phone rang then, but he suddenly grabbed her arm.
She hissed, twisting in his warm grip. “What do you—”
“Shh. Something’s not right.”
“But—”
“Move. Now.”
Her eyes went in the direction of his nod, to the fire stairs nestled in a concrete alcove, then widened.
And all hell broke loose.
Like a deer caught in the headlights, she froze.
A second too late.
A handful of reporters surged forward from the stairwell, surrounding them like a fluid entity. Cameras flashed, microphones thrust forward as they yelled out questions and jostled for a better position.
“How are you taking the suspension, Luke?”
“Have you hired Gino’s lawyers to defend you?”
“Any truth to the rumor you’ve been accused of insider trading?”
The air buzzed, frantic and urgent. Luke fought against the sea of bodies, shielding his face as he grabbed Beth’s wrist just before a camera slammed into his shoulder. Sucking in a grunt and with Beth firmly in his grip, he turned and ran.
Beth gulped in huge lungfuls of air and picked up the pace, her flat shoes slapping on the concrete as they raced toward their car.
Luke glanced back before aiming his keys at the car. With a pop and flash of lights, the locks disengaged. “Get in!”
She barely had time to close her door before he gunned the engine and took off.
The car flew over a speed bump. Luke spun the steering wheel and the tires squealed, the smell of burned rubber hitting Beth seconds later as she slammed into his shoulder.
“Slow down!” She righted herself from that wall of muscle quickly. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“Just trying to lose their tail and avoid any pedestrians with a death wish.”
He followed that with an abrupt swerve, barely missing a jaywalking youth. Luke ignored the obscene comment and gesture left in their wake. He did, however, inch his foot off the accelerator.
Beth glanced through the back window. A beat-up cream-colored car that had been following was stuck at the now-red light. “You’re losing them.”
Luke barely managed two more yellow lights before their pursuers were lost in the steady flow of traffic.
He matched the car’s speed to the signed limit and Beth finally loosened her grip on the door handle.
“You okay?” He glanced at her.
Her pulse pounded in her forehead, but she gave him a nod, grateful for the blasting air-conditioning. “How on earth did they know where we were?”
“People noticed us at the mall. It only takes one phone call.” He glanced in the rearview then changed lanes.
“Great.” Beth sighed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear as her heart began to slow. “So what do we do now?”
“We’re going to the airport.”
“The what?”
“Here, take the wheel.”
She grabbed the steering wheel as Luke flipped open his phone. “This is Luke De Rossi. I need the plane ready for takeoff in around thirty minutes.” He paused, said, “Thanks,” then hung up.
“We’re flying?” She relinquished the wheel.
“Yep.”
Her throat tightened, suddenly dry, and she squeezed her eyes shut, the stony walls of frustration lying heavy on her shoulders for one brief second.
It had been ten years. Ten long, full years of triumphs and achievements. She’d worked hard, been in control. She’d overcome enormous hurdles many would have run from. She was living her life.
It made sense to do this. It was the quickest way to leave the tailing press behind.
But a plane …
For a nanosecond the awful flashes screamed by, but she refused to let them linger.
She swallowed again and straightened her spine. You can do this. You have to.
It was one thing to convince herself while they were driving, but soon they were on the tarmac, the shiny Beechcraft King Air plane awaiting them.
She stared at the clean white lines of the turboprop plane, the large twin engines, the glossy paintwork as her heart began to race.
Pound, pound, pound. The sudden primeval urge to run snaked low as a shaky breath jammed in her throat.
Therapy worked. It stopped those nightmares. It helped to handle the fear and guilt. It can’t rule your life anymore.
When she choked down a short groan, she could feel Luke’s eyes on her.
“You don’t like flying?”
She nodded mutely, her eyes still locked on the plane.
“Soooo …” He paused. “You’ve never been on a plane at all?”
“Once. It … didn’t go well.” Boy, understatement of the century. She blinked, filling her lungs slowly then emptying them again, just as she’d been taught.
“After instrument check, it’s a fifteen-minute flight to Surfers—we go up, we come down. The whole thing will take an hour. I’ve made the trip a thousand times.”
But it only takes one. She remained silent, her heart battering her tight chest.
When Luke took her hand she nearly jumped out of her skin, her nerves lurching as his fingers laced intimately through hers.
“Okay?”
“No.”
“You can do this.”
With his hand enveloping hers, she let him tug her across the tarmac, the steady roar of Brisbane airport’s air traffic swirling around them.
“Mr. De Rossi.” Their pilot stood by the stairs and nodded. “We have clearance, when you’re ready.”
“Get us up, John.” Luke mounted the stairs, still holding her hand. Her viselike grip must have been uncomfortable, but he said nothing. His warm skin, firm fingers and cool authority were a welcome distraction, even
