Tristan followed Colleen back toward the front of the plane, watching her cute little butt jiggle in the clingy shorts she wore. She began to hurry, and then at the table, she dug around in her purse until she found her phone. “Hello?”
She probably wanted some privacy for that.
Tristan veered off and answered his phone, which was ringing so furiously that it was skittering across the galley countertop. He checked the caller ID before he answered. “Blaze? That you?”
Blaze’s deep voice growled through the phone, “Micah said he rescued you in a helicopter? What the hell is going on with you, Twist?”
Tristan chuckled at him. “When I toss up a red flag, I really toss up a red flag.”
“No shit! People were shooting at you? In California?”
“Luckily, they sucked at it.”
“Micah said it was the Butorin Russian mafia.”
Micah must have been busy texting everyone they knew, considering he was probably just landing at the heliport in San Francisco. “Looks that way.”
“You aren’t involved with the Butorins or any of those guys, are you?” Blaze asked him.
“No. God, no.” Or he hadn’t been.
“Or, um, with any of the other Russian syndicates? Like, you haven’t received anything from one of them, have you?” Blaze asked.
Jesus, had Blaze gotten a letter from Mary Varvara Bell, too?
But that was from Logan’s grandfather’s estate, not a Russian bratva. “No, I haven’t gotten anything from the bratvas, other than an offer they thought I couldn’t refuse in Mayamiko Botha’s office yesterday. I can’t talk right now. Micah knows everything about it anyway. Did you receive something from someone?”
A suspicious pause filled the dead air on the phone, and then Blaze said, “No. No, not really. You sure? Are you sure that you didn’t get something from one of them?”
Odd answer.
An impulse trickled into Tristan’s brain that he should come clean to Blaze, that he should spill everything to his friend of nearly twenty years and beg for his help in this most untenable of situations.
But he couldn’t.
It wasn’t just that Tristan was mortified that he would be asked to do such a thing. It was that if he broke down and did it, they would never look at him the same way again.
Even if Tristan had refused and lost everything, the other guys would be tasked to do the job, and their scorn would follow Tristan for the rest of his life because he would agree with their condemnation.
He didn’t want them to think he was the kind of guy who would ditch something so that his friends would then be on the hook for something like that.
Even his friendships with Blaze, Logan, and Micah had limits.
Asking for a rescue because the Russian mafia had kidnapped him?
Sure.
Needing a discreet ride home from the Cannes Film Festival because he was buck naked after three starlets had stolen his Aston Martin and his clothes?
Of course.
Screwing up thousands of innocent people’s lives at the command of Russian crime lords?
He wasn’t even going to tell his friends that someone was trying to make him do it. He didn’t want them to look at him like that. “Nope, Blaze. I haven’t received anything.”
They hung up.
Tristan saw that Colleen was also finished with her call, so he strolled back to the front of the plane.
Jian still hadn’t said a word to either one of them. Those texts he was rapid-thumbing into his phone must be exceedingly important. Hopefully, the epic Jian was writing wasn’t a blow-by-blow account of their kidnapping and rescue to be posted in his secret group for PAs.
Tristan didn’t think Jian would do that.
When Tristan reached the front of the plane, Colleen was lazily spinning her phone flat on the table with one finger. “Important phone call?”
Tristan sat down on the opposite side of the table. “A friend.”
“When we were in there,” she gestured toward the back of the plane where the bathroom was, “you said something about a letter you’d gotten by courier and not by the post office.”
Tristan glanced over at his assistant, but Jian had wandered into the back of the plane near the galley, his head still bent over his phone as his fingers flew over the screen.
Jian was still too close for them to talk. He’d overhear them.
Tristan glanced aside, looking behind himself to where Jian was sitting in the back of the plane. “Not now.”
“He won’t hear us if we whisper,” she said. “Besides, aren’t you rich people supposed to not notice that servants exist?”
Tristan frowned at her. “I wasn’t born rich. I notice when people are around me.” He turned his hand so that his palm was up on the table between them. “We’ll talk later.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she grumbled.
“As soon as we get someplace private, like the hotel. You’ve already gotten most of it out of me.”
She snickered.
Tristan leaned back and chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She settled her fingers in his hand, and Tristan closed his fingers over hers. “Am I going to have to coerce you to tell me again?”
“I won’t talk you out of it.”
Colleen rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, fine. Tell me what it’s like to grow up in a fancy boarding school.”
“Well, it’s probably like going to a party school like Southwestern State.” He gestured vaguely toward her and outside the plane’s window. “Except stupider, because everyone is several years younger. And meaner, because most people there are wealthy and don’t care about normal people or the poors.”
Colleen’s lips parted, and her eyebrows pinched. “Did you just say the poors?”
He raised his hand and turned his chin to ward off judgment. “That’s what they called the teachers and staff at Le Rosey, and anyone who didn’t own at least three houses and a yacht. To the wealthy, we are an unwashed, uneducated, gauche herd to be used, exploited, and discarded.”
She gestured at the private jet around them. “But you’re wealthy.”
“Not yet.” Yeah, he was rich now with a net worth trying to break through a hundred million, but the elite controlled wealth far beyond that. He’d seen it. “Did I ever tell you about the time my friends and I airlifted a herd of goats onto the school’s roof?”
They told each other stories about their lives for an hour as they flew over the blue-gray pyramids of the Rocky Mountains.
The airplane engines droned outside the window, and the plane banked under their feet, turning in the sky.
Jian strolled to the front and resumed his place on the sofa near the door, lounging and tapping on his phone. “Mr. King, the pilot has informed me that we’ll be landing in Phoenix in five minutes. Please stay seated for the landing, unlike the takeoff.”
Jian’s sarcasm was back. Some of the shock from the day’s events must have been wearing off.
Tristan and Colleen remained seated at the table and again spoke of inconsequential things while the plane touched down and then taxied into a hangar at the Phoenix Sky Harbor airport.
The plane jerked to a halt, and Jian shot a dirty look at the cabin while he walked over to spin the wheel on the door.
Tristan grabbed his briefcase and stood, brushing off his slacks, while Colleen texted something on her phone again, smiling to herself.
She was so cute when she did that, smiling with that easy and hopeful smile at something private just for herself.
Seeing her do more of that would be nice.
Jian said, “Mr. King, it appears that we have company.” He spun the wheel the other way to relock the door.
Tristan stood. “Who?”
Colleen bent to look out the porthole, but Tristan nudged her away from the window.
“Police,” Jian said, watching through the porthole in the door. “Walking through the hangar toward the plane and the stairs.”
“They already put the stairs in place?”
“Damn their efficiency. Go to the rear of the plane, Mr. King. Stay out of sight. I’ll deal with the police.”
Tristan grabbed Colleen’s hand and wheeled her in front of him. They hurried down the aisle to the galley kitchen in the back, Tristan watching over his shoulder the whole time. Luckily, the shades were down on the windows as they walked. The plane’s passenger area was a single room with tables and chairs, plus the bathroom and galley. Springing for the larger aircraft with the walled-off bedroom area in the back where they could have hidden seemed like an excellent idea now, and Tristan wished he would have done it, dammit.
Tristan and Colleen scrunched to the rear of the tiny galley kitchen, keeping as far out of sight as possible. They stood tummy to tummy, the counter creasing his butt cheeks, barely breathing as sharp knocks of knuckles on titanium echoed through the plane’s fuselage.
He wrapped his arms around Colleen’s shoulders. Her body was shaking in his arms, and he snuggled her closer against his chest. Her delicate arms slipped around his waist.
Dammit, he’d failed her. He should have kept her safe.
The door’s wheel grated as it spun again, and Jian announced, “Why, hello officers! What can I do for you this evening?”
A man’s voice said, “We have a warrant for the arrest of a Ms. Colleen Frost.”
Colleen jumped in his arms. When she looked up at him, her dark eyes widened in fright.
Damn those Butorins.
A woman’s voice, gruff like she was trying to lower a natural soprano tone, added, “We have reason to believe that she is on this plane.”
Jian asked them, “Do you have a search warrant?”
The man repeated, “We have reason to believe she’s on this plane.”
“But that’s not probable cause, and I asked if you had a search warrant. This plane has been rented by my employer, Mr. Tristan King. We have no reason to believe that the person you are looking for is on this plane.”
The woman officer said, “Look, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. We can stand right here, right by the door of this plane, and call to get a judge out of bed and have them sign a search warrant, or you can just let us take a look.”
Jian said, “I’m very sorry, but my employer has a strict policy of not allowing law enforcement on his property for fishing expeditions. It takes up too much of his valuable time. If you can get a search warrant, then you may come aboard. In the meantime, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to step back. I am closing the door.”
A clang rocked the plane, and the wheel grated as the gears secured the door again.
Colleen shrank in Tristan’s arms and pressed herself against the wall of the plane. Her skin was paler than usual, and her breath vibrated as she inhaled. “They’re after me.”
Footsteps, and then Jian stepped around the edge of the galley kitchen. “I presume you heard.”
“They want to arrest me,” Colleen said, her gaze darting around the kitchen in fright. She whisper-shouted, “I have to give myself up. But I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything. Maybe it’s about the restaurant? But I didn’t even have a gun. The Russians were the ones shooting!”
“The Butorin bratva sent them,” Tristan told her. “They’re trying to get to me. They’re threatening you so I’ll give them what they want.”
“But those are police officers,” she said. “Did they show you their identification, Jian?”
He nodded. “It appeared authentic.”
“So that’s it. I’m being arrested. But I didn’t even do anything!”
Tristan hated to tell her, but she needed to know. “The Butorin bratva has bought themselves two police officers, maybe more, and they wouldn’t take you to the police station.”
Colleen’s mouth opened, and then she snapped her teeth shut.
Tristan was thinking fast, trying to come up with something to get them all off the plane and out of the airport. “Can we just leave? You could schedule another flight plan for us. Maybe to Chicago this time?”
Jian shook his head. “It’s after ten o’clock at night, Mr. King. That office is closed. Perhaps money could change hands?”
Tristan shook his head. “That’s inadvisable unless you know who you’re talking to.”
“That’s unfortunate. It always seemed to work for my previous employer.”
That made Tristan chuckle. “Ikenna had diplomatic immunity because he’s royalty. Must be nice.”
“Indeed. I thought that was rather standard in the States. Other options?”
From behind Tristan, Colleen piped up. “I might have an idea.”