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“Hmmm. I hope it works.” He’s silent for a minute. “We’re flying in tomorrow. It’s a medical flight on the GSU plane. Tell Max we’ll land at the private terminal about 7:00 p.m. I’ll arrange for some of my guys to be there.”
I’ll be there too, but I don’t say anything. JL will try to forbid me. Especially after my freedom run. That argument can wait until after the fact.
“Can’t wait to be with you,” he murmurs.
“Won’t your time be taken up with your mother?”
“Some of it. There will be round-the-clock nursing. And she’ll have her own place. Clay had Kath set up one of the apartments for her.”
“Convenient.” Can’t think of anything else to say. I can hear his breath and he can hear mine. What I want is to feel his heartbeat. When our hearts beat in unison, I know we will be together always.
“Micki.” His voice is so serious I worry something is wrong. “Micki. I want to keep the call open all night so we are sleeping together, even if we can’t be in each other’s arms. Hear each other breathe. Talk if we wake up. Just feel the connection.”
The door to my room slams open. Cress, panting, sags onto the doorframe. “Hang up, Micki. Max says hang up now.”
Fear clutches my gut. “Gotta go.”
“I heard.”
I cut the connection.
ChapterThirty-Three
I think once you start to think that you’re the man, and you know it all, and your style is unbeatable and stuff like that, that’s when you get caught and clipped and get humbled really fast.—Jon Jones
JL
Maman hasa comfortable bed specially designed so once they transfer her to it at the hospital, she stays in it for the entire trip, all the way to her new apartment. We have two nurses and a doctor for the flight. The plane looks more like a state-of-the-art hospital than a luxury private aircraft. I guide Fitzroy onto the plane and his eyes go wide as he sees how we were able to emulate an Angel MedFlight setup.
“I could have a traveling hospital. Be the doctor on call anywhere in the world. This is incredible.”
Cardiac monitor, oxygen, ventilator plus suctioning equipment, IV medications for pain control, cardiac intervention, shock management, blood pressure support (IV fluids/pressors), and trauma management supplies are there for any exigency. I sit in the back, near Maman, holding her hand, even though she sleeps through most of the flight.
Just as we land, I get a call from Yannick. “Just thought I’d let you know, Angélique has been arrested. She broke into Tante Louisette’s house and tried to set it on fire. The police found a stash of stuff in the boot along with a tin of gas and some accelerant. What is it with fire as revenge? Didn’t you say Micki’s ex set her parents’ house on fire?”
“Yeah, with a grenade.” I rub the top of my head. Guess I need a haircut. Then I wrench my attention back to Yannick. “Rage, I guess. If you can’t have something or someone, just destroy it. Just like Sam is doing to Micki. Fire does a good job too, and you can be far away when things turn bad.” Just one more problem for the shit pile. “Is there much damage?”
“Joe checked it out. He’s hired cleaners and a carpentry crew, and they should be done in a few weeks. The insurance will contact you soon. Of course, that sets back everything for the sale. You may have to make another trip up.”
Tabernak. “Can’t be helped. I’ll talk to Joe after I settle Maman. We’re just pulling into our parking space, so I should be off the plane soon. Maman will spend the night in the hospital to be checked out. I’ll move her into her apartment tomorrow.”
“Any chance for me to move to Chicago?”
Crisse. “Not now.” I stifle a groan. “Ask me in a month.”
The late April evening is cold and windy as the sun fades away. We park near the Signature Building, a one-story textured brick structure that caters to private planes. Once everyone is off, the plane will move to the hangar and the medical equipment will be removed. Being tenants gives us access to 200 airports around the world. Right now, the flight has an ambulance pulled up next to it with EMTs ready to move Maman. They’ve been told the special bed goes with her.
Walking down the gangway, I pull on my mid-weight coat and a toque to survey the scene. The landscaping is minimal with few bushes and trees, nowhere to hide. That eases my worries. At the entrance to the building, I know Liam and Sean are the lookouts. Then a group of people approach the aircraft. What appear to be three tall men resolve into Clay Brandon, Max Grant, and Metin Hazan. Hail, hail, the honchos are here. With them are two shorter people—Cress Taylor and, I can’t believe it, Micki. Micki, who isn’t supposed to be here. She runs toward me, arms outstretched.
In the distance, a horn honks as a van approaches at high speed, heading straight toward the plane. The driver swerves and squeals to a stop. At first, nothing happens. The windows are darkened, and I don’t see a driver. I shout for Liam and Sean, who run toward the vehicle, guns drawn. They shoot at the tires and the van rocks.
Clay pulls out his phone and hits some number, probably 911. “Police,” he barks, then feeds information. An EMT comes out onto the gangway. “Mr. Martin. Your mother wants you.”
I run toward the gangway. “Get back on the plane.” Then I pull the guy inside.
“What’s going on?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Not sure, but it looks like a dangerous situation. Is something wrong with my mother?”
