up,” the disembodied voice continued. “I’ve got a gun pointed straight at the captain’s head and my partner will keep you folks in line out there or else—you got that? Try anything and I will surely shoot the shit outa this pilot, in which case we’re all dead meat.” He didn’t sound as if he cared.
The intercom went dead. Rand grimaced. “I’m taking him at his word,” he said. “If everybody keeps cool, we should be all right.”
Small comfort. “Do you think—”
The intercom cut her off. “This is your captain speaking.”
Maxine felt a leap of hope at the new, confident voice—hope dashed by his next words.
“If everybody will just remain calm and cooperative, I’m sure we can work something out with these gentlemen. The seat-belt sign will remain on and I’d personally appreciate it if you’d all stay buckled up. Mr….?”
“Smart-ass,” the other voice snarled. The sound of a blow, a groan.
When the pilot spoke again, his voice was no longer calm and assured. “This gentleman h-has instructed me to, uh, has given me a new flight plan. Sit tight and pray. We have plenty of fuel and no intention of doing anything foolish.”
“Oh, gosh…” Maxi swallowed hard. “This isn’t sounding very good.”
THE WOMAN in the front row likely agreed, because she burst into hysterical sobs. Rand didn’t say a word, just leaned back and closed his eyes. At least his own problems were taking a back seat, what with overwrought passengers, weeping children and erratic flying patterns.
Not that there was a helluva lot he could do, which was frustrating. Beyond occasional comforting words for the woman in the seat next to him—Maxine something-or-other—he was powerless. When this whole thing started, what little color she had in her face had disappeared, apparently never to return.
“Can’t we do anything?” she finally blurted at him.
“Like what?” She must be nuts.
“You’re a man. Men are supposed to know these things.”
He felt his temper soar. “If you think I’m gonna get shot trying to be a hero, you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“I probably do.” She settled back, radiating disapproval.
Well, hell. What did she expect? Now he had something new to brood about.
Around them, many of the passengers were climbing beyond the point of no return on the hysteria scale. Maxine, although she’d shown no signs of losing it, was obviously scared to death. Hell, so was he. He should be more understanding.
He kept his voice low and easy. “Did you say you live in San Antonio?”
She gave him a startled glance and shook her head.
“Maxine,” he said reproachfully, “I can’t take your mind off your troubles if you refuse to talk.”
She responded with a quick, uncertain smile. She really did have a nice mouth—wide, full lipped. Almost lush. It was a wonder he hadn’t noticed that before.
“I live in Chicago,” she said a bit vaguely. “Mostly.”
“Are you going to visit friends in Texas, then?”
“No. I have a job interview there.” She licked her lips nervously. “What do you do, Rand?”
“As little as possible.”
“Ah.” Her expression seemed to relax a little. “Independently wealthy, I suppose.”
“Depends on what you mean by wealthy. He kept his tone neutral. He didn’t intend to tell this stranger that he’d probably thrown away more money than she’d ever see. “I’m on my way to visit my family.”
“Parents?”
“That’s right. And two aunts and uncles who live nearby.”
“Do you have a close family?”
“Close enough, I guess. How about you? Do you have much family?”
“One sister, and she’s…well, she’s kind of in trouble at the moment.”
“That’s too bad.” He didn’t want to pursue this line of questioning. He wasn’t particularly interested in her or her sister, would never see her again once this was over. He had plenty of problems of his own without getting caught up in hers.
But looking into her vulnerable face, he couldn’t bring himself to break off the conversation. At a loss, he finally said, “I have a sister, too.”
“Has she ever been in trouble?”
Rand laughed. “Clementine? She’s been in trouble since the day she was born, but probably not the kind of trouble you mean.”
“Clementine. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anyone with that name. Except, ‘Oh, my darling,’ of course.”
“She used to hate it, but now that she’s older, she kind of likes it.”
“Older like…?”
“She’s twenty-one.” He knew she wasn’t interested in hearing about his sister, but he was struggling to keep the conversation going. “How old are you?” About his age, he figured.
“I’m twenty-five.”
“No kidding.” Idiot. You can’t tell her you thought she was at least five years older than that. Damn shame Clemmie couldn’t get hold of Maxine for a few hours and do something about that frumpy exterior.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Rand glanced around to find one of the ashen-faced flight attendants standing in the aisle, holding a basket with cans of soda and tiny bags of pretzels. “Would either of you care for a drink or a snack? It’s not much, but this was supposed to be a short flight.”
“They wouldn’t let you use that big cart, huh?” Rand guessed.
She nodded. “He said if they needed to get through the plane in a hurry, they didn’t want that thing in the way.”
“Which makes sense, I suppose.” He took a couple of cans from the basket and handed one to Maxine. “How’s it going up front?”
The flight attendant licked her lips. “Okay, I guess. They’re obviously doing drugs, though, and you never know where that will lead.” She made a face.
“Maybe if they get enough of that junk in them, they’ll fall asleep.”
“God, I hope so, but it just seems to make them more squirrelly.”
The beefy man across the aisle—an insurance salesman from Dubuque, Rand recalled, Larry something-or-other—leaned into the quietly spoken conversation. “Why doesn’t the captain do something?” he demanded,
