Unforgiven (14 page)

Speaking of panic attacks . . .

His mother still wasn’t home when he blew into the kitchen, soaked to the skin. He toed off his running shoes, showered and dressed, then mopped up the rain and got water boiling for spaghetti and meatballs. Then he pulled back a dinette chair and sat down to scroll through his contacts to make a call.

Marissa wasn’t the kind of person who put a quaint little picture/suncatcher on her fridge to remind her of her dream. She turned a five-thousand-square-foot house on the prairie into a sailing ship, and no one saw it for what it was, a primal scream of not belonging.

Time to show her some options.

13

T
HE PERSISTENT, EVEN
rapping at her door woke her from a sound sleep into predawn blackness. Marissa stumbled from bed and padded through the kitchen, her sock-clad feet curling away from the cold stone floor. She’d fallen asleep immediately after Adam dropped her off. The not-quite-panic attacks left her as limp as the prairie crocuses on her father’s grave. Hunger woke her around eight. She’d made a simple salad for supper, then taken a hot bath and given in to the urge to skim the books Alana refused to take back.

The advice on cruising in a sailboat of her own was simple, straightforward, and pragmatic, but with the weight of Brookhaven on her back, not achievable. However, if she spent the next ten years paying off the home equity loan, and the next ten saving, she could do it, if she
could come to terms with selling the house.

On that cheery thought she’d fallen asleep again somewhere after 2:00 a.m. Pushing her hair back from her face, she blinked blearily at the clock on the microwave. Six a.m. On the dot. As if there were any question as to who stood under the tiny overhang protecting her door, she peeked through the curtains covering the window. Adam stood on the tiny porch, dressed in cargo pants, a button-down shirt, and running shoes, looking like he’d never needed sleep in his life. Steam rose into the cold air from the Heirloom to-go cups in either hand.

She opened the door and reached for the coffee. He pulled the cup away from her grasping hand. “It is the crack of dawn,” she said, then cleared her rusty throat and added, “One of those better be for me.”

“We’re leaving in thirty minutes. Get dressed and pack an overnight bag.”

“Are you insane? I’m not going anywhere today.”

“Yesterday you said you weren’t working on Mrs. Carson’s house or getting the woodwork from The Meadows. Twenty-nine minutes and counting, or I drink both of these myself.”

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Cold air eddied into the kitchen. She stepped back and let him in. “Where are we going?”

“What you wore when we looked at apartments is fine,” he said as he sat down at the tiny kitchen table and flipped the lid off the coffee cup.

“That’s not an answer,” she said.

“It’s all the answer you’re getting.”

She stared longingly at the second cup. “Can I have that?”

“Once you’re dressed, packed, and in the car, yes.”

He had a completely different sense of purpose in the way he held himself. She stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Twenty-eight minutes and counting,” he said, then flashed her a grin so full of then-Adam her heart flipped over in her chest. “If we’re not on the road in twenty-eight minutes you don’t get the coffee.”

She splashed cold water on her face to wake up, brushed her teeth, then pulled together a pair of dark jeans, a silk long-underwear shirt for warmth, a soft violet turtleneck sweater that clung to her curves from shoulder to mid-thigh, and put on black ballet flats. She pulled her hair back from her crown in a silver barrette at the base of her skull, leaving the lower layers to spill loose over her shoulders and down her back.

“One night away?” she asked as she found a simple tote with a zipper.

“Affirmative.”

“This is insane,” she repeated.

“Twenty minutes and counting.”

She threw clean underwear, a nightie, and a change of clothes into the tote, then went into the bathroom and swept her cleanser, moisturizer, lotion, lip balm, toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush on top of the clothes. When she walked back into the kitchen, Adam looked up from his phone, did a very gratifying double take, then got to his feet. “Wow.”

The old-fashioned, respectful, chivalrous response made her blush and tuck her hair behind her ear. “I’m ready.”

He held her old peacoat for her, then carried her tote to the Charger and held the door for her, which seemed ridiculously formal for 6:22 in the morning, but she let him do it. Once out of her driveway he headed toward the highway. “Do you want breakfast? We’ll be on the road awhile.”

“Where are we going?”

“That’s the surprise.”

The way energy hummed around him intrigued her. “It’s too early to eat,” she said. Wherever they were going would have more interesting breakfast options anyway. “I think I’ve earned my coffee,” she said.

He handed her the cup, her reward for following orders, then navigated onto the highway leading to I-29. Once on the nearly empty interstate he kept their speed steady at eighty miles an hour, zipping right through Brookings with only a glance at the clock on the dashboard.

“We’re not going to Brookings?”

“Nope,” he said, a pleased smile on his face.

In a little over an hour they arrived on the outskirts of Sioux Falls. He took the West 60th Street exit, toward the airport, then turned down a road before reaching the main parking area and terminal. A sign at the corner pointed to charter flights. Adam parked in the lot and opened his door.

“Wait here, tough girl.”

“Okay,” she said, feeling more like bewildered girl than tough girl, but he was out of the car, striding through the rain to a man in a blue suit with gold braid at the cuffs and a pilot’s hat on his head. Behind him sat a small jet, with five windows down the side and a short stairway built into the open door. Adam shook the man’s hand. There was a short conversation, then the man looked at his watch and said something. He turned back to the plane and Adam jogged back to the car. He opened her door and hunkered down beside her.

“You coming?”

“On
that
?” she asked, pointing out the Charger’s front window at the airplane.

“On that,” he confirmed.

“What is
that
?”

“
That
is a Gulfstream G150 jet.”

The words meant nothing to her. “Is it
yours
?”

“No,” he said with a smile.

She waited, but he kept smiling that pleased, cocky smile. “That’s all I’m getting? Who does it belong to and why are we flying on it? For that matter,
where
are we flying on it?”

“I’ll answer all those questions when we get where we’re going,” he said. “Unless you won’t get on the plane without knowing. Then I’ll answer them now. But . . . wait. It’ll be worth it.”

She looked at him, anxiety and excitement warring in her stomach, not sure what to think, let alone say, wanting to know, not wanting to spoil whatever surprise he’d planned that lit him up inside. He was as alive as she’d ever seen him, as alive as he’d been at seventeen, his hazel eyes glowing nearly green, his high cheekbones stained with red from the cold, damp air.

“Trust me, Ris,” he said quietly. “Let’s do this.”

“It’s really small,” she said thinly.

His hand dropped to her knee, squeezed gently. “The pilot is former Air Force. He has thirty years of experience flying everything from F-16s to Boeing 777s to gliders.”

“I’ve never been on a plane before,” she admitted.

He blinked. “You’ve never flown anywhere.”

“Adam,” she said in a whisper, “the farthest away from home I’ve been is the Black Hills.”

“How about you take your first plane ride today?”

She nodded wordlessly and got out of the car. Adam grabbed their bags from the backseat and escorted her toward the plane. The pilot appeared in the doorway, reaching down for her hand to help her up the stairs. “Watch your head, ma’am,” he said.

She was so busy watching her head she tripped over the plush carpet. The cabin’s interior made her eyes widen. A row of single caramel leather seats lined the aisle, with polished wood accents on the folding tables and cup holders. Televisions folded flat against the interior walls. The interior smelled like leather cream and new car.

“Any seat’s fine, ma’am,” the pilot said. Marissa sank into the one opposite the door. Adam set their bags in a closet at the front of the plane and sat down next to her while the pilot closed the cabin door and shut himself in the cockpit. The seat belts fastened over her shoulder like they would in a car. The engines revved and the plane turned toward the runway.

“How does he know where to go?” she asked.

“That’s what we were talking about while you were in the car,” Adam said, studying her. “You know what you need?”

She shook her head mutely.

“You need a Starbucks cup to hold,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

The gentle teasing startled a laugh from her. “I’ll try to enjoy myself without it,” she said.

Rain lashed at the little window while the jet taxied to the end of the runway. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “The flight’s about an hour, folks. Ride up’s gonna be a little choppy, so buckle up tight. Once we’re airborne I’ll let you know when you can help yourself to the pantry. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”

Marissa turned her attention to the tiny window beside her, watching the runway move past, listening to the engines ramp up as the plane taxied to the end of the runway and took off. Her heart clawed its way into her throat as the plane bounced and struggled to clear the ominous clouds. At the second jolt she gripped the armrests. Adam reached across the aisle and offered his hand. She took it, weaving her fingers through his, and squeezing hard. The warm, solid strength of his hand seeped into her cold fingers, and her heart rate slowed a little.

Without warning they broke free of the clouds. Sunlight streamed through the small window, blinding her. She closed her eyes against the sudden, shocking light, but even with her eyes shut the light seared into her brain. Adam’s fingers tightened on hers, and she turned to face him. Sunshine gilded his face, dusted his eyelashes and eyebrows with gold, brought out the gold flecks in his eyes.

“It’s the sun,” she said through the lump in her throat.

“It’s always there, Ris,” he said gently. “Sometimes you just have to go searching for it.”

The ride smoothed out as if by magic. After a few minutes the plane leveled out, the engines barely audible in the plush interior, and the pilot’s voice came over the speakers.

“We’re at cruising altitude, folks, so the pantry’s now open. Help yourselves to whatever you like.”

At ease in the small plane, Adam unclipped his seat belt and got to his feet. Marissa reached for her own belt, and together they stepped to the small closet. Adam made a pot of coffee while she poked through the selection of muffins and fresh fruit, assorted teas, juices, and cold cereals. She chose a muffin, still warm in the linen-lined basket, added an apple, and a second cup of coffee, then returned to her seat. Adam handed the pilot a cup of coffee and closed the door between the cockpit and the cabin, then extracted the folding wood table from its slot along the body of the plane and sat down with his own breakfast.

While she ate Marissa peered out the window. The clouds below them gave way to a rolling countryside, the orderly progression of farm fields in square miles except where roads curved along river – or creekbeds. Towns clustered around highway intersections.

“We’re flying east, right?”

He nodded while pushing the last piece of banana-nut bread into his mouth, but said nothing more. She thought about what lay east of Walkers Ford. Minneapolis-St. Paul came to mind, a destination definitely reachable in less than an hour. But the flight stretched over thirty minutes and suddenly the patchwork quilt of brown fields gave way to a large body of water. The plane gradually descended as it banked, and the water turned to urban skyline. She peered out the window, and a montage from a television show meshed with what she saw.

“That’s the Sears Tower,” she said, pointing.

“It is,” Adam agreed.

“You’re taking me to Chicago?”

He nodded, his hazel eyes dancing with delight.

“I’m speechless,” she said.

“There’s more,” he replied.

The jet landed with an almost imperceptible jolt and braked hard down the runway before coming to a halt at the edge of a cluster of similar jets. Marissa stowed their plates and glasses in the pantry while Adam gathered their bags and the pilot opened the door.

“That was my first flight,” she said, pausing in the door way. “It was wonderful.”

His smile widened from polite to genuine. “My pleasure, ma’am. Enjoy your stay in Chicago.”

Adam guided her to a black Lincoln Continental parked near the hangar. A man in a suit leaned against it, and as they approached he straightened. “Mr. Collins? Ms. Brooks?”

“That’s us,” Adam said. The driver reached for the bags and put them in the trunk while Adam helped Marissa into the backseat. A few quiet words with the driver, and then they pulled into traffic.

“How did you do all of this?”

“I made a call,” he said.

Things sure did happen when Adam Collins was around. The trip took them along city streets and through more traffic than she’d ever seen in her life. She gave up any appearance of sophistication and pressed her cheek to the glass to look at the buildings, the people, the cars, everything she could see. Sunlight poured over the cityscape, glinted off reflective glass in skyscrapers, making her blink.

“Look at the sun,” she said, mostly to herself.

Beside her, Adam pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call. “We’re here,” he said, then leaned through the partition again. “How long?”

“Five minutes,” the driver said.

Adam repeated the information into the phone and hung up. The driver turned off the main road and parked next to a sign that read Chicago Yacht Club. Her heart pumped in solid, hard thunks that made her dizzy, and her stomach began to flip-flop around the blueberry muffin and apple.

She looked at Adam, knew her eyes must be as wide as saucers. He just smiled. “Out you go, tough girl.”

A tall man wearing shorts, deck shoes, and a windbreaker with the Chicago Yacht Club logo on the chest was waiting by the sign. His closely cropped blond hair glinted in the sunlight as he reached into the trunk and set their bags on the sidewalk. “That’s all of it,” he said to the driver, who nodded, got back in the car, and left.

Adam and the blond man gave each other a back-slapping, bear hug of an embrace. “Good to see you, man,” Adam said, and put his hand at the small of Marissa’s back to guide her forward. “This is Nate Martin. We served together.”