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“So? Where is he?”
“My office will need to look into that. Let’s get out of here.”
A few more keystrokes then he handed the phone back, his lips a grim line. “We’re going to get him, Max. I promise you.”
She nodded, but her heart was sinking. She sat back and stared out of the window without really seeing, certainly without watching. Her mind was completely blank, short-circuited by trauma.
Sometime later, the engine cut and Max blinked, looking around at a thoroughly unfamiliar scene.
She felt not a hint of fear – until that moment, she hadn’t realized how completely she trusted Noah.
“Where are we?”
“A helicopter hangar.” He stepped out, then came around to her door, opening it and extending his hand to her at the same time. She put hers in his and something in the region of her heart jolted into place. She felt safe.
“Come on.”
There was minimal lighting at the hangar, and as they drew close, she saw a few men wearing all-in-one jumpsuits maneuvering a helicopter out of the building, on a platform that seemed to roll along the ground. “Are you going on a helicopter?” To find her stalker? Panic replaced all other emotions. Fear, too, at the idea of Noah fighting this person.
“We both are.”
“Oh.” She stared at the craft with renewed interest. “This is yours?”
“It’s the company’s.”
“I see.”
He spent a few minutes doing pre-flight checks with the other men, then pulled open the rear door.
“Hop in.”
Any helicopter Max had flown in had been more of a luxury experience. This was utilitarian and reassuring, almost militaristic. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t do up her seatbelt, but Noah realized and leaned forward, clasping her in before taking the seat beside her and donning a headset.
It was only as the helicopter lifted up that Max realized she was crying. She angled her face away so Noah wouldn’t see, hiding the emotion from him, hating to admit, even to herself, how unnerved she’d been by the events of that evening.
Chapter 9
HE WAS APOPLECTIC. Beneath the veneer he kept in place for Max’s benefit was a wild beast so angry he could throttle someone, so angry he wanted to kick himself. He’d dropped the ball. Just like he’d feared, he’d become so captivated by Max he’d been more obsessed with watching her than watching what was going on around her and somehow he’d missed something or someone: a clue, a sign.
He flew by memory, the path to Bordeaux well-worn in his mind, bringing the helicopter down close to midnight. Max hadn’t spoken the entire way, but at least she was no longer crying.
“Where are we?”
“France.”
“France?” She turned back to him, obviously surprised. “Why?”
“Because I need you to be safe,” he responded through clenched teeth. “And there’s only one way I can guarantee that right now.”
A gleaming back motorbike was waiting. “Yours?”
“Surprised?”
“Actually, not at all.” A half-smile fluttered on her face and relief flooded him. She would smile again. She would remember what it was like to be herself, to know true freedom.
“Here.” He brought a helmet to her, but before he could fasten it he had to undo her bun. “Hold this.”
She took it without question, her eyes locked to his as he concentrated on dismantling the epic construction, pin by pin, until her hair uncoiled over one shoulder.
