The Billionaire's Passion (6 page)

“But this puts you at even greater risk.”

“Better that than you get caught crawling out of my air ducts.”

Grant shakes his head. “It wouldn’t happen.”

Connor snorts in amusement. “Said the guy whose illicit art collection just got exposed to all the world.”

I hug Lily. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles. “Good luck…”

Connor shakes my hand. “I was serious about using your help after all this is over.”

“I’ll come see you,” I say, not adding what I’m really thinking:

If we make it out alive.

Connor shakes Grant’s hand. “We square after this? I don’t want any phone calls like, ‘Hey, man, I need a lift to Morocco.’”

“We’re more than square. I owe
you
now.”

“Don’t forget it. In case Lily and I ever go on the lam,” Connor jokes, then turns to his bodyguard. “Take good care of them, Johnny.”

“You got it.”

Johnny, Grant, and I walk into the penthouse’s private elevator.

As the door closes, I can’t help but think that Connor and Lily’s expressions are like people who think they’re never going to see someone again.

After an hour-long drive, Johnny opens the trunk of the Rolls Royce, spilling sunlight in on me and Grant. “Rise and shine.”

We crawl out of the trunk onto the tarmac. The airstrip is small, with only a few hangars on the property. At the end of the runway sits a small Gulfstream, ready to go.

“That’s it?” Grant asks.

“That’s the one. Mike’s waiting for you inside,” Johnny confirms.

“Thanks for everything,” Grant says as he shakes Johnny’s hand.

The bodyguard sighs. “Good luck, you crazy kids.”

Then he gets in the car and drives off.

The walk down the tarmac is nerve-wracking. I’m half expecting the cops to jump out of the woodwork – or maybe a fake FBI SWAT team.

But no one appears, and we board the plane through its open doorway.

There’s a guy in the cockpit checking the gauges and throwing switches. Maybe 45, with salt-and-pepper hair.

“You Mike?” Grant asks.

“Yup. You’re the cargo?” he asks gruffly without turning around.

Grant nods. “Yeah – I’m – ”

“No names,” the guy interrupts.

“…okay…”

“According to Connor, this is a black ops type deal. As such, it’s just me and you guys. No crew, so you’re going to have to pour your own champagne.”

Grant’s not exactly happy about the guy’s tone. “We won’t be needing any champagne.”

“Whatever you say. Food’s in the crew area. You’ll need some, it’s a seven-hour flight. Take-off’s in five.”

“Are you going to be able to pilot this thing alone?”

The guy pauses and looks back at us with a vaguely amused expression. “Yes.”

“Isn’t that dangerous, not having a co-pilot?”

“Flying F-16s in Iraq was dangerous, son. This is a cakewalk.”

Grant and I exchange looks.

The pilot goes back to his pre-flight check. “Take-off’s in four. Better buckle up.”

The take-off goes smoothly, and we settle in for the long flight.

The cabin is sumptuous but small. Completely unlike Grant’s plane – which makes sense for a small jet kept off the record books, to be used only when ‘the shit hits the fan.’

But since there isn’t any real privacy, there isn’t any hanky-panky this time around.

“It’s almost noon, so that should put us into France around 7PM Eastern time, which is… 1AM local time,” Grant calculates.

Connor arranged to have us land at a small private airfield, where Mike would get refueled and then turn around and head back.

“What’s the plan once we get to France?” I ask.

“I have some property in Paris – ”

“We can’t use it.”

“It’s owned by a shell company.”

“What, Palladin Terminus Inc.?”

Grant gives me a dirty look.

“I found it when I was trying to get my cell phone back from you,” I say. “If I know about it, you can bet Epicurus does.”

Grant shrugs. “Fine. We’ll find some empty place like we did in New York, and we’ll lie low while I contact my guys.”

“What, do you have more billionaire friends you can call in favors from?”

“Something like that.”

I nestle against his shoulder and stare out the window.

“We’re going to be fine,” Grant says quietly.

“I know,” I whisper.

“We’re going to find out who he is, and we’re going to catch him.”

“What do we do about your art collection being on the evening news? What do we do about staying out of prison? What do we do about – ”

“One step at a time, Eve. One step at a time.”

We doze on the flight. We eat roast beef sandwiches from the fridge in the crew gallery. We talk, and theorize, and try to come up with a plan.

But by the end of the flight, I’m still as unsure about finding Epicurus as I was at the beginning.

At least we have a few things in our favor. We have about $45,000 left, and the other contents of the backpack – plus a new laptop Connor gave me that I have set up for what I need.

I just hope it’s enough.

It’s almost one AM when Mike comes over the intercom.
“Okay, kids, we just entered French airspace. We’ll be landing in twenty minutes.”

Grant kisses me. “Still time to join the Mile High Club.”

“I already joined, remember? Multiple times.”

“You could earn frequent flyer miles.”

“Next time,” I smile. “When we’re not on the run from international authorities.”

“That might be awhile.”

The landing strip is tiny, with only a few lights to guide our way in through the darkness. Nevertheless, Mike guides us in as smooth as silk.

As we unbuckle and stretch our legs, I look out the window. It’s dark all around us, but Paris’s lights shimmer in the distance.

With the engines still running, Mike sticks his head out of the cockpit.

“Thank you,” Grant says, and extends his hand.

Mike shakes it. “You’re welcome.”

Grant turns to leave, but something in me can’t leave without saying my final piece.

I turn back to Mike. “When you find out who we are, I want you to know… we’re not bad people.”

Mike regards me silently for a few seconds, then says, “I know who you are.”

That takes me by surprise. “You do?”

Mike gives a wry half-smile. “I watch the news.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

It doesn’t matter, because Mike continues, “I would’ve known who you were as soon as you got onboard. Connor knew that, so he told me upfront. Gave me a choice.”

“And you still agreed to do it?”

“For a price.” Mike gestures with his head towards Grant. “Plus, Connor said he’d trust your boyfriend there with his life. And I trust Connor, so… we’re good.”

I blush. “He’s not my – ”

“Figure of speech.”

“Thank you again,” Grant says to Mike, then puts his hand on my shoulder. “We need to go.”

“I know…” I say, then turn to Mike again. “Thanks.”

“Good luck.”

“We’ll need it.”

Mike smiles wryly again. “I figure you will.”

Grant goes to open the gangplank door –

Suddenly lights go on all around the plane, turning the cabin as bright as noonday.

“This is the Police Nationale!”
a French-accented voice reverberates over a loudspeaker.
“You are under arrest – exit the airplane immediately!”