Cassie got up next and, in an act that Annabelle considered infinitely wise, she moved to Dylan, took him gently by the upper arm, and pulled him off of the couch.
“Come on, Icarus. You can help me make sure we have everything we need for the trip.” Cassie forcefully turned Dylan around, who went willingly, though reluctantly, and marched him down the hallway, leaving Jack and Annabelle alone in the living room.
Annabelle looked up into Jack’s face. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Jack, he’s just a boy.”
Jack looked at her then and his blue eyes glittered eerily in the lamplight. For what seemed like a long time, he didn’t speak. And then, softly, he said, “I know, luv.” His tone was strange. It wasn’t one she recognized.
“Get your things,” he told her then. “We have to meet Sam in ten.” He stepped around her, turning his back to her and leaving the room to move down the hall toward the last door on the left. Annabelle hugged herself. She felt cold, despite the warm central air and the fire in the hearth.
They were getting closer and Annabelle could feel it in her bones. It was like this deep buzzing sensation, riding up her legs and into her spine, causing her whole body to tremble and scattering her thoughts like bouncy balls in a mirrored room. Her teeth chattered behind her lips and her jaws ached from pressing them together in the vain hopes of making them stop.
Jack took one look in the rear-view mirror of the van they now rode in and shook his head. “You should have taken my advice, Bella.”
Annabelle shot him a dirty look. She knew he was right. She should have taken the pill he’d offered her. She was terrified to the point that it was painful. A tranquilizer would have helped. But a part of her was also afraid of being out of it or incapable of defending herself or Dylan if something happened. If they were attacked – if another pizza boy assassin came out of the woodwork while she was in a happy haze.
She just didn’t like the idea of being out of control. Not right now.
Jack pulled the van into an empty paved lot in the middle of nowhere. A few yards away, sitting alone on a vast black tarmac, waited a private white jet with blue and gold striping down its side.
Annabelle had no idea what kind of plane it was or how old it was. They all looked the same to her. One metal-winged death machine was the same as another.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” She muttered under her breath. Stars started to swim in her vision. Air was having a difficult time finding its way to her lungs. She bent over in her seat and hugged her knees, closing her eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“Jesus, Ann, you’re gonna pass out anyway. You should have taken the drugs. At least it would have been pleasant for you.” Cassie unbuckled her seat belt and knelt beside Annabelle. She patted Annabelle’s back as she spoke. “At this point, the only thing that would hit your system fast enough for it to do any good for the flight would be an injection.”
Annabelle’s back stiffened under her touch.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t have a syringe full of it anyway.” Cassie sighed.
“I do.” Jack’s voice cut through their conversation like a hot knife through butter. Annabelle sat up immediately, her face having gone utterly pale, her eyes as wide as saucers. Jack had opened the side door of the van and was waiting in the beckoning darkness.
At Annabelle’s reaction, he held up a hand in placation. “Easy, Bella. No one’s making you do anything.”
“Except get on the plane,” Dylan stated. He stood just outside of the van now, hands in his pockets. He’d exited through the back. Clara stood beside him, watching the exchange inside the van.
“Thank you once again, Dylan.” Cassie told the boy, her brown eyes narrowed into warning slits. Jack ignored him, his attention focused on Annabelle, who seemed to be hyperventilating.
“Well, well,” came a deep voice from behind Jack. Jack turned to watch a tall figure move toward him through the darkness between them and the plane. “Traveling with a goddamned circus now, are we, Jack?”
“Sam,” Jack said and turned to face him. A smile spread across his features, despite the situation. It’d been too long since he’d last seen Samuel Price. And yet, it seemed like only yesterday.
Samuel stepped into the beam of the van’s headlights and Jack got a good look at him. He hadn’t aged a day in fifteen years. And yet, he was fifty-five. How had he managed that?
His hair had grayed more, Jack supposed. Going from silver at the temples to nearly a full head of white. But his skin was as tan and clear as ever and his body looked as strong as it had the day they’d met.
“It’s good to see you, Jack,” Sam said then, his tone softer, his gray eyes twinkling. He smiled, flashing straight white teeth.
Jack moved toward him, shaking his head. “Likewise, you old bugger.” He closed the distance between them and the two hugged.
Annabelle watched, mystified. She was once more distracted from her fear of the inevitable flight and was instead focused on this new man. Samuel Price.
She’d heard Jack talk of him before. In passing. An occasional “Sam” here and there would pop in and out of his conversations. Late one night, he’d even told her all about him and given her a brief account on their history together. But now here he was – Jack’s mentor – the man who had taken Jack under his wing twenty-five years ago and made him into the assassin he was today.
She stood from her seat and climbed out of the van to join the others, all the while watching the stranger.
If Annabelle had had any previous inkling of what the man looked like, she would have been struck long ago with how fitting the name “Samuel” was for him. With his tall frame, silver hair, hard and handsome features and full mustache, he looked like Sam Elliott. Almost exactly.
Cripes, they could be twins.
And his accent had been southern. Maybe even Texas. What are the odds of that? Did everyone from Texas look the same?
“Sam, thank you for this.”
“Forget it,” Sam answered as they separated. “Now give me the run-down.”
Jack turned to Dylan and fixed him with a hard gaze.
“This the kid?” Sam asked, obviously recognizing Jack’s expression for what it was.
Jack nodded and then looked away from Dylan, who seemed rather bewildered by the strange exchange.
“This is my daughter, Clara.” Jack gestured to his daughter, who nodded once in greeting.
Sam did the same, his smile steady.
“Cassie Reid,” Jack nodded toward Cassie.
“You remember Beatrice,” Jack said, gesturing toward his ex-wife. Sam’s smile broadened and he came forward to take Beatrice’s hand, kissing the back of it as if in a scene straight out of a period movie. “You bet your nuts I do,” he said softly, grinning ear to ear.
Beatrice returned the smile, but shook her head reprimandingly. “You ‘aven’t changed a whit, Mr. Price.”
Annabelle noticed that she wasn’t all that quick to withdraw her hand.
“Why thank you, darlin’. I ‘preciate that.”
“And this is Annabelle Drake.”
Samuel straightened and turned to face Annabelle. His gaze was steady, his gray eyes pinning her to the spot with some strange kind of intensity.
“My, my,” he said as he came forward. Annabelle noticed that Jack moved with him. “The lovely Annabelle. It is a pleasure, Miss Drake.” He bowed slightly, as a knight would to a lady, and winked.
What was the wink for?
“Okay, Jack, load ‘em up.” Sam turned then, all business again, and issued the order to his friend.
Jack nodded. “Everyone to the plane.”
No one had to be told twice. Except Annabelle. Who didn’t move a muscle.