“Me!” Came an announcement from the doorway to the apartment. “You’re forgetting
me
. But now I am here, and all’s right with your world.”
Oh
hell
to the no.
Jesus?
I stared at him and his flaming-red luggage.
“How did you get in?”
“Nick buzzed me up.”
I looked at Nick.
“I did ask first, but you were sort of…frantic at the time.”
“But…but…” I stopped, took a deep breath and said, “Jesus, you are
not
going to Greece with us. I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t fit in my carry-on. Hell, I’m not even sure your personal items would fit in my carry-on.”
“Not to worry.” From the man-purse slung over his shoulder, he produced a colorful piece of paper with a barcode. It looked suspiciously like a boarding pass. “I have my own ticket.”
“But—”
“You said that.”
“But—”
“Chica, it does not bear repeating. Apollo said that he had it covered, and he does. I am here to run your interference.”
“
What
interference?”
“At the airport.”
I could feel steam about to come out of my ears. If I built up any more, I could power my
own
way to Greece. I gave him my dead stare, the one that brooked no resistance…if only my power ran that way. “Why would there be interference at the airport?” I asked through clenched teeth. One more evasion and I was going to blow.
Jesus cut his gaze to the side, a sure sign that he was about to prevaricate.
“
Tori
,” Nick cut in, “I think he’s going to have to explain on the way. Our cab’s here.” He looked up from his phone to me. I hadn’t even heard the alert, I’d been so focused on Jesus.
“Fine, but this isn’t over,” I said, trying to impress it on him with my
look
. Hard to do when he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I nearly gave myself a hernia swinging my carry-on over my shoulder. I was no wilting flower, but somehow by the time I was through loading it up with all my electronics, enough books to get me through umpteen excruciating hours spent in airports and on planes, and things like jewelry I couldn’t risk putting in checked luggage, it weighed a ton. Armani—
Nick
, dammit—didn’t risk a direct hit with it by offering his manly muscle.
He did, however, hold the door for us all, and I allowed it. After all, I’d have done the same for him, only he got there first.
I held my questions until we got into the cab—Jesus chose to sit up next to the driver, so my laser-like stare had no effect on him. I had to make do with my words. “Spill,” I ordered.
He looked back at me over his shoulder. “
This
is your interrogation technique?
Spill
? I think I deserve a bit more effort.” He crossed his arms over his chest and turned back around.
“Would you like me to move on to threats? I can, you know, starting with your job.”
Jesus gasped and gave me the stink-eye in the rearview mirror. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I nudged Nick, who sat beside me in the back merely watching with amusement. The cabby, for his part, was still trying to fit our luggage into the trunk. The car rocked as he finally slammed the trunk shut and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Oh, I don’t think there’s much she wouldn’t dare,” Nick said, catching on to his cue. “You’d better tell her. You know she won’t leave it alone until you do. She’s like a…um…a PI with a lead.”
He’d been about to say “a dog with a bone”, I just knew it. Lucky for him he’d held back.
Jesus sighed dramatically, the way he did everything. “Okay, but if he asks, you beat it out of me.”
I grinned. “We could make it
very
convincing.”
Jesus stuck his tongue out at me. Then he made me wait. He adjusted his seat, his belt, his cuffs, he cleared his throat, and just as I was about to launch myself over the center console and throttle him, he finally condescended to answer. “You know how Apollo said he was going to put to rest those rumors about you and him being you and him?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering what that had to do with Jesus and Greece.
“Well, he has a plan.”
A public affairs rep from the airline descended on us the second we set foot out of our cab. She snapped her fingers at someone behind her before we could so much as wrestle our luggage to the curb. I glanced over at Jesus, sure I saw Apollo’s fingerprints all over the suspicious red carpet treatment, but he only smiled and shrugged. Goldilocks, because that was how I was going to think of the blonde in the shapeless blue suit, seemed in a horrible hurry to get us off the sidewalk, past the crowd I could see gathered just inside the doors, and through security.
When the mob shifted, I understood exactly why.
Apollo’s plan apparently involved nearly six stunning feet of brunette bombshell. Only part of that height came from her sky-high rhinestone heels…or were those diamonds? Surely not
diamonds.
Whatever they were, there was no question about the breasts currently defying gravity in her strappy silver gown more suited for walking the red carpet than catching a flight. Although, perhaps that was what one wore in first class. I wouldn’t know.
Most stunning of all, she wore the ultimate accessory—Apollo Demas, looking more gorgeous than I’d ever seen him before, and that was saying something. He was dressed all in black—shirt, tie, suit, wingtips. His leonine golden hair stood out against it like the rays of the sun. His turquoise eyes were even bluer in contrast. And the glint in them as they gazed down on the bronzed beauty beside him and up again at the cameras flashing all around was luminous. Not to mention devastating.
I looked to Jesus. “Tell me they’re not on our flight,” I growled quietly, trying not to attract any attention as we veered very widely around the paparazzi pile-up.
He avoided my gaze.
“
Tell me
,” I repeated.
“I can’t,” he said. To his credit, he sounded like he felt badly about that. “He’s apparently coming out of retirement to do a very special film. There’s some wealthy financier putting up a lot of the money for it, hoping it’ll help revitalize the Greek economy. I think maybe you know him—Hector Papadopolous.”
“
Uncle Hector?
” I asked, stunned.
“Is he?” Jesus asked disingenuously.
“Let me guess,” I continued, “Brunette Barbie is Apollo’s co-star.”
“Serena Banks,” he said, with something like awe in his voice. “Hottest thing to hit Hollywood since…since maybe ever.”
He blushed at the glare I sent him. “I’m just saying,” he continued lamely.
I felt a pang of envy, which was as selfish as it was stupid. I’d wanted Apollo to move on, and yet… And yet what? There was no
and yet
.
I shot a sudden glance at Nick and caught him looking back over his shoulder, even though Apollo and Serena were now well out of sight. He jerked guiltily when he noticed me watching.
“What?” he asked.
“You tell me.”
“Just wanted to be sure none of the paparazzi had caught sight of you and that we were in the clear.”
“Uh huh.”
“Really.”
I let it go. After all, I’d ogled Apollo a time or two, so I had no moral high ground here. Our airline rep escorted us straight to the gate, where we got to board with the first wave, passing cushy first class seats where Serena and Apollo would probably be sharing champagne and caviar. Served them right, being faced with fish eggs.
“You okay?” Nick asked me as we got seated…back in coach.
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You tell me.”
I gave him my very most level look. “I’m fine.”
“Fine.”
“
Fine
.”
And with that, I snapped open the Sky Mall magazine and prepared to mentally spend money I didn’t have on things I didn’t need. Mental retail therapy.
Nick sighed and pulled the airline magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him. I glanced sidelong as he did it and came face to face with green cat’s-eyes staring at me from the cover. Serena Banks. Of course. She had the feature story.
I buried myself in Sky Mall, trying not to care as Nick, I was certain, turned straight to the article.
I
did
care when the rumbling started.
Despite the fear of heights that kept me out of the Karacrobats, my family’s acrobatic troupe, I wasn’t generally phobic about flying. Oh sure, my heart raced and I white-knuckled the armrests on takeoffs and landings, but I had a really advanced case of denial for the intervening air travel. My best guess was that it was a control thing. When I was close to the ground, I had the illusion of some sort of control. Sitting still while the plane jittered and banked and got underway took monumental amounts of willpower. Once we hit cruising altitude, I figured my only options were live, if things went well, or kiss my ass good-bye if they didn’t. But I had a bad, bad feeling about this flight. I hoped it was just nerves and not my Apollo-granted foresight, because we’d already taken off, and the control I’d never actually had was well out of my reach. But the feeling grew and grew as the sky darkened around us and seemed to charge with some ominous energy. I stopped paying attention to the Sky Mall and took to staring out the window.
Rumbling rattled the windows and a flash fork of lightning chased itself from one bank of clouds to another. The plane veered sharply away, trying to escape the storm, but gale-force winds pushed at our tail in hot pursuit.
An announcement came on about turbulence and returning to our seats. It was getting harder and harder to stay in mine. My internal alarms were now blaring full force, and I wanted to shout for the crew that the plane needed to be brought down now,
now
, NOW for an emergency landing while there was still a chance to control our descent. This was no natural storm. There’d been no warning before takeoff about rough weather ahead, and a storm like this would have been hard to miss on the radar.
Paranoia? Maybe, if not for my internal alarms and the fact that Poseidon Stormbringer and Zeus of the fateful lightning were on the loose and that the people most responsible for their incarceration were all on this flight. Coincidence? Didn’t seem likely, but there was no time to think about that right now.
To our left came a sudden crash like two monstrous hands clapping together and then bursting apart. The resultant shockwaves buffeted the airliner like a kite. Panic had me reaching for the armrest, but since Nick’s hand was already there, I nearly shredded him with my newly manicured nails. He hissed with pain, but didn’t draw back his hand. Instead, he turned it over to take mine. He looked into my eyes. I stared into his, and thought
well, if the world ends, at least we’ll go out together
. It was a shockingly romantic thought for me, and that, more than anything, snapped me to. We were
not
going to die. My cousin Tina would kill me. It would make her wedding party lopsided.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and started to rise, to demand that we make an emergency landing or something, not caring how crazy I’d sound, when the lightning flashed again, cracking across the sky like a whip. The plane flinched as it struck, bucking like a thing alive desperate to escape the pain. I was flung forward, bashing myself on the overhead bin and falling into Nick’s lap. He gripped me close and held on tight.
“Stay put,” he ordered. “There’s nowhere to go. We’ll get through this. It’ll be okay.”
But I knew he was wrong. I struggled against him as the plane banked sharply. No, not
banked
. Sheared off, beginning to fall, as if something was off on one side…like an engine.
“We have to land,” I yelled. “Now!” As if this was a newsflash.
There was so much screaming going on—babies crying, grown men and women praying or wailing or whatever—that no one heard.
Another crash of thunder came from the side of the plane, and punched into us like a fist, knocking us even farther off-kilter. The metal of the plane groaned in defiance, but it wasn’t a victorious sound. It was more like, “You’ll never take me alive.” And that’s exactly what I was afraid of.
“We have to do something!” I shouted at Armani.
Nick, dammit, Nick
. Even as we rushed toward death, I couldn’t get it right. But that’s how I’d thought of him when I’d first met him, a defense mechanism against my attraction, one I’d never gotten over.
“Like what?” he shouted back.
I didn’t want questions, I wanted
action
, but I didn’t have any to suggest.
Oxygen masks fell from the ceiling as the plane continued to drop altitude and the pilot was too busy, I supposed, trying to stop it to comfort his panicking passengers…as if an announcement would have made any difference. As if they, like me, couldn’t feel the ground rushing up to meet us.
Armani lifted me off him to grab two masks before pushing me down into a seat and manhandling me to get my mask into place. I didn’t fight him, only because the sooner he knew I was okay, the sooner he’d see to himself and I could lunge past him.
The second he was distracted, I did just that, avoiding his grabbing hands to lunge down the aisle. Down was the operative word. We were now at a forty-five degree angle, nose to the ground—falling, falling.
I canted left and then right as the plane lurched, the pilot battling to level off. I apologized as I went, gripping a man in a very personal place when a really bad thunderclap threw me off balance and I had to catch myself.
I hit the curtain between us and first class to the curses and cries of my fellow passengers. A flight attendant strapped down into her jump seat and counting off frantic prayers on a rosary tried reflexively to stop me from crossing the sacred threshold, but I stopped her with a look.
The
look. I froze her in place. She’d space right through at least a few minutes of panic, long enough for me to invade first class.
Apollo was already out of his seat and met me halfway down the aisle.
“You okay?” he asked. It was a silly question, so I ignored it.