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She gives us a polite smile and returns to the galley, then the pilot announces, “We’re taking off, Mr. Callahan. We hope you enjoy the flight.”

Reid Callahan. Reid Callahan. Reid Callahan.

“Should I call you Reid?” Annie suddenly asks. “So you can get used to hearing it.”

“Not yet. Once we’re in Colombia, you can, and during the flight, you need to think about a new name for yourself. Something that will be easy to remember.”

“Okay,” she agrees, and as the plane begins to taxi toward the runway, she shifts nervously in her seat. “I might crush your hand.”

“Fear of flying?” I ask.

She nods, then scrunches her nose. “Damn, I’ll need to toughen up if I want to be with you.”

Shaking my head, I lift our hands and press a kiss to the back of hers. “No. I love you just the way you are. Fears of birds, flying, and cramped dark places, and all.”

A grin forms on her face. “Sometimes you say the most romantic things that make me swoon.”

Yeah, I never thought I’d hear those words in relation to me.

The private jet picks up speed, and when we lift into the air, relief trickles through my chest.

We’re in the clear for five hours.

I wait until we reach the right altitude before I turn slightly to face Annie. “There’s something serious we need to talk about.”

A frown creases her forehead. “Uhm . . . okay?”

“Once we land in Panama, the Bratva might be waiting. If that’s the case, it’s going to be a hard push to get to the yacht. I need you to do everything I say. Instantly.”

Her head bobs up and down. “I will.”

I pull one of my guns from behind my back. “Look closely. This is the safety. Flick it on, off . . .” I show her how it’s done, then release the magazine. “There are fifteen bullets in the magazine and another in the chamber.” I slam it back in, put on the safety, then hold it out to her. “Take it.”

“What?” She gasps. “On the plane? What if I accidentally shoot it?”

“You won’t.”

She cautiously takes it from me, then gives me a questioning look. “What now?”

“Hold it up. Get a feel for it.”

She does as I say, but looks very uncomfortable. “It’s heavy.” Not even a few seconds later, she pushes it back into my hands. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to shoot someone.”

I stare into her innocent green eyes. “I just want you to know where the safety sits and how it feels. Just in case something happens and you change your mind about using it.” I rub my thumb over the chrome handle, then lift my arm and aim straight ahead. “Hold it like this. If you think you have the person in your sights, shoot. Empty the magazine if you have to. One of the bullets is bound to hit the target.”

“You wish. I have terrible aim. I once tried playing darts and kept hitting the wall.”

I let out a chuckle and tuck the gun into place behind my back. “Once we’re settled, I’ll teach you to throw darts, and when you get the hang of that, we can move on to guns.”

She doesn’t comment, and I get back to our conversation by saying, “Panama might get ugly, Annie.”

Her expression turns anxious. “How ugly?”

“It might be a bloodbath. I don’t know how many men are waiting, or how well they’re trained. I’m good, but I can’t take on more than twenty at a time.”

“What are you saying?” she whispers, her voice quivering.

“If they take me down, and I don’t have time to . . . give you a quick death, you can’t let them take you. You have to promise me that.”