Alex paid her little mind because suddenly Mason was in front of her. “Good morning, Alex,” he said so calmly that the spark of hostility that had ignited inside of her when she saw him arrive with Donna grew into a conflagration.
She thought she heard Chrissy mutter, “Oh, no he didn’t,” but she couldn’t be sure. The blood rushing in her ears was so loud it reminded her of the time her parents had done a lecture at the University of Buffalo and afterward had taken her to see Niagara Falls. The pounding and power of that big water was something she would never forget.
Just like she would never forget this moment when the man of her dreams fell straight off the pedestal she’d put him on only to land flat on his ass.
“Looks like it was a good morning for you.” She tried, but she couldn’t keep the frostiness from her tone. “I was going to thank you for lending me your dog for the night. But now I realize it was less of a loan and more of a dog-sitting assignment.”
Mason shook his head. “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah,” she quickly agreed. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
Behind her, Romeo asked Doc, “Is that Wolf calling us?” No doubt he wanted to skedaddle before the situation got even more awkward.
“I’m staying put,” Doc muttered.
“No.” Alex gave Doc a grateful nod. “I got this. Go on.”
Doc looked hesitant, but jerked his chin in acceptance before slowly making his way to the other side of the plane. Romeo, on the other hand, moved so quickly he lost a flip-flop. He had to hop back to retrieve it before running to catch up with Doc.
Mason frowned after his friends and then turned his attention back to her. “Am I missing something?” She couldn’t tell if the confusion in his eyes was feigned or genuine.
Before she could call him on being a complete and total asshat, Uncle John yelled, “Everybody load up!”
Chrissy scurried over to wrap an arm around Alex’s waist. “Let’s go. The look on your face says you’re about to punch him in the dick, and I think you might regret that later.”
“I’d just add it to my long list of regrets,” Alex grumbled, wondering why she’d ever thought Mason was so great.
Chrissy hustled her onto the small plane, pushed her to the front row, directly behind the pilot’s chair, and made sure to grab the seat next to her so no one else could take it.
That no one else being one Mason McCarthy, of course.
The plane rocked slightly while the others boarded. Alex knew the instant Mason climbed aboard. Even without looking back, she could feel his energy. The throbbing heat of him. That ephemeral something that always called to her.
His previous rejections hadn’t been enough to make her give up hope. But this? This had done it. This proved he wasn’t the man she thought he was.
It’s over, a voice in her head whispered, and all her anger turned into sadness. The finality of giving up on her dream of Mason made her bones ache like they were missing marrow.
But why? Why should she care so much?
Because you fell in love with him, that stupid voice answered. To her utter dismay, she admitted it was right. She had fallen for him. Like the inexperienced ingenue she was.
Barf!
Romeo made his way to the pilot’s seat and slipped on his headset. With a push of a button, he started the plane and the big propeller on the nose spun to life. The dull roar of the engine was a blessing since Alex was pretty sure a pitiful little sigh escaped her.
Biting her lip, she turned toward the window and watched the lone man who worked as the ground crew use hand signals to give Romeo the go-ahead to taxi to the end of the runway. When the plane began to move, she pressed her forehead against the window and battled the aggravating urge to cry.
Chapter 17
9:13 a.m.
Izad glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and tried to see the young man he once was.
It was impossible.
Years of grief had taken their toll, wiping away any vestiges of his virility. But if there was one thing he could be grateful for, it was that with age came wisdom. Wisdom and patience.
He understood that just because McCarthy had thwarted his plans by disappearing from the hotel, that did not mean McCarthy would thwart his plans forever.
Age had not stolen Izad’s relentlessness. If anything, it had only strengthened it.
“Sir?” Navid’s voice was accompanied by a soft knock at the door. “Cas has returned from the morgue.”
“One moment, please.” Izad’s voice sounded weary, even to his own ears.
He gave himself one last look in the mirror before turning for the door. His hand shook on the knob. His knees were shakier still as he exited the bathroom and glanced first at Navid and then at Cas.
He knew what Cas had discovered without the man saying the words. Horror was written over Cas’s face.
A heavy shadow fell over Izad’s heart, blanketing his spirit and driving him to his knees. The pain was familiar, and yet it was impossible to put into words. Unless one had lost a child, one could never understand the magnitude, the limitless breadth and depth of the grief that came with it. The imagination failed in its ability to conjure such agony.
He knelt on the cold tiles, his throat full, but the tears…they would not come. It was like the punch of a bullet or the slice of a knife. The flesh was so shocked it could not process the injury. Even though his mind now had the horrific, bloody truth, his body could not accept it.
“Tell me.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I gained access to the morgue during the shift change.” Cas’s throat was thick with grief. “I identified Kazem and Mahmoud.”
Though Izad had been expecting them, the words still stung like a thousand angry hornets. Bile burned the back of his throat. “Was it quick?”
Cas nodded. “A headshot.”
Izad let out a ragged breath and sent up a prayer of thanks. If there was any peace to be had, it was in knowing his boy had not suffered.
“I am sorry, sir,” Navid whispered, wiping at the tears that slipped down his cheeks. Kazem had been a favorite of all the men in Izad’s security detail, a blazing light that had brightened their days.
Now, thanks to Mason McCarthy, Kazem’s fire had been snuffed out forever.
“Do not be.” Izad’s jaw clenched so tightly the words were barely intelligible. His grief would not help him now. But his anger would. He opened himself to it. Letting it fill him. “Just help me kill Mason McCarthy.”
The American lifted a hand. “Is anyone interested in how I think we can accomplish that?”