“Hey, Vanessa, good to see you.”
Jess didn’t miss Vanessa’s hand brushing his shoulder, even though he didn’t react. “Any messages?”
“Yeah, tell Evan clear skies.”
“Will do. Buckle up, we’re going to hit a few bumps over the lake.” She ducked back into the front cabin and shut the door.
Jess glanced at the snowflakes hitting the window beside her, falling thicker than before. With a sardonic lift of one eyebrow, she repeated, “Clear skies. Is that one of your codes?”
“Not cryptic enough?”
“Not very detailed. Not as much as saying, ‘I have her but she’s uncooperative and unpleasant.’”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward, just enough to stir her imagination. “I’m hoping to talk you into a better mood before we get there.”
Oh, he so could. She flushed and swallowed hard at the realization that he could get that response with such little effort on his part, and wondered if he realized it, too. And if Dr. Epstein would be surprised. She certainly was. “Don’t bother trying,” she said as drily as she could and hoped he wouldn’t test her resolve.
Instead of hitting her with the devastating wattage of his smile that she’d half hoped to see, his gaze turned suddenly thoughtful. Seconds passed, and she’d decided he wasn’t going to answer when he finally spoke, soft and low, as if admitting to a fault. “It’s no bother.”
Good Lord. Jess gritted her teeth, annoyed at the heat that swept through her. Her agile mind began whirling with several scenarios that could follow that line, all of them involving a woman who was hotter and bolder and far more confident than she’d ever been. Scenarios that some instinct told her would probably give her a bit of power over him.
She chickened out. Fumbling with the controls beside her seat, she said, “I’m tired. Wake me up when we get there.” The back of her chair dropped, and she closed her eyes, wondering if his hot gaze still watched her. She refused to open her eyes to see.
Blocking him out allowed her mind to concentrate on other things, like the fact that she was about to be airborne. Her imagination immediately indulged her fear of flying by envisioning multiple scenarios involving crashing into the frigid waters of Lake Michigan, combining her drowning with a gory death on impact and flaming jet fuel. Unfortunately, she had a vivid imagination. She clenched her eyes tightly and gripped the leather side of her seat as they endured a half hour of frightening turbulence. When it stopped, she was exhausted from the sheer duration of the tension. Calm air and the smooth hum of the engines were such a relief she actually unclenched her hands and relaxed.
To her surprise, he had to wake her. She moaned contentedly at the gentle touch on her shoulder and his softly spoken, “Jess.” Opening her eyes, she started to smile at the darkly handsome man leaning over her, then remembered who he was and sat bolt upright, struggling for composure.
An answering smile had touched his mouth before he stepped back just in time to avoid bumping heads with her as she popped up. She would have liked a longer look at the delicious curve of his lips when he smiled, so it was probably a good thing she’d startled him out of it. “We’re here,” he said.
She followed him out of the plane without a word, but glanced around in confusion as she descended another set of metal stairs. They were in a large building with steel walls and a cement floor. A few feet below, someone slammed the trunk shut on a black sedan, creating a hollow echo in the cavernous building.
“Where are we?” she asked as she reached the floor.
“Chicago. Omega’s airplane hangar.” He opened the passenger door of the car. “Get in.”
She wasn’t arguing anymore, but didn’t like feeling out of control, not knowing where she was going or what he had in mind for her when they got there. Digging deep for some attitude, she asked, “What, no chauffeured limo?”
“He smiled. I’ll tell Evan you were not impressed.”
Evan again. She waited until they drove out of the hangar into the well-lit landscape of the airport and headed for the expressway. He drove fast, slipping past slower-moving vehicles with confidence. “Who’s Evan?”
“Evan Lang is Director of Operations for the Omega Group.
She repeated the name silently, puzzling over the oddly familiar name until it sparked a memory. “Doctor Lang?”
“That’s right. He wasn’t sure you’d remember him.”
She didn’t, really. “I just know he was my father’s friend. He worked at a different university, but they collaborated on a few articles and traveled together a couple times.”