CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Now this was definitely worth two and a half million dollars, Chase thought, delighted by the matching dumbfounded expressions on Killian and Connie's faces as they stared at his plane.
The single-seater Mark IX Spitfire dominated the small private hanger he'd rented. Chase was glad of all the hours he'd spent lovingly polishing the plane's sleek curves. It shone like a vast precious gem, light sparkling from the immaculate paintwork. If they'd been in private, he would have been tempted to try proposing to Connie with it.
“When did you buy a Spitfire?” Connie said at last, weakly. “More to the point, why did you buy a Spitfire?”
“I told you.” Chase raised an eyebrow at her, unable to control his wide smirk. “Whenever I saw something that reminded me of you, I had to get it.”
Killian shook his head, his expression half-amused, half-despairing. “And I thought you needed the money to pay off gambling debts. Well, I suppose that there are worse investments. At least you should be able to resell it in future at a profit.”
“Sorry, coz, but no.” Chase pulled the Spitfire's registration papers out of his jacket, casually handing them to Connie. “Because it's not my plane anymore.”
Connie looked down at the paperwork, then back up at him in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”
“The bet is on West's Spitfire winning the race. Sammy said so himself.” Chase pointed first at Connie, then at the plane. “
You're West, and now this is your Spitfire. So you can still win the bet.”
“How much did you say this plane was worth?” Killian's voice had gone high and strangled.
“Two and a half million dollars, give or take a bit.” Chase patted him on the shoulder. “Relax, Killian. It's only money.”
“I promise, I won't keep it,” Connie said to Killian. “As soon as the race is over, I'll give it straight back.”
Killian pulled at his dark hair, his gray eyes rather wild. “Do neither of you understand capital gains? This is a very tax-inefficient plan! And what happens if you don't win the race? Does Sammy get to keep both Spitfires?”
Chase shrugged carelessly. “I suppose so. I hadn't really thought about it. We're not going to lose the race, after all.”
Connie walked around the plane, scrutinizing every inch with an expert eye. “Well, she certainly looks to be in good repair. I can give her a last-minute tune-up to make sure she's at peak performance. But Chase, are you really sure you can do this?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“She's a standard single-seater fighter.” Connie pointed up at the cockpit. “Not a two-seater trainer plane like mine. I won't be able to navigate for you. Are you really going to be able to learn the route by tomorrow? Well enough to fly it unaided?”
“Not a chance,” Chase said, honestly. “But I'm not going to be piloting. You are.”
Connie went white. “I'm what?”
“Good-bye, two and a half million dollars,” Killian muttered.
Chase kicked the side of his cousin’s foot. “Don't underestimate my mate. She knows the course so well, she could fly it in her sleep. She can do this.”
“No, I really can't!” Connie yelped. “Chase, you have to fly. You're the one with magic powers!”
“Which means I have to be outside the plane, ready to protect you from the wyvern,” Chase said firmly. “I'm certain it's going to come back. I can't fly in the race and evade it at the same time. But I can fight it in pegasus form. I can hold it off long enough for you to win.”
Connie looked desperately at Killian. “Couldn't you guard Chase while he races?”
“Me?” Killian took a sharp step back, looking dismayed. “I'm not as crazy as my cousin. I'd have to be suicidal to try to take on a wyvern single-handed. Though I'm not going to let him take one on by himself, either. I'll back you up, Chase.”
“I knew I didn't even have to ask.” Chase bumped him affectionately, shoulder to shoulder. “And don't run yourself down. Even if you spend most of your time behind a desk, you're still a pegasus, and a Tiernach. You're tougher than you realize. Just like Connie.”
“I'm not.” Connie swung her head from side to side in vigorous denial. “I can't, Chase. I can't do it. I'm not as good a pilot as you.”
“No. You're not.” He caught her chin in his hand, holding her still and forcing her to look at him. “You're a better pilot than me. I couldn't have pulled your Spitfire out of that death-spiral, but you did. The only thing that's ever held you back is your sense of caution. You just have to be willing to take a few risks.”
“I'll lose, I'll lose my plane, and it will be all my fault,” Connie said, her voice rising. She reminded him of a cornered animal, lashing out in fear. “It'll be your fault for making me do this. I'll never be able to look at you again.”