Page 38 of Mile High Heist

“Idiot,” Madoc said, his hand pressed to my chest. “Breathe.”

“I am fucking breathing.”

It was just getting harder to do.

I’d always had issues with my anger. The red-tinged fog of my childhood came flooding back. Things I didn’t want to remember.

Like punching my old man. Like fighting off thugs on the street. Like infected stitches.

I blinked, and Madoc was closer, so that I could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. His expression was cold. Clinical. Searching for the problem so he could solve it.

“I’m fine,” I said. My voice was a rasp.

“You’re angry.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” I swallowed, trying not to show how much his proximity bothered me.

Madoc smiled. Not a kind smile, but one that seemed endearing in a way only he could manage. “Idiot,” he said again, and stepped back, dropping his hand.

Of course, that smile vanished the moment I said the words: “Vipers are on the plane.”

Then I watched in real time as Madoc shifted into the cold-blooded killer that I needed. No feelings. No endearing smiles. Just a man with a special talent for torture and a stomach of steel.

He turned his head slowly, assessing the cabin and its passengers with new, predatory eyes. When he found his prey, his mouth quirked up.

“The watch is gone,” Madoc observed softly. “Yet the mouse remains. Who is she?”

I’d asked myself the same question at least a dozen times.

“A problem,” I grunted, and stepped forward, following his line of sight.

Olivia was standing over the body, a blank look on her face. While the others moved around her, she was stagnant, an island in the storm of her making.

You have no idea who she really is, do you?

No. I didn’t.

But I was going to find out.

12

OLIVIA

Moving a body was the last thing I expected to be doing when I slipped into my uniform this morning.

Then again, I’d done a lot of things in the last twelve months that I never thought I would. Crawled through a murderous billionaire’s air vent? Check. Rescued my sister from an international trafficking ring? Check. Got railed in the plane bathroom an hour after takeoff? Big check.

Did that mean I was ready to touch a dead guy? Definitely not.

“Do you think this counts as hazing?” Julie muttered, adjusting the sheet when it started to slip. Marcus took the head, his face turning greener by the second. I wondered if he also regretted getting up this morning.

“It’s protocol,” Marcus grunted. “We’ll be flying over the North Atlantic soon.” Adjusting his grip, he looked down and muttered: “Of course, it had to be the Valley of Death.”

“Valley of Death?” Julie repeated, shooting me a bewildered look, which I returned.

“It’s what us seasoned flight attendants call it,” Marcus explained, somewhat bitterly. “The North Atlantic passage is full of wind pockets and turbulence. Most passengers slip a valium beforehand.”

Julie snorted softly. “Good thing we’re moving him, then. Can’t have him bouncing around the cabin.”