The dual cabin of the nondescript white truck allowed Edge and me little privacy as we drove to Carter Private Airstrip. I had questions, but I decided to let sleeping dogs lie until we were on the plane. We would have a long flight ahead of us and plenty of time to talk.
It felt too good snuggled into Edge's side on the drive to the private airstrip to mar the peaceful quiet inside the truck cabin by peppering him with questions, and he didn't seem to mind the quiet closeness we were sharing.
The drive was making me feel sick, so I’d heard if you kept your eyes on the road, you could tamp it down. No doubt it was the little nuggets playing with my system, but so far so good.
Everybody else was in the second white truck except for Ghost who sat up front with our driver. I only saw the guy for a few seconds before he got into the driver's seat in Ghost's garage. He was lean but muscular. His long-sleeved dark gray shirt pulled tight across his chest and arms, and he was wearing tight-fitting designer jeans and black Doc Martens boots. His clothes looked expensive. He was hiding a head of golden-blonde hair under the baseball cap, and aviator sunglasses kept his facial features cloaked. He had a habit of stroking his tidy beard while driving. He seems at ease with Ghost like he knows him and doesn’t bat an eyelash at the big gun Ghost has on display.
Neither Ghost nor the driver said much during the drive to the airstrip. Ghost was busy keeping an eye on his outside mirror making sure we didn’t have a tail.
After about half an hour, our driver turns the truck onto a road lined with dense rows of trees either side. A bunch of hangars and sheds come into view, and then our truck pulls up at an angle next to Boxer's truck inside a sizeable modern hangar.
There are two luxury private planes parked a short distance from it, appearing ready to board. My brow furrows as I silently question why there are two planes, but then a box opens and memories of the day I first met Mathias and I watched Santana get killed seep into my memories.
I was barely able to stand on my own two feet at the time from being shot. I had no idea what lie ahead of me, and that poor girl just decided to run, knowing her chances of survival were next-to-none.
A shiver involuntarily ripples down my body from those technicolor memories. The images flipping through my mind a reminder of how lucky I’ve been to come out of all this alive—others were not so fortunate.
“Hey… you okay?” Edge asks me, his face comes into focus. I must have checked-out for a moment. He’s rubbing my arm as though to give me warmth, but it is plenty warm inside the truck’s cabin.
I give my head a little shake while shoving the lids down on the box. "Yeah… just remembered the last time I was inside a hangar." It's getting easier, to be honest with Edge about how I feel. He grimaces at my answer. He knows I witnessed Santana's death and he knows the condition I was in at the time. "I'm good." I give him an encouraging smile. "My mind sometimes wanders into dark territory. I have to collect those thoughts and put them back inside their box.” I give a little shrug as though I can handle it and it’s nothing that hasn’t happened before. “I’m used to it. Those boxes keep me sane.” I wasn’t meant to say that last part out loud. That was a little too honest.
"Christ, babe." He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up a little. I want to comb it back for him, but I know he does it when a nerve gets hit. I'm that nerve, his Achilles' heel. "I know what you mean about sanity," he adds roughly. I squeeze his hand gently.
We both have the nightmares we keep hidden inside boxes, but soon—maybe—we can air that dirty laundry each with a therapist and bleach it, so it isn't so nasty.
“Whisper, how’s your nausea treating you?” Edge has a lot on his mind, I can see that, but he always manages to ask me dozens of times a day how I’m feeling.
“I’m always nauseous, it would seem, but I’m good.” I don’t need him worrying about me. I can keep a lid on how bad I feel because I've had much worse in life. I wave my hand like it's nothing. "This is just a little hiccup in the road. If I've got some puke bags close by, I'll be fine on the flight. I know my limitations with food and drink, and I'll be able to get a lot of rest between here and New Orleans. It might not be as bad as Dr. Castille thought or I'm managing it better." I shrug again. I also know if I complain about how bad I feel, he will treat me like I'm fragile. I'm far from delicate. I might have lost it after I had to hurt Mathias, but I don't want to be treated like I'll break. I also don't want him to stop kissing me and being intimate with me. My body craves his touch.
"I'm still gonna worry," he says, and I don't doubt that.
Boxer and Miss Catherine have shown me what it means to be a part of a family. Edge is showing me what being in a relationship means and he makes me feel cherished.
Edge’s phone beeps and he checks the screen.
His warm lips meet mine for a brief moment. “Just give me a minute, babe, Boxer wants a word.” Boxer knows how to organize a team to get things moving. He trusts the right people to get the job done.
“Okay.”
Ghost turns around looking at Edge, and they give each other their full attention, which translates into a short wordless conversation. Ghost nods and then Edge opens the door to the cold air, gives me a reassuring smile before jumping down and swinging the door closed.
I slide across the seat, nervous about what that silent communication meant. I go to open the door because I want to hear what's going on.
“Wait, Whisper!” Ghost commands me, his tone brooking no disobedience. His words mean to protect me not control me.
“Sorry,” I reply. I don’t want to make his job any harder.
"No need to be sorry, darlin'. Just playin' it extra safe after the morning we've had. We're not taking any chances with you and any of the women, so let us handle your safety and don't give Edge anything to worry over. He's got enough fear bottled up inside him for you and the babies." Ghost smiles at me, hoping to soften how dangerous today has become.
This last part has the driver's head swinging up to the rearview mirror, and he's pulled off the aviators, catching my eye with his hazel eyes. They show surprise. He's just now learned I'm pregnant, but Ghost trusts him enough to say it in front of him. There was no introduction or a peep out of him the whole drive here.
I tear my eyes away from the driver's curious stare. It feels like somebody just turned the heating up in here.
I'm fiddling nervously with the Tiffany necklace Edge gave me. I find I don't like being separated from him at the moment.
Needy. Much.
Or is it a gut feeling?
“Hazard and Lincoln should be here any moment now.” Ghost checks his phone while he’s talking.
I look out the window towards the open mouth of the hangar. Boxer talks to Edge and then they go around to the back of Boxer's truck which is already open. Mathias and Joel jump out the back, and they start unloading a bunch of bags.
The other truck driver stands guard while Miss Catherine, the doctor, and Lily wait inside the warm cabin. I can just make them out through the tinted glass in the backseat. Their driver's wearing the same black baseball cap making it hard to see his face.
Then the guy gets back in the driver’s seat with Edge and Boxer as his passengers up front. The truck moves closer to the next plane, and then they start unloading more bags.
Are we using both the planes?
I look back at Ghost and state the obvious, “We’re not all going on the same flight.” It’s not a question—it’s a fact.
"Nope," he replies, popping the ‘p.'
I point to the driver. “He’s not just a truck driver, is he?” I already know the answer.
Ghost hooks a thumb at the driver. “Nope.” He winks at me.
The driver takes this as his introduction, turns around and tips his baseball cap back with one finger and gives me a full-on grin with perfect white teeth. There's mischief swirling in his hazel eyes.
Before this guy can respond, Ghost elaborates. “He’s a friend of mine who Billy happens to have met a few times. He’s a good guy and can be trusted when he’s not playin’ the court jester.
The driver speaks up, grinning at me. “He’s an all-round kind of guy who likes to—”
“Shut it,” Ghost warns with authority.
He talks about himself in the third person… how odd.
“What? Just trying to show her I’m a friendly,” the driver replies playfully, just as Ghost’s phone beeps.
“Eyes up front,” Edge orders the guy. “Time to move.”
The guy looks back at the front window and then we’re making the short drive to the first plane.
“I gather the other driver isn’t a truck driver either?” I ask while I’m getting some information out of Ghost.
"You got it, darlin'. Boxer and Edge aren't gonna trust just anybody with precious cargo. Believe it or not, this guy sittin' next to me is one of the best. The other guy is a suit Boxer can trust. He's doublin' as the truck driver, but he came to pick up the err… package Edge had delivered earlier. I understand he explained about that," Ghost says raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. Edge didn't go into detail, but I know it's bad what was in the box."
"Darlin', Edge might not be showing it, but Adam's death has hit him pretty hard. They go back a ways, and I reckon they both saved each other's lives at some point in their Special Forces career and that goes a long way to forming a strong bond between men. I know their friendship meant a lot to Edge, I understand it because I too have lost friends who fought by my side."
We cage our emotions; it's something Edge, and I are good at. We know how to box things up. I won't push him to undo a box just so I can understand the details. I've got enough boxes to fill a large removalist van.
Ghost keeps talking. "Jerry… the other truck driver is here to make sure we all get off the ground okay, and he will take care of the package and make sure Adam's mother gets given the news, but it won't be what happened to Adam, can't do that to the poor woman. Jerry owes Boxer a favor so he will handle Adam's death with respect to his sole living relative." Ghost doesn't treat me like I'm fragile. I know Edge will be hurting and the shock of it all probably hasn’t settled in yet. But it will.
"I know Edge is feeling the loss of his friend. I don't know how to make it better for him?" I really don't. I've seen my mistress killed in front of my eyes, blood streaming from her body. I have caged my mind against thinking about it. Death is like ice to me; you want to move away from it to stay warm. I want to protect myself against the chill it brings to my soul by boxing those emotions up.
"Darlin', just be you, and it will help him a lot," Ghost responds with another smile. He's all smiling because he's trying to encourage me that all will be okay and smiling makes a person feel safe. "A man's gotta have the comfort of his woman to help ease the pain of his loss," he adds, the smile slipping a little. He's a charming man and has a kind heart, when you're on the right side of him.
"Now the guy sitting next to me," He changes the topic swiftly. "He has a certain way with words, but if you can ignore his verbal shenanigans, you can trust him as much as I do. You're gonna be safe in his hands."
“And this man’s name is…?” I play along with the change of topic.
"He prefers to keep his name on the low-down," Ghost answers like he's stage whispering, plus he has this annoying catch-phrase he likes to turn it into, so I don't tempt him by naming him.
“Oh, okay.” I can see the slight smirk on the guy’s face; as though he thinks what Ghost just said was amusing. “Well, thank you no-name-guy for driving us here.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies tipping his head while glancing sideways at Ghost.
“Are you having me on, Ghost?”
“Just a little, but it got you to smile and relax, so it was worth it.” He looks past me over my shoulder, half his attention lost to me and says, “Meet Tucker.” And before Tucker can reply, he puts a hand over the guy's mouth. Ghost's attention is still locked-on the window next to me. "Do not say it!" he warns him.
And before I can turn, my curiosity getting the better of me to where Ghost's attention has settled, the door next to me opens, and a rush of freezing air sweeps in.
"Hey, beautiful, time to get you in your jacket and on board this swanky bird." Why does it feel like I was deliberately being distracted by Ghost and Tucker?
I grab my jacket and slide my arms through, shrugging it on. I move to the open door and get swung down like I weigh nothing into Edge's arms. I hook an arm around his neck, my hand playing with the scruff on the side of his face that's getting longer each day. He makes a low noise of approval while we wait for Ghost and Tucker.
I look around and inhale the crisp woodsy scents. The sun is shining, the skies are clear, and only a little dusting of snow is falling.
"Edge, I'm sorry about your friend." I feel as though I haven't said enough. I didn't know Nicu/Adam inside The Pen.
“Me too, babe.”
Miss Catherine, Lily, and Dr. Castille are no longer in their truck. I expect they’re already on my plane, but the question then arises in my mind over who is going on what plane.
"Yo… Jerry!" Tucker gets the attention of the driver leaning up against the other truck's door; his head is swiveling back and forth as though on the look-out for approaching danger. He's bald, fortyish, lean, dressed in a suit and now wearing dark sunglasses.
Tucker gives the guy a shabby salute and tosses the truck keys to him. Without a word, he catches them and nods, not at all amused by Tucker. When I think the guy's going to ignore me when Edge walks past him to the stairs of the private plane, he tips his sunglasses down his nose and gives me a wink before he turns his back and heads for the truck we just vacated.
“Babe, you’re gonna have to wrap those luscious long legs around my waist so I can climb the stairs”—he cocks an eyebrow at me—“and no funny business while we’re in that position.” One side of his mouth kicks up in amusement.
I laugh as he helps me adjust. I take his head in my hands and give him a little 'funny business' by kissing him open-mouthed with tongue.
Edge groans and cups my ass tighter informing me he’s most pleased with my PDA.
“Hey, you two, I got a plane to fly, so quit the foreplay.” Tucker tugs on my left thick-socked foot and I hiss in pain, my leg jerking, breaking the kiss.
Edge swings around and roars like a lion at Tucker. “What the fuck did you just do?!”
I look over my shoulder at Tucker who looks confused and apologetic all in one mixed look.
“Shit… didn’t know I was gonna hurt you, Whisper. I apologi—”
“What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do. To. Her?” Edge grinds out in a deadly staccato growl.
“Whoa!” Ghost is between Tucker and my back, his hands raised. “Edge, Tucker is the good guy, he doesn’t know about her feet and hands. Chill. I haven't explained she's been nailed to a table Jesus Christ-style. He knows very little about her, so give the guy a break. He's a ray of sunshine in a blizzard most of the time, you just have to appreciate his brand of humor"—he looks back at Tucker—"and he's gotta learn when not to play with fire.”
“Jesus," Tucker whispers, his hands clenched, all humor vanishing replaced by anger when he understands what's happened to me. He walks around Ghost to be side on with Edge, so I didn't have to twist my head. "I'm real sorry, Whisper. I was just trying to be funny. No fuckin’ clue you were hurt and so badly.” All traces of his court jester ways have left him. “Sorry, Edge, I would never have tugged on her foot if I knew.” He’s in no way afraid of Edge, but he knows when he’s accidentally done the wrong thing.
"It's okay, Tucker, not often a girl gets drugged and nailed to a table." I think some of his ill-fated humor is rubbing off on me as I try to brush off what happened. "It's been a week, so I'm doing much better. My man here won't let me walk anywhere. I'm not usually this damsel-in-distress."
“I bet you aren’t. I know a strong woman when I meet her. If you need a lift anywhere, I’ll be on my best behavior.” He holds up the appropriate fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
"Consider yourself relieved of that duty, and you can keep your fucking hands to yourself and that way we won't ever have a problem," Edge rumbles, starring Tucker down, no less grumpy after the guy apologizes. I can feel how tense his body is, as though he wants to strike like a deadly viper.
“Edge, please, I’m okay,” I say softly. “I know how to look after myself, and he meant no harm. I’ve been looking after myself for a long time now. If I didn’t have damaged hands and I could stand on my own two feet, well, if any man did something I didn’t like, I know how to fight back. Tucker has already shown me he’s a good guy, albeit a little mischievous. It’s only when I’m already at a disadvantage I’m unable to fight back.”
“Lucky for him, you’re okay and fuck mischievous, he’s got a job to do,” he says while still glaring at Tucker. “And I know you’re all about survival, but you’re also pregnant, and you aren't in the market to be taking on anybody in your condition."
“Look, Edge, I’m sorry.” Tucker holds his hand out to shake with my man. “If your lady is good with it, then accept my apology and let’s get moving,” he says, not at all perturbed by Edge’s anger.
"Edge… now is not the time to get pissed off. Tucker's gonna make it up to you later. He's one of the best at what he does, and for now, he's the man who is gonna help me get Whisper outta here and to safety. He's also the guy who's volunteered his time and expertise to help guard her so stand-down right this fucking second. You're endangering her by delaying." Ghost delivers his speech swiftly.
Edge swings back around without another word, and we climb the stairs.
When we get to the top he grouches, "Babe, he's just fucking lucky I have you in my arms, and I don't have a spare hand to knock the mischievous out of him." Which I have to admit is kind of sexy and sweet all in one, but something is niggling at me.
I back up in my mind to what Ghost just said, and it sounded like Edge wasn't coming with us. I'm about to question Edge when he swings me around back into his arms, and we walk into the most amazingly furnished plane. My arm loops around his neck and I rub his scruff again; it comforts me. It's something I find I like to do when he's got me all up in his arms.
I take in the interior of the plane and my eyes nearly pop out of my head while the question I was about to ask floats away, because Edge wouldn’t leave me—not now. We still have to sort through all the complicated.
My head is swiveling about as Edge stops to let me take it all in, while Ghost and Tucker disappear down the front of the plane. “It looks like a rock star’s plane,” I joke out loud, trying to soothe Edge’s noticeably preoccupied mind.
There’s a long, comfortable looking pale gray leather couch along one side of the plane with teal colored soft cushions set out to add a splash of color to the gray pallet. There’s a wet bar farther down with stools and some fancy leather matching recliners. It’s a lot of amazing to take in.
“Apparently.” He grins at my excitement. His arms are no longer holding me so tight against his chest. His previous anger has swept away.
“Nooo… It isn’t a rock star’s plane—is it?” I say in total awe.
“So, the deal is, a friend of Billy’s used to be a rock star, but now he's into philanthropy, and he's a gazillionaire. He lent us these two private jets. This one was already here waiting to take us back to New Orleans after Christmas. It was a little surprise for you that came via Billy organizing it with his rock star friend, Hudson Raine. All Hudson knew was a woman had had a pretty hard time, and that was all he needed to hear from Billy.
“The other one was already in the hangar. Tucker,” he grumbles his name, just happened to be spending his Christmas vacation with friends and family here in Alaska and is one of Hudson's good friends. Pure coincidence we have the use of two planes. We could have made one work, but this will be better." Why is two better?
“We could all fit on one.” I test Edge to hear his response.
Edge ignores my comment, which sends a red flag up. “When Slade was notified of our change of plans, Billy let Hudson know we were leaving Alaska sooner than later. He hollered at Tucker who dropped everything to join in and pilot this bird back. Apparently, Tucker is a good guy who has misunderstood humor," Edge says with a little aggravation seeping into his voice. "But I'm grateful, and I shall sort out his humor shortly. I'm sure Ghost is filling him in a little more as we speak, but not enough for him to get the bigger picture. Our reasons for being here will not be disclosed, but he will be shown who to look out for, even if the fucker is in disguise. He will think you are being hidden from a stalker."
Edge quietens and continues walking down to the back of the plane where a bedroom comes into view through the open door. He angles our bodies to walk through the doorway where a pristinely made queen-sized bed, which looks like a hot iron was run over the bedding because it is so wrinkle free, awaits the next people to use it. A teal blanket, which is probably cashmere, it looks that soft is artfully draped over one corner of the soft-gray bedding.
My mind jerks back to Mathias caring for me on the flight to Alaska.
I was lying in a big bed, and I'd been shot and in and out of consciousness from the lousy fever, the infection had caused. He’d been looking after me and keeping me safe the whole flight to Alaska.
"Babe…Whisper—" Edge clicks his fingers in front of my face. He's frowning, and those steel-gray eyes are crinkled at the corners in worry. "I lost you again," he murmurs. "Babe, stay in the here and now. Don't go back to that time. It's never gonna be bad for you again. I promise you."
I realize I'm now sitting in Edge's lap on the end of the bed, his hand stroking my back gently. "Now and then the boxes pop open," I reply as an explanation for why I'm zoning out.
“I can see that, babe, but—”
I cut him off. “Where are your bags?” I can see mine are on the floor.
He looks as though he’s in pain.
“Once Hazard and Lincoln get here we need to leave. There are a lot of things I need to tell you before they get here. You’ll be going to San Diego to a safe house where Slade and Phoenix will meet—”
And then my world tilts, and all I hear is white noise as his words sink in and my mouth drops open.
“You aren’t coming with me are you?” I squeak out.
"No… I'm not." The strain of those words reflects in his eyes, the way they crinkle at the sides with regret.
“You’re leaving me?” I croak out. My heart hurts. This is such a new emotion. I don’t want him to leave me.
“Never,” he says vehemently. "We have to separate for as long as it takes to kill Filip. You can't be near me, babe. Fucker has a retribution list that he's already started to tick off." He doesn't repeat that he's on it.
“I’ve grown attached to you.” I try to cover up my disappointment. I know the separation is so me and the babies will stay safe while my family—and Edge is now my family—put their lives on the line, but I don’t like it.
Not. One. Bit.
“I’ve grown more than attached to you, babe. Make no mistake about that. You’re mine… unless you tell me otherwise.” He raises an eyebrow at me in question.
I lift my hand to his cheek. It feels so natural to show my affection for this man. “You are mine, too.” My heart likes this honest confession.
This produces a shit-eating grin, as Blueblood would say, from my man.
“What about Miss Catherine, Lily, and Dr. Castille?” I only just now realize they aren’t on this plane.
Nobody is but us.
"Hazard will be able to answer your questions soon, for now, I just need you to understand it's gonna hurt me to be separated from you."
“My heart hurts already,” I whisper.
Danger, yet again, was a part of my life and fear was hot on its heels.