Page 8 of Mile High Heist

Luckily, Marcus was a quiet man, disinterested in making small talk as we prepared the cabin. My thoughts ran ahead of me, mapping out the next parts of the plan.

Identify the mark.

Confirm he had the prototype.

Pray to God he didn’t see through my disguise with his terrifying, profiling eyes.

The burner phone in my uniform jacket buzzed, making me jump. I waited until Marcus was preoccupied before I glanced at it.

ALPHA: Check in.

My heart fluttered like the hopeless organ it was. After months of silence, he was finally talking to me again. Even if it was purely business.

PRINCESS: In position.

My finger hovered over the emoji keyboard before I thought better of it. I wasn’t dealing with a normal guy. Jax was in a league of his own. Rough, abrasive, impatient. Violent. Dangerous. A cute smiley face with heart eyes wasn’t going to mend the bridge between us.

“Ready?” Marcus asked me, arching a brow as I sheepishly pocketed my phone. “Don’t let her catch you.”

My cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”

“Enjoy this,” Marcus said as the rear door opened, revealing the billowing tarmac. “You will not get another second to breathe.”

I was already on the verge of hyperventilating, but for entirely different reasons.

A slow stream of passengers trickled in. When Marcus started checking tickets, I batted my eyes and asked him if I could take over. “For my development,” I lied, laying it on thick.

Marcus looked skeptical but swapped positions with me. I’d have to do better to fool the profiler.

Ticket after ticket, face after face. Without knowing what Peter looked like, I had to be overly attentive. With the lawyer summit in Zurich, most of the passengers were in suits. Shrill eyes and impatient frowns met my overly perky greeting: “Welcome aboard!”

Behind me, the lower economy cabin became a hub of movement. Bags lifted into overheads, trays popped down, laptops and devices set on top. The worker bees didn’t waste a second.

I accepted the next ticket with steady hands, only for my fingers to spasm in shock. Shit. Maintaining my smile, I dragged my eyes up to the man.

My blood ran cold.

Peter Vincilli looked nothing like I imagined. Mid-thirties, with a luscious head of dark hair, a warm smile, and perfectly straight white teeth. He was tall and incredibly fit. He even had a perfect tan, like he’d just been holidaying in the Bahamas.

You know, when he wasn’t out murdering and committing treason.

The only unsettling part of him was his eyes. They were glacial blue, almost translucent. The kind of eyes that glowed in the dark.

“W-Welcome aboard!” I said, my voice cracking slightly.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Beside me, Marcus cleared his throat, looking equally flustered.

Peter accepted his ticket with a cocky grin. It didn’t match the piercing intensity of his eyes.

Discreetly, I took in the rest of him. Tailored, navy blue suit. A gold ring on his right hand. A gold Rolex on his left wrist. His only piece of luggage was a sleek, silver briefcase. That, at least, fit the crime. It was very Bond villain, exactly the kind of briefcase you imagined carrying illicit things.

“Thank you,” Peter said, his eyes lingering on my chest—no, my name tag. Committing me to memory. I swallowed, at once grateful for the neck scarf so he couldn’t see my rapid-fire pulse.

Peter stepped past me and walked down the aisle to his seat, not looking back. I sighed in relief.

“Father, may I,” Marcus sang with a sly grin. “That one looks like trouble.”

Trouble didn’t begin to cut it.