the interior of the plane decorated in a cool beige and glossy wooden accents.
Without delay, the jet roars to life and the interior lights flash.
“Stand by for taxi.” Henry’s voice comes on over the loudspeaker.
Ellie grabs my hand. “Are you afraid of flying?” I ask her.
“Only when under duress.”
“It’ll be fine.” I try to assure her. “The safest place is in the air.”
