As she left Albuquerque in her rearview mirror, she smiled.
I did it.
Part of her honestly hadn’t expected her plan to get her this far. She’d grabbed the paring knife, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it, prepared to jab Jerald the weasel with it, if necessary.
If she made it this far, she knew she could make it the rest of the way. She didn’t care she was walking away from everything else.
She was walking away from Hannibal. For the first time since he’d walked into her life and she’d let him walk all over her, she felt free.
Truly free.
And there was no way in hell she’d ever let him drag her back to that gilded cage to be tormented and abused.
The next time she saw Hannibal Silo in person, hopefully it would be watching him squirm on a witness stand.
As she gained confidence, she allowed her foot to press harder on the accelerator, taking the car up to and just a fraction over the posted speed limit. It had been decades since she’d driven a car, but exhilaration swept through her as it all came back to her.
Hannibal had taken a lot from her over the years. He couldn’t take her memories, or her skills. He couldn’t take her soul, no matter how hard he’d tried to do that.
Most importantly, even though she’d let him hold on to it for far too long, he couldn’t take her will.
Not now, not that it had once again been awakened and restored to her.
Now she would go down fighting. If anyone arrested her, she would tell the world what Hannibal had done to her. He might try to convince them she was crazy, even bring in that damned psychiatrist to testify to that, but she had broken no laws.
She possessed the evidence that proved Hannibal had.
Her smile felt nearly painful.
Freedom.
Rolling down the windows, she let the warm air blow through the car’s interior, competing with cool, swirling eddies from the air-conditioner.
This was her life now.
She was back in control.
She let out a long, loud, rolling laugh.
And heaven help Hannibal Silo, because he was in for a hell of a time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
This was the most difficult role Hannibal Silo had ever played. He’d started out with worried and confused, then had gone for stunned shock for a while, not wanting to break right into using the scared husbandly outrage when he didn’t even know what the hell happened.
He still didn’t know.
All he knew was that he couldn’t allow his facade to slip even a hair’s breadth. He couldn’t reveal what he really felt—seething, hateful rage. Somehow, he didn’t know how, Mary had plotted and escaped. That she’d left the light and fan on in the backstage bathroom and locked the door told him right there she was behind it. Or, at the very least, had willingly left.
Yes, there was a chance someone had abducted her, and that was the line of thinking he’d publicly share with the police for now.
He and Jerald had stood outside the goddamned bathroom door, talking for nearly another twenty minutes when Hannibal had realized how long it had been. He’d knocked, first. Then pounded on it, demanding she finish and get her ass out there.
For that alone he’d tear a strip out of her hide, for making him wait and making him feel like a fool.
That was another twenty minutes she’d had, in addition to the nearly forty minutes he’d been out front talking, to get her head start.
To where, was the question.
At first, with Jerald taking immediate control of the search efforts, they’d rallied church staff and parishioners who were still there to search the entire premises. They didn’t have security cameras outside the church. They’d never had a problem in that neighborhood. No one could remember seeing her leave via the front entrance.
As it became apparent that she wasn’t anywhere around the church grounds, Jerald contacted the police, who were now questioning Hannibal. No ransom note found, no calls to the house or church office, as if the woman had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Only his celebrity and local political status and his insistence that she was not a well woman were able to get the police involved that soon without any evidence of foul play occurring. Had it been any other person, they would have waited a mandatory forty-eight hours before allowing him to file a missing persons report.
Calls to the house revealed the nurse hadn’t seen or heard from her, either, and a pair of policemen sent to the house just to check verified Mary was nowhere on the premises.
They would also question the nurse to make sure she hadn’t somehow assisted Mary in her disappearance.
They talked to Henry, Hannibal’s personal driver, who’d been at home. Jerald had driven them today.
It wasn’t difficult for Hannibal to feign confusion. He was confused.
Confused about how the woman could have slipped away.
Am I the one slipping? How could I have missed the signs?
As the police once again started asking Jerald questions, trying to narrow down the options, Hannibal watched his assistant.
No.
Hannibal thought about it more, trying to pry loose the seed of doubt which had tenaciously taken root and was growing at an explosive rate in his brain.
No matter how he tried to tell himself Jerald was loyal, Jerald would never betray him, he couldn’t deny one thing.
Jerald was the last person to actually lay eyes on her.
Do I throw him under the bus now?
He started to say something and then thought better of it. Whether or not Jerald had caused this, or had helped her behind his back, he couldn’t allow doubt to be cast on the man. It would be too easy for Jerald to spin around in retaliation and reveal way too much.
No, he needed Jerald right now, a thought that when it struck Hannibal, it filled him with even more rage.
How did I allow myself to become so completely dependent upon this man?
Yes, he’d needed a trusted assistant. But over the years before, he’d always spread things out so no one person had enough dirt on him to take him down.
Until Jerald.
“Mr. Arbeid,” one of the detectives said, “you were the last person to see Mrs. Silo, weren’t you?”
Hannibal spoke up. “Detective, he simply escorted her backstage as he always does and rejoined me less than a minute later, if that. The TV feeds usually record for another couple of minutes while the closing credits roll. You should be able to verify it that way.”
The look of relief and devotion Jerald shot him still didn’t settle Hannibal’s mind. He couldn’t tell if it was relief that his boss had helped clear him…or relief perhaps that he thought Hannibal didn’t suspect his role in the plan.
Maybe I will need to place a call to some private contractors on my own. Have them go through Jerald’s finances.
Whether or not Jerald had a hand in this, one thing was for certain. It was time Hannibal pull back from Jerald, ease off the man’s operational involvement in some projects. Perhaps focus him elsewhere in the church doing other things. Give him other responsibilities and a better title, make it look like a promotion, hell, add on a pay raise.
All the while, putting some comfortable distance between them.
Even if it turned out Mary had done whatever this was all on her own, it was time he started reinforcing his position.
Alone.
Because he couldn’t afford a fuckup at this vital stage of their plans. And if his plans ended up in ruins because of his damned wife’s stunt, or if anyone had assisted her, he would ensure their life was hell on earth before he personally removed him from this earth.
Amen.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Their last night in Seattle, and everything was ready to go. The lab had been prepped and loaded in the RV already, everyone was packed, and a little after midnight, Kyong and Foxtrot settled into their bedroll for their final night there. She’d be sleeping as la
te as possible the next day. The convoy wouldn’t leave the safe house until late evening. They’d take off after sunset.
For now, she wanted to enjoy this brief bit of time alone with Foxtrot. They’d both been too busy and exhausted that week to do much of anything but cuddle and sleep even when they did manage to be in bed together at the same time. She’d spent long days with Victor, Zed, and Echo in the Panda, drilling, grilling, and training them on the skills that they’d need to know.
She’d done all she could.
And now she needed to blow a little tension.
He stretched his body out on top of her, fingers laced through hers and gently pinning her hands over her head. “Hiya.”
She giggled. “Hey, there, mister. Got something poking me, you know. You certified to use that weapon?”
He kissed her. “You tell me.” Her legs parted, their hips bumping and grinding until he found his mark and slid home, his cock filling her already wet pussy and making her moan. He found a slow, rolling rhythm, every stroke gliding along her clit and drawing moans from her.
“Yeah,” she gasped. “Seems like you know what you’re doing.”
He nipped her lower lip, sucking on it. “We get through this and get some RnR, you’re going to be walking crooked for a while.”
“Kilo made me a similar promise.”
Foxtrot grinned down at her. “Good.” He bumped his hips against hers, his fingers tightening around her hands. “Glad to know me and him are on the same page.”
“He and I.”
“Huh?”
“I think it’s supposed to be ‘he and I’ not ‘me and him.’”
He laughed and took another hard, deep stroke. “Obviously I’m not fucking you well enough if you have available brain cells to correct my grammar.” He picked up the pace, his gaze never leaving hers, watching, gauging.
She knew it, too. Knew he was waiting to make her come, holding back, trying to time it just right.
Flexing her hips against him, she picked up and matched his rhythm, feeling that now-familiar climb start again, wanting to come like this, impaled on and by him. She focused on him, on his eyes, wanting to memorize this moment, imprint his face on a cellular level so she’d never have to worry about remembering what he looked like.
When she felt the first jolts of her orgasm break through, her eyes started to drop closed but he squeezed her hands again. “No, look at me. I want to watch you.”
And still her climax swelled, built, broke free like a rogue wave and kept on rolling as she forced her eyes to stay open and on him.
That sweet, playful smile he wore. So what if he was a little whiny and picky at times? If that was the worst thing she could ever say about him, she was fine with it.
Because she loved him.
With his cock deep inside her, she felt her body squeezing it, intensifying her pleasure with every stroke until she finally cried out at the crest and let it consume her.
* * * *
They wouldn’t have many times alone like this, so Foxtrot wanted to savor every second, wanted to know she was there and present with him in mind and not just physically. Kyong’s body responded to him, her fingers tightening around his as she rode her climax through and he could finally quit holding back.
He thrust hard, fast, his own orgasm growing closer until he felt his balls tighten and empty inside her. His climax slammed into him, leaving him breathless and wishing he could freeze this perfect moment in time with her forever.
Kissing her, he nuzzled her nose with his. “I love you so much. I didn’t think it was possible to feel like this about someone. Especially so soon.”
He released her hands and she wrapped her arms around him as they rolled onto their sides. “I love you, too,” she whispered. Her body fit so perfectly against his. It was hard to believe he’d ever found pleasure in another woman before her. This was the epitome of heaven if there was such a thing to be found.
“I’m still not liking Florida,” he playfully teased.
She laughed. “When we get through this, you can show us Minnesota, all right?”
He laughed with her and held her tightly. “Deal, baby. One I’ll hold you to.”
“As long as you keep holding me against you.”
He buried his face in her hair. “Always.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was just before 21:00 when the unit’s convoy rolled up to the gate at McChord. Mal was waiting for them there and ushered them in, along with a phalanx of armed MPs who looked more than determined to make sure they reached the plane safely.
Kyong, Victor, Zed, and Echo were waiting with three more vetted and trusted ground crew provided by Mal when everyone rolled up to the Panda on the tarmac.
Mal took control, barking orders and directions to get the Panda loaded and the cargo secured. The RVs fuel tank had been drained before they left Seattle and it was running on the solar battery system. As the vehicle was winched up into the cargo compartment, Kyong only hoped Omega, Uni, and Kilo had things under control in Florida. It’d felt a little lonely with only Foxtrot sleeping next to her the past several nights.
It took less than forty-five minutes for the Panda and her precious cargo to be secured and ready to go wheels-up.
Mal came to attention and saluted Kyong and the rest of them, the MPs and ground crew following suit. “You’re cleared for takeoff, Captain Tran,” he said with a smile.
She returned his salute before stepping in to hug him. “Thanks,” she whispered in his ear.
“Hey, you can thank me by transporting this bunch of flying monkeys safely to wherever it is you’re going.” He laughed. “I don’t need to know that and don’t want to know that. The guys in the tower are already nervous about one black ops flying out of here this week. The sooner your tail’s in the air, the happier they’ll be. They haven’t seen this much secrecy in a couple of years. It’s usually pretty boring and routine here.”
She got everyone on board and settled and did her pre-check while Mal and the ground crew prepped the Panda for takeoff. It felt weird to be taking her on an actual mission without Lee, Maggie, and Darrel. But Victor and the others had proven apt students and a good stand-in crew. If something happened to her in-flight, she had confidence that Victor could get the Panda set back down on the ground with a reasonable chance of not killing everyone on board in the process.
If I could fly her solo from LA to damn near Seattle without any prep, I should be able to get us to Florida safely with a stand-in crew.
They’d have a refueling stop outside of Topeka, Kansas, at GPS coordinates Bubba assured her would reveal an airfield upon her approach, even though according to her charts it was nothing more than a cornfield in the middle of miles of more cornfields. It would be vital to get on the ground, refueled, and wheels-up again as quickly as possible because they’d be close to daylight. When they landed, she was to say nothing to the ground crew that didn’t specifically relate to the plane, and they were to keep all interior cargo compartment lights dark, the windows blacked out or covered.
Her instructions were when she hit a certain GPS coordinate, to give a specified call sign on a frequency not usually used for military aviation. She would receive a three-tone beep in reply to confirm her call sign was received and verified, and a homing beacon would start up for her on that frequency. Blue landing lights and a landing beacon would guide her in once she was within five miles of the approach, and she was to fly dark, no running or landing lights. They would follow her with radar and IR and give her any voice corrections over that frequency, if necessary.
She’d had to follow some pretty strange and stringent protocols before, but nothing like this.
As long as they didn’t get hit with unexpected headwinds, her fuel calculations based on weight and distance showed they’d be landing in Kansas on fumes. After the second leg of the journey, once she was empty and lifting off again in Florida, it would extend her range somewhat. She might not even n
eed the refueling stop in Ft. Myers before heading back to Tampa.
When she was ready, she took a deep breath and started to make her usual pre-mission joke before she sadly remembered—once again—that Maggie wasn’t there in the other seat to share it with her.
Victor looked at her. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Time to push the big green button,” she said.
“What?”
“Never mind. Old joke.” She reached up and flipped open the covers on the green toggles for the APUs used to fire up the engines. “Let’s start ’er up.”
They were flying without an ID beacon. It would be Zed’s job to keep them out of traffic, because they’d also be under radio silence. Technically, they would not exist once they cleared the field. Bubba had given her an altitude and heading to use once they crossed the Rockies, and had promised to try to steer any air traffic out of her way, if possible, but he couldn’t control the whole skies.
Although it seemed he sure had his fingers on the pulse of a lot of darned things.
Echo was technically their loadmaster, but Mal had done such a great job of loading them on the ground, all Echo really had to do was pay attention and follow orders.
Ten minutes later they’d taxied to the end of the runway and she took a deep breath. One last check, their coordinates were punched into the flight computer, and she pushed the throttle forward, her pulse racing as that familiar feeling surged through her.
Power. The engines trundling her big bird down the tarmac, that sensation that there was no way in hell they’d take off just before she pulled back on the stick and they were no longer rolling, but flying.
Victor reached over and raised the landing gear, which settled into the belly with their usual satisfying soft thump.
Once they were at altitude and on their heading, she tried to relax. Yes, the Panda could, technically, fly herself if required. It had a state-of-the-art autopilot system. Components of that system had allowed her to fly it, solo, from El Segundo.