Charmed (Death Escorts #2)(39)
Author: Cambria Hebert

Her chair spun back around to face me. “Are you serious?”

“Views from every room.”

“How much money do you have?” she wondered.

More than she or I could ever spend. More money than some small countries. Killing paid well. Killing for over ninety years made a man very, very rich. I opened my mouth to answer and she held up her hand.

“Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because of the way you earned it.”

Irritation slammed through me. Figures she’d say that. “Money is just paper. It really doesn’t have anything to do with the job.”

“You do the job for the money,” she spat.

“I do the job because I have to,” I snapped, getting up and going to the bar. Shit, this was going to be a long plane ride. I should have just left her in Alaska and done damage control when I got home. It probably would have done me good to get away from her. She drove me mad. I poured half a glass of brandy and took a swallow.

“Because you’ll get Recalled,” she said softly.

“Yeah, and I’m in no hurry for that to happen.”

“It’s pretty terrible?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” I said, wincing when the endearment slipped out. Again. I had no idea why I kept doing that. Calling people by anything other than their name was something I never did. “You won’t feel a thing.”

“But you will,” she whispered. I figured I wasn’t meant to hear that either so I didn’t bother to reply. I wasn’t naïve enough to think she actually cared.

“What’s the purpose of this trip anyway? I thought you were all about your Target,” she said with mock seriousness.

I didn’t bother to sit back down, but paced the cabin instead. This jet was feeling smaller than usual.

“I am all about my Target. That’s why you’re here.”

“Well, then?”

I took another drink of the alcohol and hoped it would numb my brain. She asked too many questions. “Work.”

“Is Rosalyn traveling to L.A.?” she wondered out loud. Then she said, “Couldn’t be, then you wouldn’t have cared if I was there.”

I stayed silent. I was tired of talking.

“If you’re not going for Rosalyn, but it’s still work…” She gasped. “You’re going to kill someone. Aren’t you?”

I closed my eyes. How did she make everything I did sound so awful? “It’s really not any of your business.”

“Are you kidding me?” she shouted. “You’re making me an accessory to murder!”

“Keep your voice down,” I said, glancing at the cockpit. “And you can’t be an accessory to something you know nothing about.”

She drained the rest of her drink, set the glass on a nearby table, and then spun her chair back toward the window. I guess that meant she was done bitching at me. Thank God.

We sat in silence for a long time. I finished my drink and had another, watched the sports highlights on the mini flat screen, and stared out the window into the dark. Flying didn’t bother me—I did it all the time—but sitting here left me feeling restless. She still hadn’t turned that chair around. She hadn’t uttered a word.

It made me mad that I was sitting here even thinking about her pouting. I took my empty glass over to the bar and then grabbed her chair and turned it around. She was sitting with her knees pulled up and her chin resting on top. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and she tilted her head back and looked at me. “What?”

“Are you going move in the next eight hours?”

She sighed and unfolded herself from the chair. “Where’s my bag?” she asked.

I motioned to the back of the cabin to the large closet where I put our bags. She pulled open the door and yanked out her bag so it was practically on top of her feet. Then she glanced at me and pointed to the garment bag hanging inside the closet. “Seriously? You put your clothes in a garment bag? How many pairs of trousers did you bring?”

I wondered what she would say if she knew there was a body in that bag and not my trousers. A body I stole from the Grim Reaper. And what the hell was wrong with trousers? They were classy. The way she said it, you would think I was running around in sweatpants. “If I had known you liked me in jeans so much, I would have brought more of those instead.”

Her cheeks turned pink and she bent down to rummage through her bag. After a few minutes, she made a sound. “Didn’t you bring me a sweatshirt?”

“We’re going to California. It’s hot there.”

“But this plane is freezing.”

“There’s some blankets in the cabinet over here.”

She abandoned the duffle and walked over to where I was pulling several blankets out of the cabinet. When she reached out for one, I noticed the goose bumps prickling her arms. I guess I should have packed her a sweater or something. Packing for a woman wasn’t something I ever had to do. I snatched the blanket away and her eyes widened.

“Hey,” she started, but she fell silent when I yanked the shirt I was wearing over my head. Then I swiftly pulled it down over her.

“You’ll warm up faster this way,” I said.

“I’m not going to freeze to death,” she protested even as she pushed her arms through and fixed the hem. The white fabric fell mid-thigh. “How come men get all the good body heat?” she mumbled, reaching around me for the blanket and taking it over to her chair.

“What do you know about men and body heat?” I felt my eyes narrow as I watched her shapely behind move beneath my shirt.

“That they have more of it.”

She yawned loudly and wrapped the blanket around herself.

“You might as well get some sleep. I have a feeling once you see the beach you won’t want to go in the house.”

“Good idea.” She leaned her head back against the chair. If she slept like that she was going to get a neck cramp.

“Here, this would be more comfortable.” I told her, grabbing a remote and pressing a button. The couch I sat on earlier slid out of the wall, widening so it was the size of a double bed.

She stared at me for a few minutes before getting up and going to the bed. I handed her a pillow. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I just didn’t want to hear you whine about your neck from sleeping in a chair.”