Jack was un-phased by this. He’d fully expected it. Without another word on the matter, he strode toward her and then bent and, in one clean, swift movement, picked her up into his arms.
“What-”
“We have to go, Bella.”
“Jack, put me down!”
“Not bloody likely.”
From where he stood beside the plane, making what Annabelle assumed were pre-flight checks on plane parts that she knew nothing about, Sam watched Jack carry Annabelle toward the plane. He shook his head. Annabelle didn’t care.
At twenty feet, she choked on a sob and tucked her face into his neck. “If the plane goes down, will you knock me out so that I don’t have to feel the fall?”
“I promise, luv.”
“Okay.” She said nothing further.
With that, he climbed the stairs and ducked into the plane’s interior, making sure to pull Annabelle’s head in at the same time.
Chapter Thirteen
Jack ducked into the cockpit of the plane and took the co-pilot’s seat, buckling in as he did so, out of habit. Sam glanced over at him from where he sat in the pilot’s seat, and then turned his attention back to the controls.
“So, you wanna fill me in on why I had to drag myself and Betsy half-way across the Northern American continent to take you and a boat-load of kids to New York City?” Sam’s voice was calm, his tone even, but there was more than a touch of lighthearted sarcasm lacing his words.
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Betsy?”
Sam shot him an incredulous look. “Betsy! Betsy Ross, here!” He patted the control panel of the plane affectionately. Jack smiled.
“Of course.”
“Well?” Sam urged.
“It’s a long story, Sam. And the truth is, I’m not that clear on everything myself.”
“It’s a two-hour flight. Get talkin’.”
Jack chuckled. “Very well.” He paused, forming his words carefully in his mind before he continued. “You met Annabelle.”
Sam gave a low whistle. “Yes, sir.” He shot Jack a wicked grin. “Sweet thing you got there. An’ she’s stuck with you for almost ten years?” At Jack’s nod, Sam shook his head in wonder. “That’s a hell of a lot longer than Bee.”
Again, Jack nodded.
“Her boss was murdered yesterday.”
Sam’s gaze remained locked on the controls, but his brow was furrowed. He was thinking. Jack let the silence stretch. And then, quietly, Sam said, “Was that the Anderson fellow?”
Jack nodded. “You know of the job, then.”
“Was offered to an acquaintance of mine,” he turned to look at Jack then. “Who turned it down, by the way. Bad timing or some such nonsense. I’m not sure who eventually took the assignment.”
“An amateur,” Jack supplied. “Botched it. Even the cops are suspicious.”
Again, Sam whistled, this time shaking his head. “Not good.” He paused then, cocking his head to look at Jack askance. “What’s this got to do with you and Miss Drake, Jack? She involved?”
“She is now.”
“An’ I s’pose that means that you are too.”
Jack didn’t bother answering. His look said it all. He was with Annabelle come hell or high water. Just as she’d always been with him.
“Fair ‘nough,” Sam said. “What’s so important in New York?”
“Max Anderson left a clue for Annabelle before he died. He knew his life was in danger. The clue points to Columbia University.”
Sam was quiet for a long while before, finally, he asked, “You gonna lead the cops to one of us, Jack?”
“No.” Jack’s answer was swift and firm. He knew that Sam would be wary about giving anything away to the police, so he wasn’t surprised that Sam asked the question. But for some reason, he was a little irritated by it.
The silence stretched between them for several minutes. At last, Sam sighed and leaned back, switching on the auto pilot. “From what I could tell, it didn’t look like Drake was all that thrilled to get on the plane. What are you doin’ up here if she’s a loose cannon back there?”
Jack smiled. “She sent me up here to make sure you weren’t drunk or asleep.”
Sam threw back his head and laughed deep and loud. “God damn!” he said, shaking his head again. “Good thing I left the JD at home this time around.”
“It’s no use,” Annabelle muttered as she laid down the twelfth losing hand in a row. “This isn’t working. Either Dylan’s playing with marked cards or I royally suck right now because I can’t bloody-well concentrate on anything but my impending death.” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair while Dylan gathered up the cards for another shuffle and deal. “Anyone got any alcohol?”
“No’ on me,” Clara chimed in with a helpless shrug.
“I might be able to scrounge somethin’ up, dear,” Beatrice offered, unbuckling her seat belt and rising from the plush leather seat where she’d been sitting next to her daughter. “Why don’t you and I head to the back an’ see what we can find?”
Annabelle glanced up at Beatrice, who smiled reassuringly. Eventually, she nodded and stood. She may as well give this a shot. At the very least, getting to know Jack’s ex-wife a little better might prove a welcome distraction.
They moved through the private jet’s luxe interior, walking, un-impeded and with plenty of room, between the large, plush leather chairs. They reached the back of the plane and turned a small corner to enter a tiny kitchenette, complete with microwave and refrigerator.
“Let’s see now…” Beatrice pulled her large blue hobo purse off of her shoulders and began fumbling around inside of it. “Ah, ‘ere we are.” When she withdrew her hand, it was clutching a half-full, apple-shaped bottle of Laird’s Applejack brandy. Annabelle’s eyes widened. She’d heard of this stuff. It was something like ten years old.
“This here’s left over from Christmas, it is,” she said as she took off the top and pulled a glass cup down from one of the skinny cupboards above them. “It’s twelve years old an’ pricey as a bugger, but to all good things, there is a season, right?”
Annabelle only smiled and took the glass that Beatrice handed her. The woman poured a good amount of the amber liquid into each glass and then re-capped it and slid it back into her purse. With that, she raised her glass.
Annabelle chinked her own softly against it and Beatrice nodded, immediately taking a long swig of the sweet digestif.
Annabelle watched her for a moment and then shrugged. It was time to join the party. She put the glass to her lips and took a big swallow.
The liquid slid across her tongue, stinging her throat all the way down and filling her mouth and nostrils with the smell of apples as if she were inhaling a heady perfume. She almost coughed. But, she managed to get the first too-large swallow down and amended the second sip to be much smaller.
Beatrice smiled at her, a new twinkle in the woman’s gorgeous, feline green eyes. “I never ‘ave liked flying much either, you know,” she said, her smile never wavering. “So, I always carry emergency stashes. ‘Course I don’t shit bricks over it like you do, but still, I can completely understand.”
Annabelle couldn’t help the smile that stole over her face. She could imagine that her own eyes held somewhat of a twinkle at that moment, and not all of it was due to the liquor.
“Now, dear, let me get a few things aired out with you, if you don’t mind,” Beatrice continued, as she extracted the bottle from her purse and poured herself another serving. “I ‘ave to admit that I ‘aven’t got much in the way of.. oh, say.. feelings for Jack any longer. He’s just too no-nonsense and goody-two-shoes for my liking. But ‘e’s a good man, nonetheless, and I want you to know that.”
Annabelle could only stare at Beatrice. Jack? Goody-two-shoes? Did Beatrice have any inkling of how far off the mark she was with that one?