Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(13)

“Too bad, because I promised.”

“Don’t give a shit.”

Elle inhaled deeply. She wanted to disappear from Florida too, but she wasn’t going to let Mullen, Maldonado, or Jack mess her life up more than they already had. But picking a fight with The Borg wouldn’t improve matters. “It’s just half an hour. You heard what Hensen said. Maldonado is not in the US, and even if he was, I doubt he would have any business in a senior community, watching grannies dance.”

“Unnecessary risks are not acceptable.”

She looked into the ceiling, praying for patience. “Listen, I truly appreciate you getting me out of the police station, don’t misunderstand me, but don’t you think you’re exaggerating?”

“No. I told you. It’s me or protective custody. Or jail.”

“Jeez, can I have a minute to think about it? Because jail isn’t sounding so bad anymore.”

“Smart-ass,” she thought she heard him grumble.

She hurried to the common area, where her faithful crowd was already gathered. Violet and Rita were in first row, with Mr. Nicholson standing by his wife, not looking that thrilled. “Okay, folks. Ready to shake it?” she asked, jumping to the stage and then connecting her cell to the sound system. “We’ll start with merengue. Get our hips loose.”

After that came a little of salsa and a rather mild version of reggaeton.

She could see Jack glowering at her, losing his patience. Tough shit. She’d promised a senior Zumba class and she wasn’t going to disappoint them. Besides, contrary to popular belief, old people had sharp memories.

“Now we get a partner,” she said, while Marcel approached.

Apparently seeing Marcel bumping hips with her was too much for him, because Jack stalked toward her, then suddenly she was airborne and perched over his shoulder; all she could see was Jack’s ass.

“You are done. I told you we didn’t have time for this,” he growled, compounding the fiasco by slapping her behind while she thrashed.

As she was being carried away she lifted her gaze in time to see Mr. Nicholson shaking his head at his wife and lifting his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, there’s no way I can do that.”



“You’re shitting me,” Jack grumbled, glaring at Elle clawing the armrest of her seat on the plane. “You scared of flying?”

She shook her head. “No.” At his incredulous look she added, “A bit.”

“A bit?” Her nails were digging into the leather and she looked f*cking tense.

“Okay. A lot. I’m scared shitless about flying. Most people who work in an airport are. Scared, I mean. We see too much.”

Damn reassuring.

On the plus side, she was talking to him again after his stunt. On second thought, scratch that; it wasn’t a plus, it was a minus.

The fasten seat belt sign hadn’t gone off yet when one of the flight attendants brought Elle a double Scotch. “Paul sends his regards. He asked me to keep you stocked.”

Elle took the glass and emptied it. “Thanks. Tell him I’ll try to behave.”

As the flight attendant walked away, Elle turned to Jack. “Paul is the pilot. Old friend.”

“Why would he want to keep you drunk? What did you do to him?” He could think of a number of possibilities and none of them were good.

Her eyes fired up. “I didn’t do anything. I got a bit nervous once. He knows flying rattles me.”

“Don’t worry,” the older lady sitting behind them said, leaning forward and patting Elle’s shoulder. “We won’t crash. I have it on good faith that we will be hijacked.”

Elle stiffened.

For the love of God. “Lady…” Jack grumbled.

But she ignored the acrimony in his tone and continued, “My grandson told me flying is the safest way to travel, and that more planes are hijacked than crash. Then again, forty-five percent of the hijacked planes end up crashing too.”

“Forty-five percent? That’s damn specific.”

“Andy’s a statistics postgrad. He’s worked out some kind of system, according to which the next aviation incident has to be hijacking. He also said that, statistically speaking, it’s more probable that it happens in Eastern Asia, but he hasn’t taken into account the fact that I’m a magnet for bad luck. You should ask my late husband,” she added, shivering. “Anyway, there’s no doubt in my mind this is the flight getting hijacked. I’ve already spotted several men that look mighty suspicious to me. I’m Eve, by the way.”

Elle turned to her. “Nice to meet you. I’m Elle. You are very relaxed, considering.”

She shrugged. “It’s the blue pill Andy gave me.”

Fantastic. He was surrounded by crazy women. One on her way to getting drunk, the other doped up to her ears.

This was going to be a memorable flight.

“Don’t worry. Jack here is an air marshal,” Elle whispered, gesturing to him. “He’ll stop the hijackers. Right, Jack?”

He shot Elle a reproving look. The last thing he wanted was to humor some nutty lady, but he realized that all that nonsense had made Elle forget about her own fears and her nails were not buried in the armrests anymore, so he nodded curtly.

Eve leaned toward Jack and whispered, “Can I see your gun? I’ve never seen one in real life.”