I decide to put him out of his misery and push the laptop across the table as I rise. "Keep it." His eyes sharpen as he watches me round the far end of the table. I'm not quite brave enough to cross directly in front of him. Too close and I might combust. I pause with my hand on the door, unable to keep from smirking. "Those security breaches you've been dealing with? Not North Korea." Before he can respond, I step into the hall and call for Agent Locke.
Locke pushes off the wall and comes toward me. "You're an idiot if you don't take their offer. You don't seem like career military, and I'd hate to see you waste that mind in federal prison."
The enormity of the last twenty-four hours hits me like a freight train. The taste of metal rises in my mouth. The old sick feeling in my stomach returns. The one that always arrived with the social worker coming to take me away to the next home. "Who says I'd be wasting it?" I challenge with more bravado than I feel.
The impenetrable mask Agent Locke has worn for the last five hours slips. For an aching, awful moment, I see pity in his dark brown eyes. "They're good people, Ms. Fischer," he says softly. That simple mark of respect nearly buckles my knees. And scares the piss out of me. What was I thinking? It was all a game - how far could I push without getting caught? How hard could I poke the beast and still remain anonymous? The reality of what awaits me at every turn bears down on me. I've been here before, but this time, it's entirely my doing.
"I've heard that line before." Instinctively, I rub the place where my tattoo hides under my bracelets, refocusing my mind and drawing strength from it. One thing I've learned is that the fear always passes.
"You'll have a fresh start. You won't get that anywhere else."
Not even in the military, is what he means to say. It's my best option and we both know it.
Stockton bursts out of the door, briefcase in hand, the look of panic on his face turning thunderous as soon as he sees me with Locke. That split second of vulnerability is enough to pull me back from the pit of fear. I retreat behind the wall of cockiness and insolence I've perfected over the years. "Relax. I was just informing Agent Locke that I would be accepting your offer."
His jaw twitches and I can hear the restrained anger in his voice when he speaks. "Good. We have no time to lose." He takes my elbow and a jolt of heat zips up my arm.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he leads me down the corridor.
"Helicopter's waiting outside."
I freeze. "What? No way. I'm not getting in a helicopter. They sink like stones."
The tick in his jaw is going a mile a minute, but it's the way his eyes harden that tells me I've crossed a line. "You are getting on that helicopter even if I have to carry you, do you understand?" His voice is harsh, and it scrapes over me like sandpaper, heating my pussy. I'm tempted to fight him just so he'll pick me up, but behind us, Agent Locke clears his throat.
"Your competition will be here in five minutes. I suggest you leave immediately."
Stockton's mouth sets firmly and he nods. He squeezes my elbow. "Now," he growls, turning and pulling me along.
"Yes, sir," I sass.
He shoots me a glare. "Don't ever call me sir. It's Stockton."
"What about Mr. Forde," I ask breathlessly as he propels me toward the waiting monstrosity. Up close, it's huge. I've never flown before, and now I'm facing the possibility of falling to my death in a whirling explosion of wind and fire.
"Stockton," he answers tersely. "Forde if necessary."
My steps slow. Panic claws at me, overriding reason. "Please, Stockton. Can we drive? I'll do whatever you ask. Just please don't make me get in there." My mouth is dry. I'm not above begging. My heart hammers in my ears.
"Whatever game you're playing, it stops now," he barks, tightening his grip on my arm.
"I'm not," I croak. "Please. I can't go in there." I pull against him, trying to free myself as panic narrows my focus and dots my vision. I can't catch my breath and my knees give out. I hear him curse through a tunnel and am dimly aware of arms wrapping around me before my world goes black.
When I come to, we're flying and I'm lying down wrapped in a blanket, a concerned Stockton leaning over me, with another person hovering behind him. My teeth begin to chatter as the panic surges again.
"Penelope," he says sharply. "Look at me."
"P-P-P-Penny."
Exasperation flashes through eyes I could drown in. They're holding me like a lifeline. "You're safe, Penny. We had to take off, but I promise you're safe."
"She needs something to drink," the person who must be the flight attendant offers. "Let me get some water."
"Stronger," he corrects with a shake of his head, face still pinched with worry.
"But, sir-"
"Do it," he barks.
A hysterical laugh rips through me. "He c-c-called you sir."
"And I'm calling you a brat. Drink this." He hands me a tumbler with barely a fingerful of amber liquid.
I struggle to sit, letting the blanket fall to my waist, and accept the heavy crystal, still too panicked to let my focus widen. My hands shake so much, I'm afraid I'm going to drop the glass. With a sigh I'm sure is born out of pure exasperation, he settles next to me, wrapping a hand around mine. I forget to breathe. His hands are steady and warm. The strength of his grip radiates up my arms.
His voice drops. "Breathe, Penny. We're safe," he soothes with a hypnotic quality to his voice. "We're flying in a Sikorsky S92, the safest helicopter according to the FAA. We have clear skies and little wind. We'll be to Kansas City in a little over an hour."
"Oh god," I moan, dropping my head. I won't make it an hour.
His grip tightens around my hand. "I promise you'll be okay. And I don't make promises lightly. Take a sip. It will help."
"Did you spike it?" Not that I want to be roofied with a perfect stranger, but it might put me out of my misery.
He snorts, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he tells me to drink again.
I take a gulp and sputter, surprised by the burn and the way my throat turns to lava.
"Easy. You're not supposed to drink it like soda pop."
"What is that?" I choke.
"Forty-year scotch."
I wrinkle my nose and hand it back. "Ew. It tastes like old bandaids and menthol."
He drops his head back with a laugh, then shoots me a genuine grin, shaking his head. "What the fuck am I going to do with you, Penny?" He finishes off the glass, then angles his body my way. "Are you okay? You scared the piss outta me back there."
His smile warms my insides, makes my heart beat faster, and not because I'm scared. It's like sun after a late afternoon thunderstorm. And now I get the whole cliché, because Stockton smiling is sexy and warm, and it makes me want to crawl into his lap. I drop my gaze to my hands. "Helicopters... flying really... terrifies me," I confess, fighting the awful memory that's the cause of my unreasonable rationale. I have no business sharing one of my darkest secrets with him, but it feels natural. And I'm too wrung out to keep my shields up. I'm tired and scared and I don't want to be alone in this. I grimace. "I've never... this is my first-" I pause, still stuck in the memory.