The sooner he stashed her at Omega headquarters, the better. Once there, the team could debrief her, figure out Wally’s message, and get on with the operation before more lives were lost. The professional setting might even make him immune to the strange sexual energy he felt whenever he looked at her.
Between her fear and his efforts to clamp a hold on his imagination, they didn’t exchange another word, not until he drove past the dark complex of hangars at Traverse City’s Cherry Capital airport and sped toward the small jet idling at the end of a runway.
She sat up straight in her seat, watching nervously. “Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe.” He pulled up beside the plane and got out.
She stepped out, too, and watched him pull out her suitcases, holding onto her blowing hair as the plane revved its engines and a warm wash of air hit them. “You’re taking me home to Houston?” she asked hopefully, raising her voice over the noise of the plane.
“Your apartment is no safer than Wally’s house. We’re going to Chicago.”
“What if I don’t want to go?”
He shouldered the carry-on and paused, noting her stubborn look and seeing the panic behind it. They didn’t have time for this argument. “I suppose you could make a run for it. Of course, I’d still have your luggage. Plus, I’d catch you before you hit those trees, and I’d have to tackle you and get us both scraped up and pissed off. But maybe you’d like to cause me some pain, so let me put it in simpler terms.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “There, bad guys with knives.” He pointed at the jet. “Here, good guy with a plane. Your choice.”
She couldn’t argue the point. Still, she studied him with distaste, then marched toward the copilot who had descended the stairs and was waiting to help her board. He didn’t think she totally bought the good-guy part, but at least she’d believed his threat to use force if necessary. He hadn’t lied about it, either, just the part about being pissed off if he had to tackle her. She might have been, but personally he wouldn’t have minded falling on top of Jess Maulier and pinning her to the ground for a moment. Or two, or three.
Almost disappointed that he couldn’t, he shook off the fantasy, hefted her bags, and followed her to the plane.
…
Jess had no objection to being safe. Heck, she was a freaking safety nut. She always fastened her seat belt, always looked both ways before crossing, and carried a key chain flashlight just in case. She kept antibacterial wipes under her car seat. Her book Emily the Safety Bear had won two major literary awards. No one was more concerned with safety than Jess.
She did have issues with kidnapping, however, and no matter how he spun it, that’s what this was. Fingernails digging into her palms, she reviewed every one of Dr. Epstein’s suggestions for suppressing her fears, then replaced them with a healthy outrage.
She let Donovan see her anger, stomping up the metal roll-away stairs to the cabin. Anger gave her strength, made her less of a victim. She would have continued her act, but the luxurious cabin before her spoiled the bitchy effect when she had to stop and stare.
Four big leather seats faced each other, two on each side. Behind them was a table with seating for four, and behind that a couch big enough to stretch out on.
She was still staring when Donovan spoke right behind her. “Sit anywhere; it’s just us.” His breath touched the back of her neck and sent shivers racing across her scalp. She quickly slipped into one of the forward-facing seats and busied herself with the seat belt.
He took the seat facing her, which did nothing to ease the annoying sense of awareness he stirred in her. Her luggage was nowhere in sight, and she assumed it had been stowed as cargo.
He was watching her. Trying her best to look at ease, she said, “Your employer sees that you travel in style.”
“The Omega Group. Yes, they do. You’ll meet most of them soon.” He studied her for another few seconds, before adding, “They were your father’s employer, too.”
She’d never heard of the Omega Group, but since she knew little about her father, she could hardly argue the point. Questions crowded her mind, questions about how long Tyler Donovan and her father had known each other, what they did, and why it would drive someone to kill. While she considered where to start, a young woman stepped out of the pilot’s cabin. “Welcome aboard, Tyler. We’re ready for takeoff.”
He turned and flashed a grin, the first she’d seen. The transformation was instantaneous, from deadly dangerous to sexy-dangerous. For a split second she wished she could bring that out in him instead of the annoyed looks she’d been getting all evening. She mentally stomped that thought into the dirt.