LITMIR.BIZ

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other things, small bottles of champagne. I grinned. Might as well start toasting the other members of the Prisoners of Willow Creek Enrichment Society in flight. After all, I was pretty sure that I was the first of us to ever fly in a private jet.

      “Would you mind taking your seat back there,” Cole growled from the cockpit.

      I quickly grabbed a bottle of champagne, located a crystal flute in a cabinet above the refrigerator then hightailed it back to my seat, strapping myself in for takeoff.

      I could hear the crackle of the plane’s radio and the rumble of Cole’s voice, but not what he was saying. It was so unfair that I had to sit here, away from the action. It was akin to wasting the experience. Maybe after we were airborne and Cole was busy flying the plane I could sneak into the cockpit and grab the second seat before he noticed.

      Finally, he started the engines. The louder they got, the harder my heart pumped. It was excitement, not fear. I had no way of knowing, but my guess was that Cole Hudson was an excellent pilot. He didn’t get to be a famous architect by being the kind of man who settled for mediocre in anything.

      I swiveled my seat around as we started to taxi down the runway. “Goodbye, Willow Creek,” I whispered as we moved faster and faster. Then suddenly the plane gave a slight jerk and we were up and climbing.

      And climbing.

      It seemed to go on forever. I tried to relax and not white-knuckle the armrests. Breathe, I told myself. Every journey has to have a takeoff. When I felt calm enough to look out the window, it was as if we were traveling through cotton candy. Then the view cleared to a gorgeous blue and I was staring down on a floor of fluffy clouds.

      Eventually, we leveled off. I popped the cork from the champagne bottle and filled the flute to the brim.

      “To Jo and Iris,” I whispered, as I raised my glass. Maybe I was escaping for only a short while, but I was doing it on a private jet while drinking the most expensive thing I’d ever tasted. I drained my glass and poured myself another.

      I woke up with a jolt. It took a few seconds for me to get my bearings. Oh, right. Private plane flown by famous architect. I scanned the view. We were descending. I must have slept all the way to Chicago. I stretched and grinned as I swiveled my chair full circle. So far, no signs of the city.

      In fact, there wasn’t a sign of much of anything at all. And why was it so dark? We’d only been flying for thirty minutes, hadn’t we?

      I could see a control tower ahead but unless we were a lot higher than I thought we were, it didn’t look very tall or imposing. And the runways, outlined by blue lights, didn’t look very long. Still, the control tower seemed to be the tallest thing around. Everything, including the terminal, looked flat and low—and dark. We couldn’t possibly be landing anywhere in Illinois. Where were the golden arches? The billboards? The neon of a gazillion franchises that lined every airport I’d ever seen?

      With one final, gentle bounce, the plane landed. I unbuckled my seat belt and worked my way up to the front while the plane was still taxiing in.

      I practically fell into the cockpit. “Where are we?”

      Cole Hudson jerked his head around. “You should still be seated,” he said curtly.

      He gave me a look of annoyance when I bumped his knee as I struggled to land in the copilot’s seat.

      “That’s not what I meant,” he said before setting his mouth in a grim line.

      “I know. But I’d like to see where I’m going, if you don’t mind. This doesn’t look like Chicago. Why is it so dark? How long have I been sleeping?”

      “I’d say you’ve been sleeping for at least three hours.”

      “Three hours! Where are we?”

      The grim line of his mouth morphed into a small smile. “Welcome to Goose Bay, Labrador, Ms. Blake.”

      I gasped. “Labrador? As in Canada?”

      He glanced my way. “Someone did well in geography.”

      “What are we doing here?”

      “Refueling.”

      Okay, refueling. That made sense. Sort of. “And then are you flying back to Chicago?” I asked hopefully.

      “No, Ms. Blake. Then I’m flying to Iceland, where I will land and refuel once again.”

      “And then back to Chicago?”

      He looked at me, one of his dark eyebrows raised. “You think we’re out for a Sunday drive, Ms. Blake? I didn’t just burn up thirty-six hundred pounds of fuel to turn around and fly right back.”

      The plane came to a stop and I heard the engines shutting down. Funny how I felt my stomach drop about the same time.

      “After Iceland—then where are you going?”

      “Paris,” he said without looking at me.

      I watched him flipping switches.

      “But what about Chicago?” I asked.

      He finally looked at me. “I never said I was going to Chicago, Ms. Blake,” he said with exaggerated pleasantness.

      I remembered the twinkle in his eye just before he gave in to me. “Why you—you did this on purpose, didn’t you?” I accused. “You knew I thought you were flying right back to Chicago!”

      He didn’t quite allow himself to smile. “I promised you one way, and one way you got.”

      “But what am I supposed to do in Goose Bay, Labrador?”

      “You can get yourself a placard and an indelible marker, Ms. Blake, and picket, for all I care.”

      He had to lean close to me to get out of his seat. I was right behind him.

      The wind hit me as soon as I reached the door. I struggled against it all the way down the stairs. The cold was biting. In Willow Creek, the cold just nipped. Goose Bay had gotten a head start on us in the snow department, too. There seemed to be several feet of it on the ground.

      My face and ears were freezing by the time I caught up with him. I grabbed his arm.

      “You don’t think you’re just going to leave me here, do you?”

      “You’ll be able to get a plane home,” he said, then started walking again.

      Openmouthed, I stared after him. I was going to have to use up my emergency credit card funds to fly back to Willow Creek from Labrador? No. Life couldn’t be that cruel. But, apparently, Cole Hudson could.

      “You can’t do this,” I yelled as I ran to catch up to him.

      “Yes, I can,” he affirmed as he kept to his stride. “You wanted to get away, well, Goose Bay is certainly away. Beautiful country up here. You’ll love it. You could ski. Play a little ice hockey.”

      If I tried to argue with him much more out here, my nose was going to freeze and fall off. While he headed to what must be the service area, I headed for the terminal, hoping for something hot to drink.

      Ah, civilization, I thought, as I spotted a small café. Inside, I ordered coffee. When it came I cradled the cup in my hands close enough to my face to melt some of the frost. I took a sip and it nearly scorched my throat, but the flood of warmth when the coffee hit my belly began to revive me. And the more I revived, the angrier I got.

      Okay, so I hadn’t wanted to spend my strike rocking in the maid’s room. That didn’t mean I wanted to spend it freezing my nose off. And what a letdown it was going to be to the Prisoner’s of Willow Creek Enrichment Society to hear that I never made it to a place that had neon, never mind anything like the bright lights of Chicago. The thought of Cole Hudson tricking me into coming here, then abandoning me on his way to Paris was—

      I sat up straight.

      Paris.

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