The Clients by Bonny Fawn

Author:Bonny Fawn [Fawn, Bonny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kirby Books
Published: 2022-08-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 42

“Don’t worry.” I whisper into my cell, “I hacked the security cameras in the park. Anywhere near where I was with April, thirty minutes of video, looped over.” He’s lecturing now, telling me not to do things without consulting him. I let him make his speech but make sure to lay out my perfect plan as well. “Okay, we’re heading out today to Hailey. I’ll be waiting when Mel gets there. She knows where the locket is.”

“We’re a team, Niles,” he says. Right. I’ve heard that before.

I hang up the burner cell and walk back to the limo where Isla’s waiting off the tarmac at Long Island’s MacArthur airport. A tap on the window and the dark, limousine glass lowers. Isla’s there, wiping her nose, again. Except I don’t think it’s a cold, now. She was better earlier when I talked her into our little vacation, but I’m pretty sure she’s been crying. Big black sunglasses on, she tries to hide it, but I know. “The jet’s ready,” I say.

Even for me, Isla’s sullen mood is apparent. “Not sure I am,” she says. “I still think we should stay in town.”

“No, it’ll take your mind off things.” She’s got to get over this. Hope she doesn’t drag out the grieving routine. “You know, your dad wouldn’t want you to sit around here crying.”

“I’m not. It’s just a summer cold.”

“Oh, thought you weren’t sick.”

“Never mind,” she says. “Let’s go.”

After swinging the door open, I offer her a hand. She clenches it, pressing her palm into mine. That little hand—so amazing. With skin-tight, black yoga pants and a leopard tank top, she sure doesn’t dress like she’s mourning. The short, Italian driver hops out of the limo and pops the trunk. At that, Isla drops my hand and strolls over to the guy, making a point to thank him.

Man, she’s still so closed off. How do I get in her head? Of course, she should sit with me, hours alone in a plane, talking. Might work. I call out, “Will you join me in the cockpit, Isla?”

The driver lugs our bags over the already hot pavement as we walk to Sid’s elegant Lear—actually, our elegant Lear. “I don’t know, Niles. I think I’ll just sleep some more.”

She’s got to shake this thing. “You’ve slept plenty. And you’ll like this.” I grab her hand again, helping her up the plane’s narrow steps. It feels nice to be a gentleman with my lady. “Have you ever sat in the cockpit?”

“No, no reason to.” She climbs then reaches the landing. Standing there, wind blowing her curls about, Isla seems fragile, nervous. But I’ll take care of her.

“Are you afraid of flying?” I ask as we board.

“No. I do it all the time.” She turns away, talking to air, her words halting. “Okay, so I don’t look out the window. If I don’t look, I’m good.”

She’s afraid. Great. Something I can help with. I love flying this thing.

I snatch the clipboard hanging beside the cockpit door.

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