Ethan’s drawn gun was down, and he spoke in hurried tones to Gio. The steward cried quietly as he stood beside her, short, choked gasps that made his shoulders lurch. His arms banded around him, trying to hold it back. Her copilot mumbled something like a plea, but his words were too crowded with emotion to understand.
Not her. Hot, thick rage bubbled up inside, making her disregard the gun that Gio had turned on her crew. They shouldn’t have to pay for Gio’s horrible choice.
“How is he planning to get back if he kills us?” she demanded of Ethan.
“I’m trying to convince him to let you and the attendant go.”
“Will he do that?”
“I can be persuasive.” It sounded confident.
But she had enough survivor guilt to live with. “I’m the captain. Let my crew go. I’ll fly Gio back to Rome.”
Ethan’s expression was dark and terrifying. His eyes hinted he was furious at the idea. “Not an option.”
“Look at me,” she commanded. It didn’t matter what her crew thought about it, so she spoke plainly. “I’m the only one holding it together.”
“Be quiet!” Ethan ordered her. His head appeared so heavy with thoughts that it sagged under the weight.
It wasn’t as if she had a death wish, but her concern for the men on either side of her was greater. And she hoped deep down that Ethan wouldn’t let Gio harm her, so she had to remove the rest of her crew from the equation. The words came out steady, while she was fractured inside.
“Signore,”
she said to Gio, pointing to him and then to herself.
“Roma.”
“No,” Ethan snapped. “Wait—”
Gio nodded with pleased agreement, and shockingly, lowered his gun.
Every muscle in Ethan’s body appeared to be clenched, and his intense eyes clouded with distrust. She hadn’t expected it to be that easy either. Letting her crew go was a huge risk for Gio. There was discussion between the armed men, but it didn’t relax any of the tension in Ethan’s stance.
“Okay,” she said hurriedly to her crew, “nothing happened here, but to be safe, don’t go back to Italy.”
“Ever,” Ethan added.
They nodded quickly. Ethan gave a frustrated sigh, asking the murderer something pointed, and Gio turned to give his full attention to Renzo’s body. The conversation was brief, and probably about what to do with it.
Ethan reluctantly holstered his gun and bent down, snatching one of the dead man’s wrists and yanking the body along, dragging it toward the cargo hold, smearing blood on the ground as it went. Ethan’s determined expression was inescapable.
A new crack of gunfire. It was so abrupt and unexpected, she was still flinching from the first when the second rang out, almost on top of the other. The young man collapsed backward from the bullet’s impact as he’d been the first one hit, and her copilot folded sideways, falling into her and knocking her down. He was wet with blood.
Her mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. The heavy body rolled off of her, and she scrambled backward on her knees, her mind numb with hysteria.
“No, fuck!” Ethan yelled. He’d dropped his grip on Renzo’s arm and now his gun was leveled at Gio. Using his other hand to brace the weapon, his bicep flexed and strained, like it was taking every ounce of strength in him not to kill Gio. Why didn’t he? Obviously he didn’t have a problem killing an Abramo. But the gun in Gio’s hand, the one that he had just used to murder the rest of her crew, was now fixed on her.
Ethan’s Italian was urgent and commanding. No, not commanding, it was . . . was it pleading?
“Roma,”
Gio ordered, flicking the barrel of the gun toward the plane and then back at her.
Her gaze drifted to Ethan. For what? To save her? He’d been so sure he could convince Gio, but the two men beside her were dead.
Dead.
Didn’t seem possible, but everything inside her felt more hollow and cold.
“He was going to let them go,” Ethan muttered. The words came out like they were unfamiliar and choked in his throat. “I . . . believed him.”
She didn’t know what to do with that information. Something wet was on her face and she wiped it away. Tears? No, the coppery-red liquid on her fingertips had come from copilot. The soft, sweet man who had no problem reporting to a young, female captain, when so many others did. She used her sleeve to wipe away the blood.
How was she still alive? How was she supposed to live with this?
“
Roma,”
Gio demanded again, angry. The murderer wanted to get back home. He surveyed the rest of the vacant landing strip, maybe examining if his gunshots had attracted any attention. Right now the place was deserted.
“Roma.”
“Jesus, give her a second,” Ethan said, then repeated what she assumed was the same thing in Italian. He hadn’t lowered his gun from Gio.
“Are you going to kill him?” a female voice asked. It had to come from her, but it sounded alien.
He spoke through clenched teeth, each word weighted. “I. Can’t.”
“Do you know how to fly?”
His aim on Gio was unwavering. “No.”
It was difficult climbing onto her shaky legs. Everything around her was shifting and unstable, made worse when Gio reached one hand out to help her, the gun still trained on her in his other.
“Tell him he can’t kill me, at least, not until we land.” A nervous, inappropriate laugh burst from her and then died.
Those dark eyes she found so intriguing flooded with concern. “I’ve warned him.”
The sharp grip on her elbow was searing, and she tried unsuccessfully to shake it off as Gio tucked his gun into the front waistband of his pants.
“Andiamo.”
Gio gestured to the bodies, his evil face turned to Ethan.
Hurry up.
Olivia watched Ethan lumber to load them into the hold of the plane, unable to stop him. She’d thought about going for Gio’s gun and trying to kill him herself, but she got the impression that Ethan wouldn’t allow that. No, he’d stop her before it happened. And if she was somehow successful, what then? Vitale would find her, and he’d make her wish she’d been the dead pilot Ethan had just placed in the hold.
She went up the steps, sandwiched between the two men, and then had to explain to Ethan how to retract the stairs and latch the door shut. Her shuddering hands made it difficult for her to do it by herself. Ethan followed her into the cockpit, telling her the door had to remain open.
“I need your help,” he said quietly. “There’s too much at play here. I have to get him back to Rome in one piece.”
“There are bodies on my plane.”
“I know, but you can do this. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” When her eyes lifted to meet his, his expression softened. “I won’t let anything
else
happen to you,” he amended. “I know you’ve got emergency signals and distress calls you can put out that will bring authorities here.” He took a deep breath. “I’m asking you not to use them. We can get through this. I need you to trust me.”
Trust him? She barely knew him, other than he was pretending to be someone else. The threat of what would happen if she disobeyed was what drove her into the seat, not trust. As she put on the headset and evaluated the instrumentation, Ethan hovered behind her like he was unwilling to sit in the copilot’s chair. Was it a sign of respect, or was he watching to make sure she didn’t try anything?
Having the yoke in her hands calmed her to a level where she could focus, and she clung to the idea that she was in control of the situation that was a tailspin she couldn’t correct. She radioed the tower and got clearance for takeoff. Her body went through all the motions, and when the nose was pointed down the runway, she turned to glare at him.
“Sit down, we’re taking off.”
He did so, reluctantly. “Do you need me to do something?”
“No. Do nothing. You’re good at that.” The bitter words burned on her tongue, and seemed to sting him as intended. Her anger was all over the place. Gio was the one who’d killed her crew, her friends, but . . . Ethan hadn’t done a thing to stop him. Now she was the only survivor of her team,
again
.
Not only was he exceptionally quiet during takeoff, he didn’t move a muscle. Like his body had gone into some sort of suspended state. As she climbed toward cruising altitude, she glanced at him. He looked determined. Collected. It only made her angrier.
She leveled off, engaged the autopilot, and pushed the yoke free. Fire stung in her eyes as she looked at him, demanding him to speak.
“I did everything I could to try to save them,” he said. “I was trying to save you. He’s unpredictable, and I won’t make that mistake again.”
“
Unpredictable?”
She yelled it at him. “People are dead because of your
mistake
.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who put their goddamn bodies on the plane.”
Gio’s voice came through the open door, asking something, and Ethan growled out a response. Footsteps approached.
“No,” she said, her pulse racing. “Tell him to stay out of my cockpit.” She couldn’t have the murderous piece of garbage enter the only sanctuary she had left, shattering her illusions of safety and control.
Ethan said something and the footsteps stopped. The heavy, quick breathing said Gio lingered just outside the doorway. There was a terse conversation between the men.
“We’ve discussed how to handle the situation of landing in Rome. Gio will have someone at the airport make sure the officials stay away.”
Her hands balled into fists and her nails bit into the skin of her palms. Her emotions threatened to tear her apart, but the footsteps faded as Gio returned to his seat. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t allow this to happen. She had to do something. Maybe she could get the drug from Ethan and slip it into Gio’s drink. Gio unconscious, that would be—
Wait a minute.
She didn’t need Ethan’s drug to do that.
Her O
2
mask would fall from the portside overhead compartment, and oxygen flowed longer to the pilots’ masks. All she had to do was switch off the airflow valve from Engine One and wait for the air to thin enough for the masks to drop. Either Gio would ignore the mask and lose consciousness quickly, or he’d take it and stay locked in his chair until the oxygen ran out. The chemical generator had ten minutes at the most for passengers, considerably more for the cockpit.
She’d get Gio on the ground in one piece as requested. Ethan hadn’t said shit about Gio’s brain being damaged by hypoxia. She eyed the airflow switch, hesitant.
“What are you thinking about?” Ethan’s strong voice interrupted her.
He didn’t seem like the type, but people panicked when O
2
masks appeared. She had to hope the large man beside her would remain calm. Fifteen minutes at the most, and then she’d switch the airflow back on, or drop below 10,000 feet. “I’m thinking about what’s going to happen to us after we land.”
It took a tremendous effort to casually reach forward and toggle the switch to off and confirm the decision when the warning alert dinged. She checked the gauges and pretended this was all normal, as if she wasn’t about to cut off the oxygen supply in the cabin of her plane.
Her heart raced and the blood roared in her ears louder than the constant hum of engines. The sound of the cooling fan slowing was subtle, and even if Ethan noticed, he probably wouldn’t think anything of it. Outwardly, she remained composed, but inside panic poured into her stomach.
Did Ethan know that she’d just become the most dangerous thing on her plane? As Gio’s brain was starved of oxygen, he’d become disoriented. Perhaps his speech would slur and he’d speak nonsense, although she wouldn’t understand either way. Maybe he’d experience euphoria, as some people reported they did, but she hoped not. All she wanted was the loss of consciousness that the hypoxia was likely to bring.
Ethan scrutinized her when she turned to him, but she kept her face blank.
“Let me worry about what to do when we land,” he said. “Maybe you don’t trust me, but you’re going to listen to me. So if I tell you to be quiet, that means I need you to shut up. Do as I tell you and I can get you out of this. You were in the military, so I know you can follow orders.”
Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to see Ethan panic when the warning alarm sounded and the plastic bags and tubing sprang from the compartments. It couldn’t come soon enough.
“You don’t know a thing about me,” she said. A lie. He knew plenty about her, and he probably saw right through the front she was so careful to put up. It took a bull-shitter to know one.
It was dark outside, and the lights were dim in the small space she shared with this man she’d slept with. That felt like a lifetime ago. How upset was he going to be with her when he realized what she’d done? Why did she care?
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know anything about you.”
He lapsed into silence but she could feel his intense gaze on her, and unexpectedly, his breathing picked up. Like he was nervous about whatever he was going to say.