Sandra Marton - A Bride For The Taking

Still, her adrenalin was pumping as she slipped out from the shadow of the plane. The hangar suddenly seemed a million miles away; her breath was whistling in and out of her lungs by the time she reached it.

She stepped inside the door and flattened against the wall. Her eyes swept the cavernous space. Yes. There was a plane, a small, sleek jet. But the man she’d followed—he was nowhere to be seen.

The jet blocked her view of the rear of the hangar. He was probably back there somewhere. She’d just have to check.

Dorian swallowed. There was a sharply metallic taste in her mouth. It was fear, but there was nothing to be afraid of. After all, what could possibly—?

A sudden loud whine filled the hangar. She spun around, hand to her throat, and as she did the whining noise increased until it was a roar.

Dorian’s eyes widened. The plane— her plane—was—oh, God, it was moving. It was moving! It was racing down the runway and—

A hand, hard as steel, fell on her shoulder, the fingers biting sharply into her flesh.

‘What in hell are you doing here?’ a harsh, angry voice demanded.

She swung around again and stared into the furious face of the man she’d been following.

‘The—the plane,’ she stammered. ‘It’s leaving!’

His mouth curved downwards. ‘I asked you a question, Miss Oliver. What in God’s name are you doing here?’

Dorian shook her head. ‘Didn’t you hear me? Our plane—it’s taken off. It’s left us behind.’

He laughed coldly. ‘A brilliant assessment. I suppose these are the superb sorts of intellectual skills that make you the fine reporter you are.’

‘Dammit, don’t you understand?’ She twisted away from his hand. ‘The plane to Barovnia just took off.’

He looked at her for a long, silent moment, and then he nodded. ‘Yes.’ His tone was clipped. ‘It did exactly that.’

‘But—but how could it? How could that happen? Didn’t they know that we—?’

‘How did you get off that plane?’

‘The same way you did. I simply—’

She cried out as he caught hold of her again. ‘There’s nothing simple about it, Miss Oliver. You were told to stay on board.’

‘Let go of me. Do you hear me?’

‘You were given orders.’

‘I don’t take “orders”,’ Dorian said sharply.

His mouth thinned. ‘So it would seem.’

Dorian’s heart was slowing as things began to fall into place. There’d been a mistake, that was apparent. The plane had taken off without them, and if her absence hadn’t yet been noticed surely his would be. The plane would turn around and come back for them in just a few minutes.

‘Pretty sloppy security,’ she said smugly.

‘Yes.’ His voice was grim. ‘My thoughts precisely.’

‘I mean, if they didn’t notice that you were missing—’

‘Didn’t anyone try to stop you from leaving, Miss Oliver?’

‘It’s going to make a terrific story, though. “Two left behind at...”’ She cried out as his grasp tightened. ‘You’re hurting me!’

‘Two? Is that all your report will say? Just, “two”?’ He stepped closer to her and his voice became a purr. ‘No names, Miss Oliver?’

‘I don’t know your name,’ she said, gritting her teeth against the pressure of his hand. ‘And even if I did—’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I only know that you’ve been the perfect gentleman from the moment we met.’ She forced a cold smile to her lips. ‘Manhandling me in the car, manhandling me now—’

‘You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing.’ His face darkened. ‘Just why the hell did you follow me?’

‘I didn’t follow you. Not exactly. I just knew something was going on.’

His hand fell away from her. ‘Did you.’

His tone was flat, turning the question into a statement. Dorian felt a chill tiptoe up her spine. In the excitement, she’d almost forgotten why she’d come after him in the first place, her conviction that something was happening that no one was supposed to know about.

Now, the feeling returned. She’d been right; something was going on.

But what? And what part did this man have in it?

Her chin rose in defiance. ‘Yes,’ she said, bluffing, ‘and you might as well give me the details.’

He gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘An exclusive interview, is that it?’

‘Why not?’ Dorian looked outside. The sun had risen; the sky was a pale, cloudless blue. ‘We’ve plenty of time. The plane’s not in sight yet, and—’

He laughed again and put his hands on his hips. ‘Isn’t it?’ he said, as if she’d made some clever joke.

She hesitated. There was something in the way he was watching her that made her feel uneasy.

‘For a start, who are you, anyway?’

‘I thought you already had all the facts, Miss Oliver.’

‘I never said that.’ She trotted after him as he turned and began walking further into the hangar. ‘What I meant was that there was time for you to tell me—’

She gasped as he swung towards her and caught her by the wrist.

‘Exactly what do you know?’

‘What do I...?’

‘I’ve not time for games,’ he said brusquely. ‘Answer the question, dammit. What do you know?’

Dorian swallowed. ‘Well, well... I know that we didn’t really have mechanical problems.’

‘And?’

‘And—and...’

She fell silent. He stared at her for a long moment, and then he laughed.

‘I should have known it was a bluff.’ He let go of her and turned away. ‘The answer’s no,’ he called over his shoulder.

‘No?’ What did that mean?

He stopped alongside the plane and ran his hand lightly along the burnished silver fuselage. ‘No, I will not give you an interview.’

‘But we have time before the plane comes back for us,’ she said when she reached him.

He stepped to the wing and peered upwards. ‘They won’t.’

‘Who won’t?’ Dorian ducked beneath the wing and scrambled after him. ‘For goodness’ sake, Mr—Mr whatever your name is, can’t you speak in whole sentences? Who won’t do what?’

He took his time, patting the silver skin as if the plane were a live creature, and then, at last, he turned to her.

‘My name,’ he said coldly, ‘is Prince. Jake Prince.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘And what they won’t do, Miss Oliver, is turn that plane around and come back for us.’

Dorian laughed. ‘Oh, but they must. They can’t just—’

‘They can and will.’ His voice was grim. ‘The plane will go straight on to Barovnia.’ He glanced at the little jet. ‘And so will I.’

‘In that, you mean? But I don’t understand.’

‘Then let me clarify things,’ he said, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘And let me do it in whole sentences, just so we’re both certain you get the message.’

Dorian’s cheeks reddened. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Your colleagues—the ones who had brains enough to stay on board that plane—will land in Barovnia in a couple of hours.’ He stepped beneath the jet, bent down, and removed the locking pins from the landing gear. ‘It may take me a little longer,’ he said, frowning as he walked slowly around the plane and scanned it, ‘but I’ll be there in plenty of time for a late breakfast.’

She stared at him. ‘But—but what about me?’

He turned and looked at her. ‘What about you?’

‘You’re not...’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’re not thinking of leaving me here. You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

‘Wouldn’t I?’ He gave her a quick, wolfish smile. ‘Have I mentioned that I’m of Barovnian ancestry, Miss Oliver?’

‘No, you haven’t. But what’s that got to do with—?’