Of those three thousand airfields, about nine hundred are still viable. Of those nine hundred, about one hundred and fifty have long enough runways to accommodate a craft the size of the Lady Lucrezia. Of those hundred and fifty, twelve are regular stops for the Lady—and they are spread out on every populated continent.
Today’s itinerary features northern Europe.
Six small private jets are already on the weedy tarmac of Denmark’s Rom Airfield, lined up like chicks awaiting the return of the mother hen. It’s a ritual repeated several times a month in each airfield, with no fear of government interference, thanks to some well-placed palm greasing.
Distribution is a procedure much simpler than the actual unwindings. The Lady Lucrezia lands, her hinged nose rises, opening her voluminous cargo hold, and the crates, already sorted to their various destinations are loaded upon the smaller craft, representing buyers anxiously awaiting their purchases. No worldwide delivery service is more efficient. No businessman is prouder of his operation than Divan Umarov.
52 • Risa
She watches the off-loading activity from the guest room window, getting only a small glimpse of it. This is the third time they’ve landed since she’s been conscious. The first two times had them on the ground for less than ten minutes before accelerating down the runway once more, and she imagines this will be the same. Divan dispatches his cargo even faster than he unwinds them.
She turns at the sound of someone at the door, expecting to see Divan. Maybe he sold her after all, and the buyer is waiting on the tarmac to appraise the merchandise. She wonders if a swift kick to the groin would diminish her value in the bulging eyes of the recipient. Instead of Divan at the door, however, its Grace’s half-faced brother.
“Unless you’re here to spring me, I’m not interested.”
“Can’t do that,” Argent says, “but I can take you to see Connor.”
And suddenly Argent’s her new best friend.
“Gotta be quiet, and gotta be quick,” Argent tells her as he leads her out of the room, sounding a little bit like Grace. “Divan’s outside supervising the off-load, but he’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
Argent leads her farther back in the plane to another guest bedroom almost as richly appointed as hers. At first appearance, Connor’s merely tucked into a well-made bed, until she realizes those aren’t blankets, but dozens of thick canvas straps wrapping around him, locked into steel screw eyes in the floorboards, on either side of the bed. Those straps aren’t just keeping him from escaping, they’re keeping him from moving.
Yet in the midst of all this, Connor is still able to smile at her and say, “So I’m beginning to think this spa isn’t what the brochure promised.”
Risa swore to herself that she wouldn’t let him see tears, but she doesn’t know how long she can hold to that.
“We’re getting you out of here,” she says, kneeling to see how the bands are secured. “Argent, help me!”
But Argent doesn’t move. “Can’t do it,” he says. “And even if we could get him loose, we won’t be on the ground long enough to get him out.”
“That’s no reason not to try!”
“Risa, stop,” Connor says quietly.
“If I had a sharp enough knife . . .”
“Risa, stop!” says Connor a little bit louder. “I need you to slow down and listen to me!”
But the tears she kept from her eyes seem to be flooding her thoughts instead, filling her with panic. “This isn’t going to happen to you! I won’t let it!” And she continues to fight against his bonds until Argent says, “I told you she’d be useless.”
That, more than anything else, clears her mind enough to listen to what Connor has to say.
“I have a plan, Risa.”
Risa takes a deep breath to calm herself. “Tell me. I’m listening.”
“The plan is . . . you stay whole, and I get unwound.”
“That’s not a plan!” she yells.
“Shh!” Argent says. “The whole plane’ll hear you!”
As if in response the whole plane shudders and emits a mechanical grinding.
“Risa, it is a plan. Not much of one, but at least it’s something. Argent knows the details. He’ll fill you in.”
“The nose cone is closing!” Argent whines. “Divan will be back on board any second, if he isn’t already. I can’t be caught in here!”
But Risa can’t leave yet. Not without saying those words that come so hard, but mean more than anything now. The words she fears she may never get to say again. “Connor, I—”
“Don’t!” Connor’s lower lip quivers. “Because if you say it, it’ll sound too much like a good-bye, and I don’t think I could take that.”
And so Risa doesn’t speak it aloud, but it’s there between them, more powerful than anything either of them can say.
She leans over, kisses him, then hurries to the door where Argent waits, his half-face red with fright. It’s just as they leave that Connor breaks down and utters the words he couldn’t bear to hear himself.
“I love you, Risa,” he says. “Every last part of me.”
53 • Connor
“I hope you’re hungry.”
Connor cranes his neck to see Divan coming into the room with a tray. Connor answers him with a glare.
“No, I suppose you’re not,” says Divan, “but I wish you to have this meal anyway. And I wish you to enjoy it.”
Divan sits in the room’s only chair, depositing the tray on a small desk and removing its silver dome, releasing a plume of steam toward the ceiling.
“Fine,” Connor says, “and then you won’t be able to unwind me for twenty-four hours, isn’t that right? I can’t be unwound on a full stomach.”
“Ah yes,” says Divan, unrolling silverware from a napkin, “the many rules and regulations of the Juvenile Authority. Well, we do things differently here.”
“I’ve noticed.”
The room now smells rich with butter and garlic. Connor finds his mouth watering in spite of himself, and he despises Divan even more for making his own senses rebel against him.
“Have you ever had lobster, Connor?”
“I thought they were extinct.”
“There are still private farms if one knows where to find them.”
Through the corner of his eye, Connor sees Divan perform surgery on a red shell, removing a fist-size lump of steaming white shellfish meat.
“You’re going to have to free my hands if you want me to eat.”
Divan chuckles slightly. “Freeing your hands would give you ideas, and ideas would give you hope in a hopeless situation. It would be cruel to give you hope at this point, so no, your hands remain as restrained as the rest of you.” Divan cuts the meat, then with a small fork, he proceeds to push a piece of the lobster toward Connor’s mouth. “I will feed you. Your only responsibility is to enjoy the experience.”
Although Connor keeps his lips pursed, Divan patiently waits, with the fork just above his mouth, saying nothing, just waiting. Like the unwinding itself, Connor realizes this meal is inevitable. After a few minutes, he opens his mouth, and allows Divan to feed him the most expensive thing he’s ever eaten.
“You need to understand I am not your enemy, Connor.”
That’s much harder for Connor to swallow than the lobster. “How do you figure?”
“Because in spite of what you cost me with Starkey, I have nothing in my heart but admiration for you. Nelson may have had a vendetta against you, but I do not. In fact, were you not worth so many millions to me, I would seriously consider releasing you.”