I didn’t know how we’d get into the Carlton Municipal Airport, didn’t know if it would require us to be stealthy or treat it like a smash and grab, go in with guns blazing (so to speak).
What I did know was that we’d do whatever it took to end this for Cassie.
That we would be anything she needed us to be.
37
CASSIE
The Carlton Municipal Airportsat on a barren piece of land between the lush mountains of the Blackwell Preserve and the suburban jungle of Carlton’s mini-malls, fast food restaurants, and gas stations.
I was quiet as we approached the airport three days after the break-in at the house. I half expected the Hawks to change their mind about letting me come with them, half expected them to turn the car around and take me home, or more likely, to Bram’s.
That was really the only reason I was here: the Hawks weren’t willing to leave me home alone after the break-in, and deep down they weren’t willing to give in to Bram’s belief that they couldn’t keep me safe.
Vigo glanced at me in the rear view mirror of the G-Wagon. “Have I told you how hot you look in that dress, mouse?”
I was sitting in the back seat with Jagger while Hawk rode shotgun.
“Several times.” I said, smoothing the purple wrap dress over my thighs. “But thank you.”
Apparently even small airports had a lot of security. Private jets used municipal airports to avoid the infrastructure aroundbigger international airports. That meant millions of dollars worth of private planes sitting on the tarmac, to say nothing of the wealthy clientele, many of whom had their own security.
All of which was why the Hawks had decided the easiest way to gain access to the Carlton Municipal Airport was to claim to own a private jet.
Because of course they did.
Now we were pulling through the gates of the airport, Vigo flashing his ID to the guard on duty, all in keeping with Vigo’s and Hawk’s cover of private security to the wealthy young couple in the back seat, played by Jagger and yours truly.
Hence, the expensive dress and the makeup I’d carefully applied — thanks to a Youtube video — to make me look like the glamorous fiancé of a rich tech bro.
I looked over at Jagger and had to admit he looked the part in an expensive suit from his “bad old days” on Wall Street.
His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to give me a glimpse of the ink on his chest, and his cheekbones and jaw looked even sharper under his Gucci sunglasses. He’d pulled on a Rolex like it was nothing, plus a couple of gold rings I’d never seen him wear, and I’d suddenly been able to imagine him as he’d once been: a wealthy bad boy raking in millions and throwing money off the roofs of buildings to feel alive.
It was probably insane to feel so turned on, but maybe I’d uncovered a new kink: roleplaying, Jagger as my rich fiancé, Vigo and Hawk as black-suited private security.
The guard at the gate waved us through and Vigo navigated the G-Wagon to the parking area for private clients where he parked between a limousine and a Bentley.
“Play your part,” Hawk said, opening my door. “Starting now.”
“I know.”
I forced myself not to look at him, not to acknowledge him, as I swung my legs out of the car because if you were rich and had private security all the time, I guessed you forgot they were there?
I obviously didn’t know, but I’d looked up some videos of celebrities walking through crowds and it kind of seemed like they just ignored their security.
Still, I knew Hawk looked sexy in the black suit because I’d gotten hot and bothered when I’d seen him in the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned, black jacket barely containing his shoulders.
I stepped onto the tarmac and was practically blinded by the sunlight hitting the massive “engagement ring” the Hawks had given me for our ruse.
“Where did you get this again?” I asked Hawk.
“You don’t want to know.”
Great.
I steadied myself on my black stilettos and walked around the car to join Jagger. I’d bought the shoes ages ago for a date (failed, obviously) and had only worn them a total of three times, but I’d practiced in the house over the last couple of days.
