I stare back stonily. This man, whoever he is, is getting nothing from me.
“Your father is Steven O’Halloran.” He checks himself. “Was. Your father was Steven O’Halloran.”
I turn my face against the window so this stranger doesn’t see the flash of pain that crosses my expression before I can bury it. Of course my dad is dead. Of course.
My throat feels tight and the awful sensation of tears pricks at the back of my eyes. Crying is for babies. Crying is for weaklings. Crying for a dad I never knew? Totally weak.
Over the hum of the road, I hear a clink of glass against glass and then the familiar sound of liquor splashing into a tumbler. Royal starts talking a moment later.
“Your father and I were best friends. We grew up together. Went to college together. Decided to enlist in the Navy on a whim. We eventually joined the SEALs, but our fathers wanted to retire early so instead of re-upping for duty, we moved home to take up the reins of our family business. We build airplanes, if you were wondering.”
Of course you do, I think sourly.
He ignores my silence or takes it as approval to continue. “Five months ago, Steve died during a hang-gliding accident. But before he left…it’s eerie, almost like he had some kind of premonition”—Royal shakes his head—“he gave me a letter and said it might be the most important piece of correspondence he’d ever received. He told me we’d go over it together once he got back, but a week later, his wife returned from the trip and informed me Steve was dead. I set the letter aside to deal with…complications regarding his death and his widow.”
Complications? What did that mean? You die and then that’s it, no? Plus, the way he said widow, like it was a nasty word, makes me wonder about her.
“A couple of months later, I remembered the letter. Do you want to know what it said?”
What a horrible tease. Of course I want to know what the letter said but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of a response. I fix my cheek against the window.
Several blocks whiz by before Royal gives in.
“The letter was from your mother.”
“What?” I whip my head around in shock.
He doesn’t look smug that he’s finally gained my attention—only tired. The loss of his friend, of my dad, is etched all over his face, and for the first time I see Callum Royal as the man he professes to be: a father who lost his best friend and received the surprise of a lifetime.
Before he can say another word, though, the car comes to a stop. I look out the window and see we’re out in the country. There’s a long flat strip of land, a large one-story building made of metal sheeting, and a tower. Near the building is a large white airplane with the words “Atlantic Aviation” emblazoned on it. When Royal said he built airplanes, I didn’t expect this kind of airplane. I don’t know what I expected, but a huge ass jet large enough to carry hundreds of people across the world was not it.
“Is that yours?” I have a hard time not gaping.
“It is but we’re not stopping.”
I pull my hand away from the heavy silver door latch. “What do you mean?”
For the time being, I shelve the shock of being kidnapped, of the existence—and death—of the sperm donor who helped make me, of this mysterious letter, to watch in open-mouthed amazement when we drive past the gates, past the building, and onto what I presume to be the airfield. At the rear of the plane, a hatch lowers and once the ramp hits the ground, Goliath motors up the incline and right into the belly of the plane.
I twist around to look out the back windshield as the hatch closes loudly behind us. As soon as the door of the plane shuts, the locks to the car doors make a soft snick. And I’m free. Sort of.
“After you.” Callum gestures toward the door Goliath is holding open for me.
With the jacket clutched tightly around me, I try to gather my composure. Even the plane is in better condition than me with my borrowed stripper corset and uncomfortable heels.
“I need to change.” I’m grateful I manage to sound halfway normal. I’ve had a lot of experience being shamed, and over the years I’ve learned that the best defense is a good offense. But I’m at a low point right now. I don’t want anyone, not Goliath or the flight people, looking at me in this getup.
This is my first time on a plane. Before it was always buses and, in some really terrible spots, rides with truck drivers. But this is a giant thing, big enough to house a car. Surely there’s a closet somewhere for me to change.
Callum’s eyes soften and he gives a brisk nod to Goliath. “We’ll wait upstairs.” He points to the end of the garage-like room. “Through that door is a set of stairs. Come up when you’re ready.”
The minute I’m alone, I quickly exchange my stripper clothes for my most comfortable undies, a pair of baggy jeans, a tank top, and a flannel button-down top that I’d normally leave open but tonight fasten all the way up, leaving only the top button undone. I look like a hobo, but at least I’m covered.
I stuff the stripper gear in the bag and check to see if my money is there. It is, thankfully, along with Steve’s watch. My wrist feels naked without it, and since Callum already knows, I might as well wear it. The second the latch is affixed around my wrist, I feel instantly better, stronger. I can face whatever Callum Royal has in store for me.
Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I start plotting as I walk toward the door. I need money. Callum has that. I need a new place to live, and fast. If I get enough money from him, I’ll fly to my next destination and start over again. I know how to do that.
I’m going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay. If I tell myself that lie long enough, I’ll believe it to be true…even if it isn’t.
When I reach the top of the stairs, Callum is there waiting for me. He introduces me to the driver. “Ella Harper, this is Durand Sahadi. Durand, Steven’s daughter, Ella.”
“Nice to meet you,” Durand says in a ridiculously deep voice. Jeez, he sounds like Batman. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He bows his head slightly and he’s just so fricking nice that it’d be rude to ignore him. I push my backpack out of the way and shake his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
“Thank you as well, Durand.” Callum dismisses his driver and turns to me. “Let’s take our seats. I want to get home. It’s an hour plane ride to Bayview.”
“An hour? You brought a plane to go an hour?” I exclaim.
“It would have taken me six hours to drive and that was far too long. It’s already taken me nine weeks and an army of detectives to find you.”
Since I don’t have any other options right now, I follow Callum toward a set of plush cream leather seats facing each other, with a fancy black wooden table inlaid with silver situated between them. He settles into one, then gestures for me to take my place opposite him. A glass and a bottle are already set out, as if his staff knows he can’t function without a drink.
Across the aisle from Callum is another set of cushy chairs, and a sofa lies beyond that. I wonder if I could get a job as a flight attendant for him. This place is even nicer than his car. I could live here, no question.
I sit down and set my backpack between my feet.