Someone To Protect Her

“Actually, I’ve got a cabin on Lonesome Pony, which is up the road a piece.”

“Oh, I thought—”

“If you’re worried about safety, you’ll be guarded at all times.”

“But not by you.”

“Not unless I’m assigned.”

“Which isn’t exactly likely, is it?” she asked. “You being a pilot and all.”

Though her expression remained neutral, Frank had the distinct impression that C.J. was disappointed. She obviously saw him as some kind of knight in shining armor because of his saving her, when all he’d been was lucky.

“I’d better get back to the cockpit.”

“Right.”

Pure luck had put him on her trail at the exact time she was being attacked.

Pure luck that the attacker had given up so easily.

That fact still bothered him as he set down the bucket and moved forward.

The bastard had gone to considerable trouble to stage the attack. Why would he give up so easily? Unless he figured he’d have another shot at C.J.

Frank worried over it as he reentered the cockpit.

Vasquez didn’t seem to hear him and Frank froze for a moment as the man worked the controls and the plane adjusted slightly. Almost imperceptibly.

Changing direction?

Frank frowned. What the hell did Vasquez think he was doing? He came up behind the man, his gaze once again drawn to the stained collar. The skin there appeared a shade paler than the flesh higher on the man’s neck, as if the color had actually rubbed off…and the color was definitely a shade darker than his arms were.

Makeup?

Why the hell would a pilot be wearing makeup?

Only one reason came to mind.

Before Frank could decide how to react, the choice was taken from him.

The man who called himself Vasquez turned in his seat just enough so Frank could see the gun in his hand.

Chapter Four

“Don’t be a fool!” Frank said. “You pull that trigger and we’re all in trouble.”

The plane was pressurized only so long as it was sealed. A bullet hole would require they wear oxygen masks—meaning the horses would die for sure, and maybe them, too. And the slimy bastard knew it, counted on it to keep him in line, Frank thought.

“We’d be in trouble only if I miss you, which would be difficult at this range, so I suggest you don’t try any fancy moves.”

Playing along for the moment, Frank stayed where he was and glanced out the cockpit windows. Just ahead, mountainous terrain. They were flying low, approaching the Pryor Mountains. Sweat trickled down his spine.

What to do?

Getting the man to talk might buy him some time while he formulated a plan. Though his situation did seem pretty grim, maybe he could warn C.J.

“Who’s paying you?” Frank took an educated guess. “The Black Order?”

A Cheshire grin spread under the fake mustache. “Someone who can afford me.”

“To do what, exactly?”

“Remove Dr. Birch from temptation’s path.”