Chapter Eighteen

She had a bladder the size of a peanut. Lizzy slammed out of the aircraft lavatory. Her phone buzzed again for the fifth time and she slipped it out of the apron pocket to glance at the screen. John had sure meant it when he’d said to keep her phone nearby. Two missed calls and five texts from the man. She should just switch it off and place it in her damn carry-on.

He seemed concerned over her insistence on working the flight. She knew he was right to be worried. She felt like dog poop. As soon as she landed in Johannesburg, she’d see the family doctor.

Talking to John was out of the question. He wanted space, well now he had it, and it would probably be a long time until she saw him again. With her packed flight schedule ahead and his covert work, they probably wouldn’t see each other for months.

It was better that way. It gave her time to mourn the loss of their budding relationship and to get back to earning a living. She’d bid for more flights, trade in her allocated time off with other attendants and fill up her schedule. The orphanage and Valentino also needed her attention.

Wiping her clammy forehead and ignoring her miserable heartache, Lizzy pocketed the phone and got back to work. Jane—the fellow flight attendant slash interior designer wannabe—gave Lizzy a sideways glance. “No offense, girl, but you look like shit. Go home before we close those doors.”

Jane, as always, looked impeccable. Her thick brown hair was swept into a twisty concoction, and her red lips looked flawless.

“That’s not fair, I’m running the galley and then you’d be one down in the cabin. I signed up for the flight and I’ll work it.”

Jane shrugged. “Have it your way, but don’t give me your skanky virus. Five-foot perimeter, sweetness.”

Lizzy restrained from rolling her eyes. That was so Jane. The VIP family and their small entourage boarded. It was the American ambassador to Kenya’s wife and son, dashing to Johannesburg for an extended shopping spree. All in celebration of his high school graduation.

The elegant woman seemed friendly; her spoiled son, not so much. So far, he’d returned two Virgin Marys, insisting Lizzy had added too much pepper, then too much lemon. Third time lucky, Lizzy presented him with the tomato cocktail and swept back to the galley.

Next came the captain’s coffee. Shit, the captain—of all her luck, Captain Stuart was at the helm of the Airbus. Lizzy supposed she couldn’t avoid the creepy windbag forever.

She chose to serve the first officer first. He was a new flight member she’d never flown with before, and she’d already forgotten his name. He seemed like a nice guy.

When Lizzy next sidled into the cockpit to hand the captain his hot drink, Stuart gave her the cold shoulder, obviously still sore over the Peshawar incident. She’d bet he’d got into deep trouble over the whorehouse. She waited for him to hand her a dirty napkin and stared at his crotch area, wondering what crawled beneath his briefs. Just thinking about it made her itch, and she scratched hard at her arm, then stretched out her achy back.

“What in the blazes!” The first officer leaned forward.

Captain Stuart scrambled to grab his mic. “Oh my God! Oh shit. Close the cockpit door. Now!”

Lizzy stared in horror at the gang of black-clad men waving guns and surrounding the plane. Another contingent flooded the small hangar and outbuildings of the private airstrip. Gunshots echoed in the distance.

“The door now, Lizette!”

“But the other girls—”

“It’s too late!”

Lizzy shouted into the passage. “Jane, close the front galley door, quick!”

Captain Stuart guessed right—it was too late. As Jane tried to close the door, a shot rang out, blowing Jane off her feet. Lizzy screamed and slammed shut the cockpit door, panic bringing her to her knees. The brutal gang now had access to the plane and the only thing separating her from them, was the cockpit door.

Think Lizzy. Think. She ripped her phone from her apron pocket. Nearly dropping it, she pressed redial. “Oh, God, please answer, oh, God, please answer.”

He didn’t. More shots rang out as she redialed with shaking hands. It rang and rang. She’d leave a message. The last one she’d ever leave…then his deep voice came over the line and she sobbed. “John. Oh, God, John.”

***

Johnny contemplated not answering the second call. He couldn’t speak to her, afraid if he heard her sweet voice, he’d cave. Instead, he sat on the locker room bench, half dressed in his bug-out gear while staring at the ringing phone. He’d called her earlier, wanting to take back the hurtful things he’d said. Exhaustion screwed with his logic. Now, if she cried on the phone, Johnny would cave, move heaven and earth to be with her. He loved her so damn much.

Let it go to voicemail. You’ve gotta get mission ready.

Nope, Johnny’s thumb had a mind of its own.

“Lizbug, I hope you stayed home—”

“John. Oh, God, John.” She was losing her shit and he stood, his thoughts tumbling.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“They killed her. They’re shooting everyone. I’m next. Oh shit, shit, shit, I’m next.”

For the first time in his career, he nearly pissed himself. “Where are you? On the crew bus?”

“No, in…in the plane, at the private strip, we sometimes use—the Jet…JetHaven one—we’re locked in the cockpit. They have guns.”

Johnny ran for help. “I need you to take a deep breath. Tell me what you see, I need a description of the men.”

“Wearing all black, they have…have…masks on.”

“How many?” Ignoring the hot asphalt biting into his bare feet with every pounding step, he sprinted around the last corner.

She paused, then said, “Eight of them—wait—nine. The leader is circling around to the stairs. I think it’s their leader, he…he looks different from the rest.”

Johnny barreled into the hangar, shirtless, barefoot, and with pants half-buttoned. “JetHaven’s private airstrip. Now. Nine armed militants,” he yelled at the team then continued talking to her.

“Different how?”

“He’s wearing an actual mask. It’s leather and all pointy.”

Johnny staggered to a stop as terror rooted him to the spot. “What color, baby? Tell me the color.”

“Red.”

The room swung and his ears buzzed. Max grabbed his shoulders, getting up in his face. “SITREP.”

Johnny blew out a shaky breath, wanting to puke. “The Scythian—moving in on Lizzy’s plane.” Distantly he heard Donnie alerting the local authorities.

The Scythian Horse Lord and his mercenaries moved through entire villages like locusts, wiping out anything that got in their way. Leaving scalped bodies to rot in the African sun. Anyone who crossed the Horse Lord’s path never escaped, and Lizzy sat directly in that path.

Shots rang out, clipping through the phone and she screamed.

“Lizzy! Talk to me. Lizzy! Fuck! No!”

Slater tossed gear in the truck like a terminator. Max shoved Johnny towards the vehicle, thrusting a go-bag in his hands, then Max grabbed a couple of M4s, before running to the driver’s side.

“They’re shooting at the cockpit door. I don’t want to die. John, please don’t let me die.”

“It’s okay, honey. Get down as low as you can. Make yourself as small a target as possible.” MIT2 wouldn’t arrive in time; instead they’d hear her die. He punched the ceiling, leaving a dent, then reassured her. “Listen to my voice; I love you. Just concentrate on my voice. You’re my everything. I love you so damn much. You hear me, baby? I’m so fucking lucky to have you. It’s going to be okay. I’m never gonna leave you. I’ll be there soon, Lizbug. I’m coming.”

John switched the call to handsfree mode, running through the vehicle’s speakers.

“Be here now. John,” she begged. “Please, help me. Oh, my God, the first officer is dea—” More gunshots and crashing noises drowned out her screams.

Arabic shouts peppered the air. All of the MIT2 men spoke Arabic. Max was most fluent, but Johnny got the gist of what the bastards were saying. Johnny guessed that the one who wore a voice modulator was The Scythian.

“Pull the bitch out, put her with the others.”

“What about the captain? Do we shoot him?”

“I want some fun with this little whore,” another voice added as Lizzy moaned.

“I’ll shoot you myself if you don’t follow orders. Take her.”

Lizzy yelped in pain. Pleading shouts echoed as they pulled her away. Five seconds later a distant gunshot.

“NO!” Johnny shouted. “Lizzy! Lizzy! No! Baby. Please!”

Rustling, then heavy breathing registered over the airways. Johnny knew who now held that phone. Hatred like he’d never known before bled from his brain. “You fucker. I will spend the rest of my days hunting you. And fuck removing a scalp—instead, I’ll be removing your red leathered head.”

The disembodied reply slid over his skin like hot embers, with words he’d never forget: “Then the hunt begins.”