I have plenty of time, so I take the beach path toward the airfield where Danny’s private hangar is, my bag tossed over my shoulder, breathing in the last bit of St. Lucia I’ll have in a while as I call Danny.
“How is she?” I ask when he answers.
“Strict bedrest for a few days. Doc’s told her she needs to calm the fuck down.” He sounds truly exasperated, and I smile, hearing him drawing on a cigarette. Calm the fuck down. She really does. Unlike Beau, Rose is quite highly strung. “How’s yours?” he asks.
“Hovering on the edge of tranquility, as always.”
“I didn’t help with that. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” I take the right-hand fork in the path, looking out across the ocean. “I’m heading to the airfield.”
“Yeah, I’m not.”
“I gathered that.” Understand that. He wouldn’t leave Rose even if she insisted, and I know she won’t.
“I’ll be in Miami as soon as I know she’s okay.”
I nod. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“Make sure you do.”
“Oh, Danny?”
“What?”
“I assume I’m good to stay at your place?”
He laughs lightly. “Sure. Every other fucker does.” He hangs up as I reach the road and cross over to the airfield, and when I get to the hangar, Danny’s private pilot is waiting for me along with a flight attendant. “Sir,” he says, tipping his hat. “Everyone is already on board.”
“Thanks, Tim,” I say, climbing the few steps and dipping to clear the doorway. I see Ringo first, looking as miserable as ever, a definite shadow developing under his left eye from Goldie’s right hook. Then Otto, whose eyebrows are as high as me towering over his seated form. “What’s up?” I ask as I pass his seat.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing,” Goldie says too before I have a chance to ask her. What the fuck’s going on? I frown, looking back at them.
“Morning,” Brad chirps, pulling my attention forward again.
“Morning.” My frown deepens. “What are you grinning at?”
“Nothing.”
I see Fury, who completely avoids my eyes. What the hell is he doing here? He should be staying with Beau. I drop my bag in the aisle, my patience lost. “What the fu—” My tongue catches in my mouth when I spot her looking all relaxed in one of the chairs at the rear, her hair disheveled and piled high, her face free of makeup, her body in some sweats and a T-shirt, flip-flops on her feet.
Because she didn’t have time to fuck about if she was going to beat me here.
“Morning,” she says, sounding unsure.
And so she should. I’m at a loss for words. Actually, I’m not, but my language might spark the fuel tank and blow up the jet if I let it loose. What the ever-loving fuck is she playing at? My eyes nailed to her, I blindly kick my bag aside. “What the hell, Beau?” I take the few steps needed to put me before her, my towering, imposing frame shadowing her petite, seated body. Not that she’s intimidated.
Her big, dark eyes drop to her lap. She’s probably weighing up the merits of talking at all, and she obviously concludes it’s probably best to keep her mouth shut because she remains mute. Whatever. She’s not staying on this jet. I step forward, dip to scoop her up, taking a hold of her. She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t tense, she just jiggles her arm and the sound of metal clangs in my ear.What the fuck?
I withdraw and see she’s handcuffed herself to the seat. “Are you kidding?”
She shrugs. “I thought it was the better of two options.”
“What was the other option?”
“Knocking you out.”