Marked Masters (3 page)

I grabbed my bag and walked from the gate to
the hallway. I was not going to panic. Instead, I focused on my
surroundings. I smelled food, coffee, and that particular odor
airports have as people move exhaustedly from one geographical
space to another, a culmination of a variety of cultures and
varying degrees of unwashed bodies. Jack had indicated he wanted
coffee, so I headed that direction, dodging a couple of bored kids
playing with a tiny rubber ball. No Hawkes. With the clock ticking
down the minutes, I race-walked in and out of various outlets
housing magazines, newspapers, books, souvenirs, and food,
eventually finding a lone wall of canteen snacks for picky
customers who didn't want fresh, only processed.

Bathrooms offered the next option, both
men's and women's, and I ran through each, checking stalls. The men
were naturally shocked, but the women offered more vocal outrage.
In the last men's stall, I found Jack's bag, contents scattered
everywhere and what looked like drops of blood on the floor. I
thrust his stuff back into the bag, carefully avoiding the blood,
and headed back to the main hallway. Frantically looking in every
direction, I did not want to return to the security area, and I
didn't think anyone else would have gone that way either.

I turned to look back toward the waiting
area, hoping to see Jack waving frantically. No luck. For a second,
my gaze was drawn to a matronly woman with a huge flowered hat. An
entourage of some kind followed her, and all headed my way.

There! As they passed the water fountain, I
spotted a door marked No Entry. I hadn't noticed it earlier due to
a group of kids fighting over the water fountain and the fact the
door completely matched the surrounding walls.

My large Fendi purse and the wheeled bags
helped hide my actions from the casual observer, and, I hoped, from
the standard security cameras. The locked door presented no
problem. Within a minute or so, I had it open with the set of tools
I carried in a hidden pocket of my purse.

I replaced the tool and grabbed out of the
pack a deceptively innocent-looking instrument with a sharp edge.
Just for a little extra protection.

The wide storage room held a variety of
supplies on seemingly endless high shelves and no clear view.
Nothing to do but run for it. I slipped off my heels and ran,
holding the bags tightly to my sides as I looked up and down each
aisle. I stopped suddenly as I thought I heard something, and I
started to call out but worried I might be alerting the wrong
person about my presence.

Only a few minutes left before the flight
boarded. I headed back toward the other end of the room, on guard
the whole way, and hoped the noise was Jack.

I stepped around the last shelf and gaped.
Trussed up like a holiday turkey, Hawkes was hanging by ropes from
the shelf, his silk tie thrust in his mouth. Under his angry black
eyebrows, his teal eyes shot murderous looks my way. He mumbled
something—I could only guess—and jerked at the ropes. He succeeded
in shaking the shelf a bit. But since the unit was bolted to the
floor, the only thing he disturbed were the group of plastic
tumblers stacked in thin see-through bags all around him. Two
packages closest to him tottered violently, fell off, and burst
open. The freed tumblers rolled everywhere to join compatriots,
which had apparently been knocked down during the
er…uh…hanging.

Though relieved to see him, I also wanted to
laugh a bit since I had imagined him strung up many times since I'd
known him. I thought seriously about pulling out my phone and
taking a picture, but I didn't want to risk the death my poor
smartphone would likely suffer after Jack was free. Instead of
wasting time, I quickly looked him over—to try to determine the
source of the blood I'd seen in the stall. The only visible wound
other than the rope chafing was a small cut at the edge of his left
eyebrow—the brows still pulled together in a thunderous
V
.

The handle of my weapon went into my mouth,
to leave my hands free for climbing, and I let the bags slide from
my arms. My Manolo Blahniks were discarded next, and then I climbed
several of the shelves and used my tool to saw at one of the ropes
holding him in place. His muttering got louder, and I knew I should
pull the tie out of his mouth, but I didn't want the complaints to
start.

The tool was sharp. Before I cut the second
one holding him, I knew I needed to cut the rope binding his hands
so he could protect himself as he fell. With a bit of difficulty, I
sliced through the professional knots, and he jerked the tie from
his mouth.

"Bloody hell, Laurel, what took you so long
to find me? Have we missed the flight?"

"Get ready. The rope's about to give way." I
ignored his questions as I took a final swipe.

"What do you mean…" Jack said, his words
becoming incoherent as he dropped to the floor amidst the
plasticware.

His next words weren't meant for polite
company as he struggled to undo the knots around his ankles. I
climbed down and handed him my tool, which he ungraciously took and
sliced through the rope with more expertise than I had
demonstrated. He rubbed his ankles and his wrists, and I could tell
from the way he was moving his whole body hurt. It looked like a
small bruise was forming at his brow and the shadow of another a
bit under his chin.

"I guess the blood in the bathroom was from
the cut near your eye?"

He looked at his Silberstein before he
shakily stood. So it hadn't been a robbery. "What makes you think
it wasn't from the other guy?" he asked irritably as he held a
shelf to steady himself. "Come on. We have to go. Thank God we're
already checked in and the gate is close."

"Because nobody hurt could have attached you
to those shelves like a string of holiday lights." I countered the
earlier question he used to avoid answering what I'd asked.

He ignored me, stuffed his tie in his suit
pocket, straightened his clothing, picked up his case and mine, and
we took off for the gate, arriving with very little time to
spare.

Our plane boasted the standard East Coast,
in-state shuttle accommodations, crammed to the wing flaps with
coach seating. Seventy or so passengers filled the small commuter
jet, with a column of two seats on the left side of the aisle and a
width of three seats on the right. The flight spent little actual
time in the air compared to the eternity waiting on the tarmac.
Still, I figured I could grab a quick nap and intended to do so
without delay.

It was open seating, but Jack managed to
score us two seats together on the small side of the plane. He
wanted the aisle, and I gave no argument to sitting and scootching
into the window seat. I rose up a bit to straighten the skirt of
the gray knit dress I got the last time I was in Peru. It was
scrunchable and one of my favorites for traveling. It also went
great with my favorite heels.

Jack had charmed the flight attendant out of
a Glenfiddich before takeoff and was visibly relaxed when he
glanced over at me and said, "They were airport workers. Or at
least they were dressed like airport maintenance with a utility
cart."

A utility cart with a lot of rope. I bit my
lip. "What do you think they wanted?"

"I'm inclined to think they wanted to stop
us from taking the flight. They were only interested in subduing
me." He flexed the hand not holding the drink. "But how did you
have that sharp tool?"

"A special storage case designed for me by a
German craftsman," I explained. It wouldn't hold a large weapon,
yet it could escape the detection of metal detectors and appeared
innocuous under X-ray. "Just a little favor I received recently
from an old friend." Then I pointed up at the overhead compartment.
"You probably should check your bag. I found the contents scattered
in the stall."

Jack shrugged. "I'm not worried. Nothing in
the bag for them to find."

I took a sip from my water bottle. "What
would their—whoever they are—interest be in stopping you from
taking the flight?"

"Or you." He took a long swig and put the
glass on the tray, the cubes rattling against the plastic
glass.

"Why would it have necessarily stopped
me?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Your loyalty is well
known. And you did locate me, after all."

"But I may have gotten on the plane alone if
I hadn't discovered where they'd trapped you. Just notified the
desk agent you were missing."

He shot me a look that made me laugh.

"I really am glad you are all right. My only
regret is not getting a picture when I had the chance. I seriously
thought about it but figured that was leverage you'd never let me
use anyway."

"Right on that count. Would you really have
left me?"

"Maybe…" I let the word hang for a moment
before I added, "If I thought you'd taken off to follow a lead solo
again. It wouldn't have been the first time."

Jack handed his glass to the passing
attendant. "You do know I would never do anything without reason.
Right? However, when going for a cup of coffee requires rescue, it
proves there are no innocent errands for either of us. I'm just
glad this time I'm not dead."

I shuddered through a deep breath and looked
at him with astonishment. "What did you say?"

"You heard me—I'll not repeat it. I equally
cannot believe anyone could get the drop on me like that."

"I'm glad you aren't dead as well," I
repeated solemnly, then winked to lighten the mood. I would never
tell him how true that was. It would give him too much power. "Do
you think we'll ever know who's responsible?"

Jack stared into the distance. "Oh, I'm
certain I'll find out." From the tone of his voice, I could tell
that his words were a vow.

Even before we'd taken off, I had my napping
plan rolled out, and I pulled on my sleep mask to firmly cover my
eyes. I figured the two-seat side was best as I didn't have to
worry about anyone crossing over me for the next half hour or so.
The flight met capacity levels in both human and hearing volume,
and as with all the short hoppers I'd traveled on through the
years, the noise levels in the plane were tremendous. No matter.
The steady rumble was pure white noise to me. No frills had its
benefits.

Alas, my rest was not to be. We had barely
lifted the landing gear when Jack's shoulder leaned into mine. He
asked, "Laurel, are you asleep?"

Ignoring him would have been easy. I could
have simply used the plane noise as excuse if he persisted. But I
knew Jack, and not only would the plan not likely work, but when he
persevered I risked blowing my top due to no sleep and less
patience. I lifted one side of the sleep mask, not willing to give
up yet on my dream. "I'm trying, Jack. I was a little too busy last
night to get my full eight hours."

"Which brings up precisely the subject I
want to discuss." He cocked a black eyebrow at me, and I was
reading his lips more than truly hearing each word as he continued.
"I hope this foray into crime is your first and last. The value of
the theft you attempted would put a felony on your record if those
coppers last night had caught you."

I moved the whole mask to my hairline so he
could see me lift my own eyebrow questioningly as I reminded,
"Aren't you the one who left with the masterpiece? I recall simply
spiriting away a lowly journal that law enforcement can only use to
get on to a trail of human traffickers. Since it meets no
chain-of-evidence rules, it couldn't be more than a misdemeanor
given its market value. Perhaps you should look inward, Mr. Hawkes.
I think you can keep busy enough examining your own personality
flaws, but thanks so much for your concern."

He snorted. I wiggled the dark mask back
into place.

"Still, love…" His fingers lifted up a
corner of the mask so I could again see that cocky eyebrow. "You
possessed more than average nerve whilst we each traipsed through
the little midnight caper. You were angry but confident when we met
up at the car."

"You mean when you broke into my car and
stashed your loot in my backseat? Wow, now that I think about it,
Jack, your transgressions are really piling up. Maybe it would be
best if I not associate with you anymore. Bad influence and all of
that."

Due to our too-close confinement, I hoped
this exchange was the end of his questions. I could deflect a lot
and had my personal arsenal of point maneuvers that worked against
most people, but Jack Hawkes was not most people. My
extracurricular activities, what I deemed my "reclamation
projects," had gone undetected for some time by all facets of law
enforcement, and I intended to keep the status quo exactly as I
preferred it. While I'd been close to getting caught several times,
even spotted on three separate occasions, I'd never actually been
apprehended or even positively identified. However, I'd also never
before had an adversary like Jack Hawkes. Someone who learned about
my exploits by getting there just ahead of me. Someone who from the
time I met him operated under the assumption I was more than I
seemed.

Well, I never said the man wasn't
bright.
Hopefully, flip answers and the fact he got to the
painting first was enough to shut down further discussion.

I jerked the satin mask from his fingers and
repositioned it one last time over my eyes. To no avail.

"Speaking of associates." Jack ripped the
mask completely off my head. I glared at him as I tried to use
fingers and my vague reflection in the thick airplane window glass
to reduce the clown mess my blond waves likely took on from the
flinging elastic. My blue eyes were a blur, but even the poor
reflection showed they were narrowed in anger below my thin
brows.

"Were we speaking of associates? I honestly
don't remember previous conversations along those lines." I
shrugged and changed my look to my patented bored face. Experience
told me that allowing Jack to witness any negative emotion on my
part simply made him feel he'd scored points and goaded him into
continuing for the kill. Okay, maybe kill wasn't the best word to
consider in our present adventure.