Dante’s Girl (The Paradise Diaries #1)(4)
Author: Courtney Cole

“What happened?” I ask Dante frantically.  “What happened to them?  Were they taking off or landing?”

He peers at the wreckage.  “I don’t know,” he admits.  “I can’t tell.”

The men in suits appear out of nowhere by Dante’s elbow.

“Come, Dante.  We need to move.”  A tall man with a blonde buzz cut and tanned skin commands Dante urgently.  “We can’t stay here.”

“What?” Dante answers blankly, staring up at the man.  “How are we going to go anywhere?”

Buzz Cut grasps Dante’s arm, his fingers thick like sausages.

“There’s no time to discuss.  We have to move.” He leans down and murmurs something into Dante’s ear.  The only word I catch is “terrorists.”

I gasp and Buzz Cut looks at me, his flat blue eyes solemn.  Raising a beefy finger, he pushes it to his lips, cautioning me to be silent.  I bite my lip and Dante turns to me.

“Get your bags, Reece.”

“What?” I ask in confusion.

“Just grab your things,” he says quickly as he stands up. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Grasping the handle of my carry-on as I heft my purse onto my shoulder, I file down the aisle quietly and quickly after Dante.  I don’t even know this guy but for some reason, in this moment, I trust him.  I’d definitely rather be with him than out here on this flaming tarmac.  That much is certain.

The flight attendants close around us in a protective barrier as we wait by the door.  Behind us, I can hear the dismay of the other passengers as they loudly voice their concerns over why we are able to leave and they aren’t.  It’s actually a valid question and one that I don’t know the answer to.

As the airplane taxies slowly across the tarmac toward the opposite side of the airport, I stare out the window in shock.

Pieces of the burning aircraft are scattered everywhere.  Small twists of metal, bits of clothing, burned rubber.  My gaze flies to the aircraft itself and I find that a jagged hole has been torn into the belly of the plane.  I gasp again and tear my eyes away. But that doesn’t help.  For one thing, I catch a glimpse of a blackened doll lying in the grass by the airplane’s wheel, its face melted away.  For another, the images have been seared into my mind, probably forever.  I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the plane to stop moving.

A few minutes later, we draw to a stop.  I open my eyes once again and find that we are docked in a quiet, dark area of the airport.

Buzz Cut moves quickly to open the aircraft’s door.  Glancing outside, I find that a tall mobile staircase has been dragged out to the airplane, the same kind as you would see the president climbing for Airforce One.

I gulp.

How is Dante able to garner this kind of special treatment?

But there is no time to ask.  The men in suits are hustling us down the steep stairs and it is all I can do to keep up, to keep my feet moving so that I don’t fall.  These guys clearly mean business.  I can hear the loud protests of the passengers still on the plane, right up until the door is clicked closed behind us.

“It’s alright,” Dante tells me quietly as we walk toward the terminal. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Where are we?  Where are we going?” I ask. “Why are you taking me with you?”

“I didn’t want to leave you back there,” he explains calmly.  “No one knows what happened.  They think it was terrorists.  They’re locking the airport down.  You could be here for hours or even days.  I don’t want that. We’re in a secure, unused terminal.  I promise you that you are safe with me. We’re going to cross back under Schiphol through a security tunnel and then we’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

“Well, where are you going?”

“I was going to join my father in London,” Dante says, his eyes slightly concerned.  “But now I will probably return home.”

“But how?” I ask in confusion. “You just said they’re closing down the airport.”

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “Russell?  How will we be getting home?”

Buzz Cut turns around.

“Private helicopters are en route to meet us as we speak.  We’ll fly to Thessaloniki, then charter a boat to Caberra.  We’ll be home in no time. And we’re not making any detours, Dante.”

“Home?” I cry out, before I can stop myself. “As in, your home?  Caberra?  My father is going to kill me.  Can’t you just drop me off? I can take the Chunnel.”

I’ve always liked riding the train underneath the English Channel, anyway.  And it’s name, Chunnel, is fun to say.

Buzz Cut is already shaking his head.

“Obviously, if the airports are closed down, they’ll close the Chunnel down too.  I’m guessing that all public transportation will be closed until they ascertain if this was a terrorist attack.”

Dante stares at Buzz Cut.  “We have to drop Reece off,” he says calmly.  “Her father will be worried.”

“It is not that simple,” Buzz Cut answers.  “I’m sure the ferry won’t be running.  Your father wouldn’t want me to detour, Dante. I’m sorry. Your safety is what I’m paid for.  We will all travel home.  Reece can call her father from there.  End of story.”

“Russell,” Dante begins, his gaze turning icy.  “You do not get to order me.  I wish to drop Reece off safely with her father.  Make it happen.”

“Mr. Giliberti,” Russell replies formally.  “I do wish I could accommodate you. But we have specific evacuation procedures in place to ensure your safety.  Per your father’s direction, I am never authorized to deviate from the plan in these situations.  I apologize.  In this situation, your father’s order trumps yours.”

Dante stares at him silently for a moment with daggers in his eyes.

“Very well,” he finally answers with icicles dripping from his words.

Yikes.  There is no love lost between these two.  That much is apparent.  Should I be worried?  This guy isn’t in the witness protection program or something, is he?  And these guys are his handlers?  What the eff?

Dante turns back to me, the tone of his voice changing to congenial and charming.