her toward the door that led out to where the plane was being prepared.
She jumped at his touch, as if a spark of electricity had been conducted from his body to hers. Considering the terrazzo tile floor, that was highly unlikely.
“This way,” he said, careful this time not to allow his hand to make contact with her waist.
Pulling her case behind him, he led the way down the portable steps and onto the tarmac. The Lear, the Phoenix’s latest purchase and highly tangible evidence of the agency’s success, gleamed sleek and white in the morning sun.
He stopped at the foot of the stairway to glance behind him. Raine was still standing at the top, one hand gripping the railing, her eyes locked on the plane.
“Is something wrong?”
He should have told her they would be taking a private jet. There had been no reason not to. Nothing beyond some kind of perverse attempt to test her abilities, perhaps.
At his question her eyes left the aircraft to focus on his. “We’re not flying commercial?”
“I brought the agency’s plane down to speed things up.”
Both he and Griff had agreed that the attack on the old man had implications for the investigation. If Gardner believed Raine could help, then the quicker Ethan talked to her the better.
“You’re the pilot?”
“Is that a problem?”
She shook her head, but her gaze fastened again on the jet. Her lips tightened before she looked away. She took another breath, deep enough to be visible, but finally she started down the stairs.
“I’m fully certified,” he said when she stepped onto the tarmac beside him. “I have as many hours in the air as most commercial pilots. The plane’s new—”
She shook her head again. “It isn’t that.”
If she’s about to come up with some kind of psychic nonsense about why we shouldn’t make this flight…
“Then what is it?” His question sounded more abrupt than he’d intended.
“Nothing. I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Snow.”
She headed resolutely toward the plane as if that dramatic pause at the top of the stairs had never occurred. Except it had. And for some ridiculous reason, it bothered him.
He was aware that there were storms in the area. Their flight plan would take them on a course parallel to them, but far enough away that they shouldn’t have any problems. Like any good pilot, he didn’t take risks with the weather. And he had always felt safer flying than driving, especially around the Washington area. Now, however…
Unmoving, he watched Raine climb the stairs to the Lear. Just before she stepped through the hatch, she turned to look down at him.
Her glance had been just that. A meeting of the eyes, over before he could decide what he had seen in hers.
The same mockery that had been there last night? Had that hesitation at the top of the stairs been an attempt to rattle him because he didn’t believe Gardner’s faith in her abilities was justified?
If so, she was in for a surprise, he vowed. It would be a cold day in hell before he bought into any of that palm-reading, Tarot-scanning sideshow. A very cold day.
IN STARK CONTRAST to the subtropical sunshine they’d left, Washington was gray and rainy. Maybe the weather was appropriate for the visit they were making, Ethan decided as he led Raine down the corridor of the hospital.
There was only one intensive care waiting room. Through its glass-topped door, he spotted Griff and Claire sitting side by side. They weren’t conversing, but they were holding hands, the strain of the vigil they kept etched on their faces.
He opened the door, ushering Raine through. As Griff rose to meet them, Ethan wondered what the head of the Phoenix had told his wife about her grandfather and the woman beside him. Of course, it was always possible Claire had already known about the little girl who had once been so jealous of her relationship with Monty Gardner.
“Ethan,” Griff said, and then turned to smile at Raine.
“Raine McAllister, this is Griff Cabot. He’s the head of the Phoenix Agency. Mr. Gardner is—”
“I know,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Cabot.”
Griff’s eyes met Ethan’s briefly before he took the slim fingers in his own. “Griff. And thank you for coming.”
“How is he?”
“Holding his own. How much longer he can do that…”
“As long as he has to,” Monty Gardner’s granddaughter said.
They turned to find that Claire was standing slightly behind her husband. She took another step, entering the triangle the three of them had formed, and held out her hand to Raine.
“I’m Claire Cabot. I understand you know my grandfather.”
“I knew him,” Raine corrected as she took the hand Claire extended. “A very long time ago.”
“I see,” Claire said after a moment, but it was clear from her tone that she didn’t.
“Raine worked with your grandfather,” Ethan began, and then wondered whether this was the time or the place to go into exactly what she had done for the CIA.
“With Grandfather? But…” It was obvious that, just as he had last night, Claire was trying to make Raine’s age fit with the time Montgomery Gardner had been in a position to employ anyone. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Raine was a little girl. The agency—”
There was no way to sugarcoat what the CIA had done or Gardner’s role in it. Despite her grandfather’s position as the director of central intelligence, Claire was not a fan of the agency. The idea of a child like Raine being exploited there would trouble her, just as it had him. And right now he didn’t want to say anything that might seem critical of her grandfather.
“Mr. Gardner was very kind to me,” Raine said, easing the awkward pause. “In a way that no one else in my life had ever been before.”
“I see,” Claire said again.
This time her tone seemed even more distant. She was probably trying to figure out why this stranger had intruded at what she must fear might be her grandfather’s death bed.
I was always so insanely jealous…. She was his granddaughter. She had a right to his time and his interest.
Was that why Raine had been so determined to come? Because she was still jealous? Ethan wondered. Except that didn’t fit the impression he’d gotten when she’d talked about the old man.
Of course, his assessment hadn’t necessarily been made by either his logic or his training. Something far more primitive, more physical
