Come Midnight by Kat Martin
CHAPTER TWO
“SILENCIO!”
Bree’s stomach curled into a knot. The gunman strode up the aisle and stopped next to Carmen and her baby. An overweight passenger, a red-faced man with thinning brown hair, sat in the aisle seat next to them.
He was sweating profusely, clearly afraid. “Keep that goddamned kid quiet,” he demanded.
Next to Bree, Derek stiffened. He was tall enough to turn and look over the back of his seat. “Take it easy, buddy. She’s doing the best she can.”
Carmen jiggled Sophie on her lap, and the baby finally stopped crying. The plane continued its descent, and the hijacker strode back down the aisle to where he had been standing before. The captain made the usual announcements about tray tables and seatbacks, and the gunman settled himself in one of the flight attendants’ seats for the landing.
Derek had taken a chance and opened his laptop, been on it a couple of minutes before the gunman had spotted him and loudly demanded he hand it over. Bree wondered what message he had sent. The plane was equipped with GPS, so by now its altered course would have been charted by the authorities. The hijackers were probably already negotiating for the passengers’ release.
Or at least she prayed they were.
She flicked a glance toward the man seated beside her. Unlike the overweight guy next to Carmen, Derek Stiles had stayed cool and collected. At least on the surface. She had a feeling he was seething underneath, furious the men had been able to get past security and take over the plane.
She had noticed him as soon as she’d buckled into her seat: very good-looking and clean shaven, with short, thick, perfectly styled dark brown hair. Broad shouldered, with what appeared to be a lean, solid build, the guy made his expensive, perfectly tailored navy blue suit look way better than it ever could on a rack.
Everything about him shouted successful businessman, a corporate higher-up. Which, apparently, he was. He exuded confidence and control, and she felt better having him beside her. It was probably foolish, but he made her feel safer.
The plane landed smoothly and streaked down the runway, the brakes slowing the aircraft more rapidly than usual.
“Short runway,” Derek said as the tires screeched. A puff of dust and smoke rose in the windows, and the plane slowed even more.
Bree looked out the window and saw dense jungle the length of the runway as far as she could see. Mountains heavily covered with tropical trees and vines rose in the distance. “Where do you think we are?”
Derek looked past her out the window. “No idea. Middle of nowhere, that’s for sure.”
The captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “We have arrived at our new destination. The authorities have been contacted and are working to resolve the situation. I ask that you all remain calm until that happens.”
The plane went silent, and the minutes began to tick past.
“What happens now?” Bree asked. In answer, the hollow-cheeked, hard-faced gunman strode to the front of the plane and turned to face them. His hands curled around the stock of the assault rifle strapped across his chest.
“You will take out your passports and your cell phones. You will place them in the bag being carried down the aisle.”
Nausea rolled in Bree’s stomach. Handing over her passport was exactly what she’d been afraid of. Dear God, if they realized who she was—
She clamped down on the thought. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize her name. Her real name, the one on her passport, not the one on her business cards that she had been using for the last five years.
She told herself there was no reason to panic. She was in a foreign country, away from American newspapers and TV. The men were terrorists with their own agenda. So far it seemed to have nothing to do with her.
Looking back down the aisle, Bree saw a woman—one of the terrorists—in the same black pants, white shirt and lace-up leather boots the male hijacker had been wearing. She had the same sort of assault weapon draped across her chest, too. Her hair was black and thick, pulled back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck. She held a plastic garbage bag in front of her, pausing at each row to collect passports and cell phones from the passengers on each side of the aisle.
Derek pulled the dark blue document out of his inside suit coat pocket and turned to look at Bree as she fumbled to get hers out of her purse. She was shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. Derek reached out and caught her wrist, steadying her hand.
“Easy,” he said, and somehow it calmed her. She dropped the passport into the bag, followed by her cell. Derek dropped his in after her, and they settled back in their seats.
“Just think about that fancy dinner I’m going to take you to in Dallas,” Derek whispered. “What’s the best restaurant in town?”
He was doing his best to distract her. She could have kissed him for it. She managed to smile. “The Mansion at Turtle Creek is one of my favorites.”
Derek just shook his head. “Nope. Got to be somewhere special. Somewhere you’d like to go but have never been.”
She’d been to every first-class restaurant in Dallas. But there was a place she’d always wanted to go. No one would ever think of taking her there, and she didn’t have the courage to go by herself.
“Actually, there is a place I’ve been wanting to go for a while. How about taking me to the Sagebrush Saloon? Food is simple, but it’s supposed to be good. And they have a country-western band there on Friday nights. We could have dinner and go dancing.” She cocked an eyebrow. “That is, if you know how to two-step.” The words came out as a challenge. They were only playing a game. It would probably never happen.
“You like country music?” he asked. There was something in his face she couldn’t read, as if he were looking into the past.
“You don’t like country-western?”
He glanced away. “I used to.”
“Did you dance?”
He didn’t deny it, just shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”
Bree smiled. “Dancing’s like riding a bicycle. Once you know how, you never forget.”
His eyes, a warm golden brown, found hers. She recognized the interest there. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the country music type,” he said.
Neither would anyone else.“Maybe that’s why I like it.”
His lips stretched into a reluctant smile. The idea of kissing him was definitely appealing.
“Okay, then,” he said. “The Sagebrush Saloon it is. I’ve got a friend who met his wife there. They still go dancing once in a while.”
“All right, it’s a date.” They just had to stay alive in order to make it happen.
Derek smiled, but the worry in those golden-brown eyes said he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Time dragged on. After the first hour on the ground, the gunman threatened to punish anyone caught talking. Maybe he thought the passengers might hatch a rebellion, but Bree didn’t think that was going to happen.
Then the baby started sniffling and began to cry again. When Carmen’s attention failed to quiet her, Bree leaned over, took the baby in her arms and settled back in her seat. A few softly crooned words and some gentle rocking and little Sophie quieted again.
“Sooner or later, she’s going to get hungry,” Carmen said worriedly. “She won’t stop crying until she’s fed, and there’s no way I can warm a bottle for her in here. I thought we’d be home by now.”
If Sophie started crying, there was no way to know what the gunman would do. It was like a time bomb ticking down to an explosion.
Hours slipped past. The sleeping baby went back into her mother’s arms. The gunman allowed the passengers to use the bathroom one at a time. Bree wondered how long it would be before the toilets were full and it began to smell bad in the cabin.
The air-conditioning had been turned down to conserve power, so cool air barely came in. Night had fallen, which helped the temperature inside, but the next day would be brutal. Derek had stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, showing tanned, muscular forearms. He had taken off his tie long ago and unbuttoned his shirt collar.
As time crawled past, he had said only a few words, but she could feel his solid presence. Bree was grateful for it. She glanced out the window, into the darkness outside. With the cabin lights off, people began to fall asleep.
“Get some rest if you can,” Derek said. “No way to know what’s going to happen tomorrow. You’ll handle it better if you’re rested.”
Derek put his seat back a little and closed his eyes. She had a feeling he was used to sleeping just about anywhere. Bree thought she’d be too worried to sleep, but as the hours wore on, fatigue and hunger began to take their toll, and eventually she nodded off.
THESUNWAScoming up when Bree opened her eyes. She saw that Derek was awake, looking alert and far too appealing, while her mouth was dry and gritty and her makeup was smudged. Derek glanced toward the aisle, and his features tightened. Bree followed his gaze and saw the hollow-cheeked hijacker striding toward them. Her pulse took a frightened leap.
The man stopped right next to Derek’s aisle seat, but his gaze was locked on Bree. “You will come with me.”
Nausea rolled in her stomach, and for an instant she thought she might throw up. They had found her.
“What do you want with her?” Derek asked. “You’ve got a plane full of hostages. Leave her here. She’s helping take care of the baby.” Who was overdue to start crying any minute.
Cold black eyes locked on Derek’s face. “You would be wise to mind your own business, gringo.” He looked past Derek to Bree. “You heard what I said. Do not make trouble or others will suffer.”
He raised his rifle, pointed it toward Carmen and the baby, but continued to stare Bree down. “You will come with me. Now.”
Bree was shaking as she rose from her seat. She looked at Carmen’s stricken face and baby Sophie’s sleepy smile. Whatever happened, she had no choice but to follow the gunman’s orders. She turned sideways and started to ease past Derek, but he rose from his seat, blocking her way.
“If she goes, I go with her,” he said, oblivious, it seemed, to the gun barrel aimed at his chest. “That’s the deal. She’ll do what you want, but I go with her.”
“Derek...” His name came out in a frightened whisper.
“Who are you?” the gunman asked in his heavily accented Spanish.
“I’m Derek Stiles. I’m her fiancé. Where she goes, I go.”
Oh God, Bree thought. “You don’t have to do this,” she said softly, gathering a bit of courage as she hoisted the strap of her purse over her shoulder. She wasn’t Derek’s problem. He barely knew her. He didn’t even know her real name.
Derek didn’t move.
The gunman’s gaze shifted back and forth between them as he tried to make a decision. Then he grabbed Derek’s shoulder and hauled him into the aisle, shoved the barrel of the rifle into his back. “Si, perhaps it is good you come along. You might prove to be useful.”
The hijacker turned to Bree. “You will come with your man.” A wolfish grin split his face. “Or I will kill him.”
