“Oh, I know all about his little career choice, dear,” Beatrice leaned in close and whispered, her grin ear to ear. “Tha’s why I married ‘im, see?”
Annabelle’s jaw dropped open. “What?”
“For the fun of it, Annabelle!” Beatrice’s whisper had grown louder and Annabelle now glanced over her shoulder nervously. She peeked around the corner of the kitchenette to find that everyone was as they’d left them except that Dylan was now staring blankly out the window and Cassie was sound asleep.
She turned back to face Beatrice. “What career, exactly, are you talking about?” Annabelle asked, just to play it safe.
“Oh, you know, the little shooty-shooty.” She made the sign of a gun with her free hand. “Bang, bang, somebody’s dead.” She laughed, taking another swig of her drink. Annabelle watched her begin to rock very slowly from side to side.
Beatrice Hughes either had the metabolism of a rabbit or was a severe lightweight. Or both.
“So, you know,” Annabelle repeated, slowly. “What he does for a living.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened and her expression became incredulous. “A living? Posh! Dear, do you have any idea how many sovs that man makes, doing what ‘e does? It’s no small potatoes, I can assure you!”
Annabelle said nothing, deciding to allow Beatrice to do all of the talking. She took another small sip of her brandy.
Beatrice’s expression became serious then and she put her drink down, turning her full attention onto Annabelle. “But the sad truth is, Annabelle, I was young. It was the shrapnel I was after, in every sense of the word. I liked the danger and I loved the money. And I never really loved Jack.”
Annabelle put down her glass. “That’s why you divorced.”
“Aye. Just after Ian was born, I told Jack ‘ow I felt.” Beatrice’s gaze slid from Annabelle’s face to stare over her shoulder at some unseen place far away and long ago. “I can remember the look on ‘is face. Jack nodded, see, and said ‘e felt the same. The divorce was finalized in two days flat.”
“What about Clara and Ian?” Annabelle asked, her tone soft, in deference to the subject matter. She was filled with curiosity. She really wanted to know more about this stage in Jack’s life.
“Jack was content to leave them with me. We’ve always known that it was risky bringing children into his world. But we loved Clara so much and then… Ian just happened.” Beatrice shrugged and picked her glass back up, finishing off its contents in one swallow. “I was on two forms of birth control at the time, too…”
She put the drink down and turned back to Annabelle. “He said ‘e’d come back whenever ‘e could to see the kids. An’ ‘e does, more or less, but they still miss ‘im.”
Annabelle felt cold, suddenly. She hugged herself and felt goose bumps lining her arms. She imagined Jack’s kids and how much they would need their father. She imagined how much Jack must need them. But he lived here, in the states, and even if he lived in England, could he ever really be with them as much as he wanted to? Would his past follow him around? Catch up to him?
Threaten his family?
“I don’t think Jack ‘as ever really loved anyone but you, Annabelle.”
Annabelle blinked. The sudden change of subject and its directness was nothing short of shocking. “Pardon?”
“Oh, please,” Beatrice had come out of her memory stupor now and was smiling again. She took the opportunity to wink at Annabelle, nudging her in the arm. “You don’t think I ‘aven’t been able to wheedle enough info out of him over the years that I know all about you now, do you?”
“He talks about me to you?”
“Why, of course, dear!” She gave Annabelle a slightly reproachful look. “I am a woman, you know. An’ I can tell certain things. That man’s been in love for nigh on ten years now. Since he met you.”
“But he’s married two other women.”
Beatrice’s brow furrowed then and she blinked. Then her eyes got wide and her mouth formed a perfect “O”. “You mean you don’t know what’s really going on with those –”
A shadow fell over them and Beatrice looked up. She immediately blanched, an expression of guilt and a touch of fear crossing her pretty features.
Annabelle spun around to find Jack towering over them, an unreadable expression on his handsome face. His blue eyes burned bright as he gazed down at Beatrice. And then the gaze slid to Annabelle and she felt the full weight of it. She swallowed.
Had they done something wrong?
“Beatrice, please take your seat. We will be landing soon.”
Beatrice nodded once and immediately slid past the two of them to disappear around the corner. Annabelle stayed where she was. Not because she wanted to. But, because Jack blocked the exit.
He watched her in silence for several long moments, taking in the glass in her hands and the glitter in her eyes and probably a million other things that Annabelle wasn’t aware of because she wasn’t a professional killer.
Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. “What is it, Jack? What did we do wrong?”
“You did nothing wrong, Bella.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, what did Beatrice do wrong?”
At this, the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Don’t get me started on that one, luv.”
Annabelle’s gaze narrowed. He was going to play games? Okay. Fine. She could play too. “What was Beatrice about to tell me with regards to your other wives, Jack?”
Jack’s smile disappeared.
And then the plane bucked under them and Annabelle’s glass slipped from her hands to shatter at her feet. She cried out in surprise as she was thrown off balance and her boot slipped on the now wet floor. She would have gone down if Jack hadn’t caught her.
Samuel Price’s voice sounded overhead, through the intercom system. “Sorry people – just some warm air playin’ with Betsy. We’re comin’ in for a landing, so get to yer seats and best buckle up.”
Annabelle’s heart was racing painfully in her chest. “No, Sam! No warm air! No turbulence what so ever! Do you hear me!” She screamed at the unseen intercom system, unable to hold her fear in check.
Jack helped her around the spilled brandy and out of the kitchenette. His grip on her arms was tight. He could feel her muscles bunching up under his grasp. She was going into terror mode.
“Annabelle, calm down. Sit here.” He lead her to the closest seat and sat her down, somewhat forcefully, because she wouldn’t sit at first. He could tell that she would have much preferred to run. To bolt at any second and make a mad dash for the door. Which would be very bad.
He kept his hand on her shoulder, effectively holding her down. “Buckle the seat belt, Bella.”
Annabelle didn’t hear him. She couldn’t. The plane bucked again and all of the breath left her lungs. Stars swam in her vision. She felt nauseated.
Jack knelt beside her and buckled her in himself. Though she didn’t try to leap out of the chair and sprint away as he was doing so, she sat stiff as a board, rigid from head to toe with mind-altering fear.
“Bella, look at me.”
She didn’t, of course. He’d come prepared for the worst of all possible eventualities as far as her fear of flying was concerned. That was why he had the syringe filled with tranquilizer waiting in his jacket’s breast pocket. But he didn’t want it to come to that. She wouldn’t easily forgive him – if ever – for sticking a needle into her arm. And, it wouldn’t be an easy task to accomplish anyhow. Annabelle wasn’t a weak woman.