Читать книгу Hitched! - Ruth Jean Dale - Страница 9

Eight years later

DOWN TO HIS last hundred thousand in ready cash, Rand Taggart boarded a small Alar Airlines jet in Chicago on a pleasant September afternoon. The day was the only thing that was pleasant, unfortunately, for he was bound for San Antonio and a heaping helping of crow. Even a smile from the pretty blond flight attendant didn’t lighten his mood.

Helluva note when a good-lookin’ woman fails to arouse my baser instincts, he thought glumly, stowing his leather flight bag and briefcase in the overhead compartment in the small first-class section. The best he could manage for her was a nod.

The fact was, he’d rather eat a bug than face what awaited him in Texas: telling his parents that he’d spent, given away and been scammed out of millions of dollars—the latter by his old college roommate, of whom they’d never approved anyway. Then, while they were still in shock, the unmarried ne’er-do-well son would try to coax them into helping him break his great-grandfather’s will.

The mind reeled. Nevertheless he had to do it before he could go after his onetime friend. He wanted his money back, but he wanted to get his hands on the perpetrator almost as much.

“Excuse me.”

He turned to find a gray-haired woman standing in the aisle, trying to juggle a large travel bag and a child. She appeared flustered.

“Young man, could you help me get this bag into the overhead bin?” she asked.

“Sure thing.” He rose and hoisted the bag easily next to his in the open bin. “Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?” He managed a grin for the kid. Only two or three years old, he guessed, although he was no expert on children. The little girl looked back at him with unblinking blue eyes, her mouth turned down petulantly.

“Nothing. Thanks for your help.” The woman set the child into the seat in the last row, directly behind Rand’s. “I hope Jessica won’t be a bother on the flight. She’s cross because she didn’t get her nap today. With luck she’ll sleep all the way to San Antonio.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rand said. If he’d been wearing a hat, he’d have tipped it politely. Good manners died hard, even when you were mired in a slough of despond.

Other passengers were trekking down the narrow aisles. Rand seated himself in his usual window seat and ignored them, along with the whole routine of boarding. It wasn’t that he minded flying; God knows he’d done enough of it in the past eight years. Trips to Europe, the Caribbean, back and forth from coast to coast…

He’d hopped a plane and traveled three thousand miles to dine in Pasadena at the mom-’n’-pop café that served up his favorite pizza, the one with cashew nuts mixed in with the meat and veggies. He’d flown to Pamplona for the running of the bulls and to Acapulco for cliff diving, to Japan to buy pearls and to Florida to give them to a woman he hardly knew.

He’d thought the money would last forever.

It hadn’t…but it would have lasted a helluva lot longer if he hadn’t renewed acquaintances with good old Bill Overton. Now Rand either had to get married with lightning speed—God forbid!—or convince his parents, his aunts and his uncles to back his attempt to break the will of Great-grandpa Taggart.

Fat chance, he muttered. They’d want to hear chapter and verse on how he was able to throw away the millions left to him by his other great-grandpa, John Hayslip Randall IV, of the Boston banking Randalls. There’d be richly deserved lectures about responsibility and duty and obligation, and a whole lot of “I told you so’s.”

The worst part of it was, they couldn’t say anything to him that he hadn’t already said to himself, and in much harsher terms than they’d use. He was fairly certain most of them still loved him, which was more than he did at this sorry point.

Nevertheless the Rocking T Ranch had suddenly become his only source of ready cash while he tried to recover his lost fortune—he should live so long. This time he intended to use his head to manage his money—quite a change from the last go-round. At twenty-nine, he knew better than anyone that it was damn well time for him to grow up.

He’d already been thinking along these lines before Bill Overton had revealed himself for the dirty dog he was. Why did Rand always have to learn the hard way?

Time crawled past. Now that he was committed, all he wanted was to get to Texas and get this over with. At last the line of passengers slowed to a trickle, then stopped altogether. Maybe he was going to luck out for once, he thought with the faintest flicker of optimism. Maybe he’d have this entire two-seat row to himself. If he did, it would be the first positive thing that had happened to him since—

“I’m sorry?”

At the soft words, he forced his attention away from the window, where he’d been idly watching the usual bustle of the ground crew. A woman stood in the aisle, regarding him coolly from behind the most unattractive pair of eyeglasses he’d ever seen.

The rest of her wasn’t very impressive, either. Her neat brown dress hung around her waist like a sack with a string tied round the middle. The garment buttoned all the way up to her chin, and elbow-length sleeves dangled limply around her arms.

Her features were regular, but bland to the point of invisibility. Eyes of a nondescript brown were magnified by those miserable glasses, and her hair, an equally ordinary brown, was slicked back to her nape and tied with a droopy bow.

She licked colorless lips. “Uh, I’m sorry?” she said again, making a question out of words that would normally be an apology.

“For…?” Rand encouraged her to elaborate, since he had no idea what she was getting at.

“I think you’re in my seat?”

“No way.” Rand fished into his hip pocket and extracted his ticket. “I always get a window seat. See, right here—” He broke off, staring at his ticket: aisle seat. Even his travel agent had it in for him these days.

“If it’s a problem, I don’t mind trading.” The woman sounded anxious about it, though. “Really, it’s no problem at all.” Bending, she hoisted a large garment bag.

“Let me do that,” Rand said quickly, scooting over and out into the aisle. “Go ahead.” He gestured toward the window seat. “It’s all yours.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind…” She gave him an agitated glance and relinquished her bag to his care. “Thank you so much.”

He swung the ungainly piece of luggage into place, surprised that it weighed considerably less than he’d expected. Apparently she believed in traveling light. After sitting down in the detested aisle seat, he squirmed around to locate the safety belt. To his displeasure, she spoke again.

“I’m Maxine Rafferty.” Turning awkwardly against the confines of her seat belt, she offered her hand.

“Rand Taggart.” He barely touched her hand with his. He wasn’t in the mood to get friendly with anyone on this trip and those feelings had nothing to do with her lack of appeal. He’d have felt the same no matter who took his window seat.

She chewed on her lip with even, white teeth. “Are you going to San Antonio, too?” she asked.

He nodded. That was where this plane was headed, so what did she think?

Her smile was strained. “I really hate to fly,” she said suddenly. “Something bad always happens. The last time, the plane sat on the runway for four hours. It was awful.”

“I can see how it would be.” He should be kind and supportive, but all he wanted was for her to shut up and let him return to his brooding.

Seemingly she caught on, for with a distracted frown she turned back to the window. This left Rand free to resume his dark thoughts, the darkest of which was the absolute certainty that the six people who held his fate in their hands were gonna turn him down cold.

Okay, so he hadn’t exactly been leading that productive life Thom T. had envisioned for him—the word wastrel leaped to mind. Once he reached his parents’ ranch in the Texas Hill Country, he’d have to talk fast. He could count on his mother, of course, but his father…

Jesse James Taggart was not a man who made a lot of allowances, and especially not for his son. Rand had never been able to please his father, had never even come close to living up to the Taggart name. Early on, he’d quit trying.

The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, reciting the usual safety instructions while the plane rolled away from the jetport. He didn’t listen to what she was saying because he could have given the spiel for her he’d heard it so many times. Strapped into his seat, he waited until they were airborne before leaning back with a sigh.

In so doing, his elbow extended into the aisle and somebody smacked into it. Rand yanked his arm aside, automatically mumbling a “Sorry” and glancing up.

The guy never even saw him, probably didn’t even realize what had happened. Rand had just a glimpse of a set, white face and blazing eyes. Several years of sometimes-fast living immediately told him that the man’s expression owed more than a little to the use of booze, pills, illegal drugs, something along those lines.

The guy was probably rushing to the postage-stamp-size rest room to ingest illegal substances. Rand hoped no one was unfortunate enough to already be crammed in there, because this guy was in a big hurry. Whatever. Rand had more important things to worry about.

The die was cast. Nothing could stop the fate flying toward him at breakneck speed.

“THIS IS A HIJACKING!” A rough male voice sliced through the flight attendant’s smooth recitation. “Everybody stay where you are and nobody will get hurt.”

The flight attendant’s voice shot up into a squawk of protest and the intercom went dead.

Ha, ha, Maxine thought crossly. Just what I need—a comedian serving the pretzels.

She glanced at the darkly handsome man in the aisle seat, curious to know how he’d react to this less-than-funny prank. His eyes were closed, so perhaps he was sleeping. That gave her an opportunity to admire him for just a moment.

Rand Taggart wore a butter-soft leather jacket, a shirt with an expensive logo, khaki trousers and pricey leather sneakers. And he wore it all with the kind of nonchalant grace that shouted “Money!” without him ever opening his mouth.

It was more than that, though; the photograph definitely hadn’t done him justice. He was so damn good-looking that she’d caught her breath in surprise at first sight of him. He had a square-jawed suntanned face, dark hair that curled slightly around his ears and temples, long-lashed eyes a shade of blue-gray she’d never encountered…

And a natural arrogance not unexpected, under the circumstances. Nevertheless she was determined to strike up a conversation with him. After taking off her eyeglasses, she rubbed idly at the bridge of a nose unaccustomed to their weight. No way did she intend to waste this flight to San Antonio, especially at first-class prices, when she’d gone to so much trouble to—

The intercom opened again in a hail of static. “We’re being hijacked!” the flight attendant shrieked. “This is not a joke!” A series of grunts and gasps and the sounds of a scuffle followed.

Rand sat bolt upright. “I close my eyes for five minutes and we’re being hijacked?” he demanded. Half rising, he looked about.

Maxine stayed where she was, aware of the increasingly anxious buzz around her. People were confused, their voices growing louder in alarm. From the row of seats directly behind, a child let out a screech that cut through Maxine like a blade.

Even so, she refused to believe the plane was actually being hijacked. No way! She’d been nervous about booking this flight, but fear of flying wasn’t why. Normally as subtle as a sledgehammer, she’d set herself a task that depended on subtlety. She wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted by—

“Hijacked! The hell you say!” This new, masculine voice came from behind the open curtains separating first and tourist classes. “Don’t worry, Robyn, somebody’s gettin’ cute. We’ll see if the FAA thinks it’s so damn funny.”

Rand sat down suddenly, his arm pressing Maxine back against her seat. “There’s a guy with a gun comin’ up the aisle,” he said, a touch of Southern steel creeping into his mid-Atlantic accent. “Lean back and keep quiet. Don’t do anything to attract attention.”

The flight attendant’s shaky voice rose above the babble with a boost from the intercom. “Please, keep calm and nobody will be hurt. Do everything they say.”

“How the hell many are there?” Rand muttered, not turning to see. “Jeez, I don’t believe this!”

A man shoved past, heading for the front of the plane. Turning at the forward seat in first class, he glared back at the hapless passengers. Maxine caught her breath on a little moan at the sight of the guy’s menacing expression.

It didn’t help that he was waving a pistol around in one hand while exhibiting a hand grenade in the other. “Everybody shut up!” he roared, red-rimmed eyes glowing. “Next person who opens his mouth will get a grenade shoved down his throat.”

Maxine snapped her teeth together with a click. In her immediate vicinity, all sound ceased except for the snuffling of the child in the seat behind. Those in tourist class apparently couldn’t hear the man’s warning, though, for it was beginning to sound like pandemonium back there.

“Goddammit!” The hijacker strode back down the aisle, still brandishing his weapons. Rand leaned slightly in, his shoulder touching hers until the man had gone past.

“Two of them.” He was looking at her, but she knew he was thinking out loud. “I hope to God nobody gets any bright—”

The intercom crackled and a new voice came on, a voice rough and threatening. “You people shut up and listen! We’ve got guns and grenades and we’re ready to use them unless we get some damn cooperation!”

He’d convinced Maxine, and everybody else, as well, it seemed. Suddenly she could have heard a pin drop. There was something utterly persuasive about his threats. Wide-eyed, she couldn’t help counting on Rand Taggart for reassurance. He shook his head in silent warning, then took her hand and squeezed it.

He must think she was on the verge of hysteria or something. She wasn’t that weak or stupid…but there was some comfort to be found in his steady grip nonetheless. She didn’t pull away.

“Listen up,” the disembodied voice continued. “I’ve got a gun pointed straight at the captain’s head and my partner will keep you folks in line out there or else—you got that? Try anything and I will surely shoot the shit outa this pilot, in which case we’re all dead meat.” He didn’t sound as if he cared.

The intercom went dead. Rand grimaced. “I’m taking him at his word,” he said. “If everybody keeps cool, we should be all right.”

Small comfort. “Do you think—”

The intercom cut her off. “This is your captain speaking.”

Maxine felt a leap of hope at the new, confident voice—hope dashed by his next words.

“If everybody will just remain calm and cooperative, I’m sure we can work something out with these gentlemen. The seat-belt sign will remain on and I’d personally appreciate it if you’d all stay buckled up. Mr….?”

“Smart-ass,” the other voice snarled. The sound of a blow, a groan.

When the pilot spoke again, his voice was no longer calm and assured. “This gentleman h-has instructed me to, uh, has given me a new flight plan. Sit tight and pray. We have plenty of fuel and no intention of doing anything foolish.”

“Oh, gosh…” Maxi swallowed hard. “This isn’t sounding very good.”

THE WOMAN in the front row likely agreed, because she burst into hysterical sobs. Rand didn’t say a word, just leaned back and closed his eyes. At least his own problems were taking a back seat, what with overwrought passengers, weeping children and erratic flying patterns.

Not that there was a helluva lot he could do, which was frustrating. Beyond occasional comforting words for the woman in the seat next to him—Maxine something-or-other—he was powerless. When this whole thing started, what little color she had in her face had disappeared, apparently never to return.

“Can’t we do anything?” she finally blurted at him.

“Like what?” She must be nuts.

“You’re a man. Men are supposed to know these things.”

He felt his temper soar. “If you think I’m gonna get shot trying to be a hero, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I probably do.” She settled back, radiating disapproval.

Well, hell. What did she expect? Now he had something new to brood about.

Around them, many of the passengers were climbing beyond the point of no return on the hysteria scale. Maxine, although she’d shown no signs of losing it, was obviously scared to death. Hell, so was he. He should be more understanding.

He kept his voice low and easy. “Did you say you live in San Antonio?”

She gave him a startled glance and shook her head.

“Maxine,” he said reproachfully, “I can’t take your mind off your troubles if you refuse to talk.”

She responded with a quick, uncertain smile. She really did have a nice mouth—wide, full lipped. Almost lush. It was a wonder he hadn’t noticed that before.

“I live in Chicago,” she said a bit vaguely. “Mostly.”

“Are you going to visit friends in Texas, then?”

“No. I have a job interview there.” She licked her lips nervously. “What do you do, Rand?”

“As little as possible.”

“Ah.” Her expression seemed to relax a little. “Independently wealthy, I suppose.”

“Depends on what you mean by wealthy. He kept his tone neutral. He didn’t intend to tell this stranger that he’d probably thrown away more money than she’d ever see. “I’m on my way to visit my family.”

“Parents?”

“That’s right. And two aunts and uncles who live nearby.”

“Do you have a close family?”

“Close enough, I guess. How about you? Do you have much family?”

“One sister, and she’s…well, she’s kind of in trouble at the moment.”

“That’s too bad.” He didn’t want to pursue this line of questioning. He wasn’t particularly interested in her or her sister, would never see her again once this was over. He had plenty of problems of his own without getting caught up in hers.

But looking into her vulnerable face, he couldn’t bring himself to break off the conversation. At a loss, he finally said, “I have a sister, too.”

“Has she ever been in trouble?”

Rand laughed. “Clementine? She’s been in trouble since the day she was born, but probably not the kind of trouble you mean.”

“Clementine. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anyone with that name. Except, ‘Oh, my darling,’ of course.”

“She used to hate it, but now that she’s older, she kind of likes it.”

“Older like…?”

“She’s twenty-one.” He knew she wasn’t interested in hearing about his sister, but he was struggling to keep the conversation going. “How old are you?” About his age, he figured.

“I’m twenty-five.”

“No kidding.” Idiot. You can’t tell her you thought she was at least five years older than that. Damn shame Clemmie couldn’t get hold of Maxine for a few hours and do something about that frumpy exterior.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Rand glanced around to find one of the ashen-faced flight attendants standing in the aisle, holding a basket with cans of soda and tiny bags of pretzels. “Would either of you care for a drink or a snack? It’s not much, but this was supposed to be a short flight.”

“They wouldn’t let you use that big cart, huh?” Rand guessed.

She nodded. “He said if they needed to get through the plane in a hurry, they didn’t want that thing in the way.”

“Which makes sense, I suppose.” He took a couple of cans from the basket and handed one to Maxine. “How’s it going up front?”

The flight attendant licked her lips. “Okay, I guess. They’re obviously doing drugs, though, and you never know where that will lead.” She made a face.

“Maybe if they get enough of that junk in them, they’ll fall asleep.”

“God, I hope so, but it just seems to make them more squirrelly.”

The beefy man across the aisle—an insurance salesman from Dubuque, Rand recalled, Larry something-or-other—leaned into the quietly spoken conversation. “Why doesn’t the captain do something?” he demanded, his face reddening. “We’ve got them outnumbered, for God’s sake.”

The woman in the maroon-and-gold Alar uniform was rendered speechless by this asinine criticism, so Rand jumped in.

“Good idea. You make the first move.”

“Me? I—we—ah…” The man’s bluff had been called and his bravado evaporated.

A bit of color had returned to the flight attendant’s cheeks and she gave Rand a grateful glance before moving on.

Rand turned around to Maxine, who studied him without expression.

“Maybe we should gang up on those hijackers,” she said defiantly. “If we’re going to die anyway—”

“Nobody’s going to die,” he said, appalled.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a prediction. Why don’t we just settle down and—”

“May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot’s voice burst from the intercom. “Time to buckle up. We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes at—”

The sound was cut off to a chorus of “Landing where?” Maxine and Rand looked at each other. He smiled. She didn’t.

“See?” he said encouragingly. “In an hour we’ll be off this plane and going about our business again.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” she said with feeling. “In the meantime, keep talking, will you? Tell me the story of your life…anything to keep my mind off them.”

THE HIJACKERS apparently changed their minds with disturbing frequency because minutes stretched into hours while the plane continued on a meandering course through the sky. After a while, Rand found himself running out of things to say and he still couldn’t loosen Maxine up enough to do more than nod or answer “Yes” or “No.” She did show an annoying tendency to ask personal questions, however, which he turned aside with growing impatience.

He wasn’t a man who talked about his personal business, especially when he was ashamed of it.

The hijackers took turns exploding out of the cockpit to wave guns and grenades around, to make threats. Singly, they’d stalk to the back of the plane, get everybody all worked up to screaming and crying, then turn and stalk back, to disappear inside the cockpit again.

Finally the insurance man across the way got fed up for real. “We really oughta rush ’em,” he whispered hoarsely to Rand. “They’re gonna get us if we don’t get them first.”

That thought had occurred to Rand, too, but had quickly perished. Whatever those two hijackers were doing in the cockpit wasn’t making them sleepy it was making them mean—make that meaner. They gave every indication that they’d as soon shoot the passengers as keep an eye on them.

“Take it easy,” he tried to calm the jittery man. “Nobody’s been hurt yet. Why start something we may not be able to finish?”

“Yeah, well…” The man subsided, mumbling.

The next time one of the gunmen appeared, he took one look at the insurance salesman, apparently didn’t like what he saw, raised his pistol and fired point-blank.

At the same instant, the plane banked into a sharp descent, throwing the gunman off-balance. The bullet panged into a vacant seat in the first row, sparing the insurance salesman. The first-class cabin erupted in shrieks and cries, so the hijacker fired a couple more shots after the first, playing hell with the upholstery.

Rand shoved Maxine against the window and turned to shield her with his body. In the aisle, the hijacker was swearing and making all kinds of threats, ending with a bellowed, “You think I don’t know what’s going on out here? You want to jump me, right? Try it! I’m begging you to try it! Hell, I might just throw this grenade and get it over with.”

Fully believing the end was near either from bullet, grenade or a crash landing, Rand braced himself for the worst. So much for his own petty problems. He wasn’t going to live long enough to—

The wheels slammed down onto solid earth. The plane vaulted into the air and landed again, heavily. The odor of burning rubber permeated the cabin.

“Please!” The word was just a gasp from Maxine. “You’re crushing me! Let me up!”

Why the hell not? If the hijacker hadn’t thrown the grenade by now, maybe he wouldn’t. “Sorry.” Rand straightened. A quick glance forward produced an exclamation of astonishment.

The hijacker wasn’t there. And hurtling past the window was a landscape Rand didn’t recognize: sand and cactus and a few stunted trees.

But first things first. “You okay?” he asked Maxine. “I didn’t mean to crush you but I was afraid—”

“Shit!” The insurance salesman was hyperventilating. “He’s crazy! Did you see that? He tried to shoot me!”

Rand grimaced. “Buck up, fella. You survived to tell about it.”

The man groaned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He stumbled to his feet and staggered forward to the rest room, bouncing side to side with the motion of the plane.

Into a tense silence, a petulant voice intruded. “Grandma, I’m hungry!”

Jessica, the little girl in the seat behind them. A tug on his sleeve made Rand start; the child stood in the aisle, looking up at him plaintively.

Maxine’s smile didn’t mask her concern. “Honey, you have to sit down.” She dug around in her shoulder bag. “Here.” She held up a candy bar. “You can have this if you’ll get back into your seat and—”

“Jessica!” The little girl’s grandmother sounded panicky. “Get back in this seat at once!”

“Choc-late!” Jessica escaped her grandmother’s clutches and lunged for the chocolate bar. She grabbed it, then fumbled at the wrapper.

Rand tried to take it from the chubby hands. “Let me help you, hon.”

“No, let me help.”

The hijacker had crept up on them all unseen. Now he reached for the candy bar.

Jeez, this guy would take candy from babies? Talk about rotten!

Jessica lunged for the chocolate. “Mine!” she screamed, holding the bar in both hands and backing away. She whirled around, then dashed down the aisle as fast as her chubby little legs would carry her.

The gunman straightened, swaying with the roll of the plane, and his arm came up. All Rand could see was the revolver rising, a finger already tightening on the trigger.