anyone on this trip and those feelings had nothing to do with her lack of appeal. He’d have felt the same no matter who took his window seat.
She chewed on her lip with even, white teeth. “Are you going to San Antonio, too?” she asked.
He nodded. That was where this plane was headed, so what did she think?
Her smile was strained. “I really hate to fly,” she said suddenly. “Something bad always happens. The last time, the plane sat on the runway for four hours. It was awful.”
“I can see how it would be.” He should be kind and supportive, but all he wanted was for her to shut up and let him return to his brooding.
Seemingly she caught on, for with a distracted frown she turned back to the window. This left Rand free to resume his dark thoughts, the darkest of which was the absolute certainty that the six people who held his fate in their hands were gonna turn him down cold.
Okay, so he hadn’t exactly been leading that productive life Thom T. had envisioned for him—the word wastrel leaped to mind. Once he reached his parents’ ranch in the Texas Hill Country, he’d have to talk fast. He could count on his mother, of course, but his father…
Jesse James Taggart was not a man who made a lot of allowances, and especially not for his son. Rand had never been able to please his father, had never even come close to living up to the Taggart name. Early on, he’d quit trying.
The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, reciting the usual safety instructions while the plane rolled away from the jetport. He didn’t listen to what she was saying because he could have given the spiel for her he’d heard it so many times. Strapped into his seat, he waited until they were airborne before leaning back with a sigh.
In so doing, his elbow extended into the aisle and somebody smacked into it. Rand yanked his arm aside, automatically mumbling a “Sorry” and glancing up.
The guy never even saw him, probably didn’t even realize what had happened. Rand had just a glimpse of a set, white face and blazing eyes. Several years of sometimes-fast living immediately told him that the man’s expression owed more than a little to the use of booze, pills, illegal drugs, something along those lines.
The guy was probably rushing to the postage-stamp-size rest room to ingest illegal substances. Rand hoped no one was unfortunate enough to already be crammed in there, because this guy was in a big hurry. Whatever. Rand had more important things to worry about.
The die was cast. Nothing could stop the fate flying toward him at breakneck speed.
“THIS IS A HIJACKING!” A rough male voice sliced through the flight attendant’s smooth recitation. “Everybody stay where you are and nobody will get hurt.”
The flight attendant’s voice shot up into a squawk of protest and the intercom went dead.
Ha, ha, Maxine thought crossly. Just what I need—a comedian serving the pretzels.
She glanced at the darkly handsome man in the aisle seat, curious to know how he’d react to this less-than-funny prank. His eyes were closed, so perhaps he was sleeping. That gave her an opportunity to admire him for just a moment.
Rand Taggart wore a butter-soft leather jacket, a shirt with an expensive logo, khaki trousers and pricey leather sneakers. And he wore it all with the kind of nonchalant grace that shouted “Money!” without him ever opening his mouth.
It was more than that, though; the photograph definitely hadn’t done him justice. He was so damn good-looking that she’d caught her breath in surprise at first sight of him. He had a square-jawed suntanned face, dark hair that curled slightly around his ears and temples, long-lashed eyes a shade of blue-gray she’d never encountered…
And a natural arrogance not unexpected, under the circumstances. Nevertheless she was determined to strike up a conversation with him. After taking off her eyeglasses, she rubbed idly at the bridge of a nose unaccustomed to their weight. No way did she intend to waste this flight to San Antonio, especially at first-class prices, when she’d gone to so much trouble to—
The intercom opened again in a hail of static. “We’re being hijacked!” the flight attendant shrieked. “This is not a joke!” A series of grunts and gasps and the sounds of a scuffle followed.
Rand sat bolt upright. “I close my eyes for five minutes and we’re being hijacked?” he demanded. Half rising, he looked about.
Maxine stayed where she was, aware of the increasingly anxious buzz around her. People were confused, their voices growing louder in alarm. From the row of seats directly behind, a child let out a screech that cut through Maxine like a blade.
Even so, she refused to believe the plane was actually being hijacked. No way! She’d been nervous about booking this flight, but fear of flying wasn’t why. Normally as subtle as a sledgehammer, she’d set herself a task that depended on subtlety. She wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted by—
“Hijacked! The hell you say!” This new, masculine voice came from behind the open curtains separating first and tourist classes. “Don’t worry, Robyn, somebody’s gettin’ cute. We’ll see if the FAA thinks it’s so damn funny.”
Rand sat down suddenly, his arm pressing Maxine back against her seat. “There’s a guy with a gun comin’ up the aisle,” he said, a touch of Southern steel creeping into his mid-Atlantic accent. “Lean back and keep quiet. Don’t do anything to attract attention.”
The flight attendant’s shaky voice rose above the babble with a boost from the intercom. “Please, keep calm and nobody will be hurt. Do everything they say.”
“How the hell many are there?” Rand muttered, not turning to see. “Jeez, I don’t believe this!”
A man shoved past, heading for the front of the plane. Turning at the forward seat in first class, he glared back at the hapless passengers. Maxine caught her breath on a little moan at the sight of the guy’s menacing expression.
It didn’t help that he was waving a pistol around in one hand while exhibiting a hand grenade in the other. “Everybody shut up!” he roared, red-rimmed eyes glowing. “Next person who opens his mouth will get a grenade shoved down his throat.”
Maxine snapped her teeth together with a click. In her immediate vicinity, all sound ceased except for the snuffling of the child in the seat behind. Those in tourist class apparently couldn’t hear the man’s warning, though, for it was beginning to sound like pandemonium back there.
“Goddammit!” The hijacker strode back down the aisle, still brandishing his weapons. Rand leaned slightly in, his shoulder touching hers until the man had gone past.
“Two of them.” He was looking at her, but she knew he was thinking out loud. “I hope to God nobody gets any bright—”
The intercom crackled and a new voice came on, a voice rough and threatening. “You people shut up and listen! We’ve got guns and grenades and we’re ready to use them unless we get some damn cooperation!”
He’d convinced Maxine, and everybody else, as well, it seemed. Suddenly she could have heard a pin drop. There was something utterly persuasive about his threats. Wide-eyed, she couldn’t help counting on Rand Taggart for reassurance. He shook his head in silent warning, then took her hand and squeezed it.
