“Jesus, man. Stop pouting.”
Peter turned at the sound of Elijah’s voice. “I’m not pouting. I’m thinking.”
“Christ. That’s even worse.” Elijah shook his head and made his way toward the coffee maker. He eyed the mug in Peter’s hand and scowled as he reached for a dirty jelly jar in the sink. He rinsed it out but didn’t say a word.
They owned only one mug at the moment, ever since Elijah had dropped the other one on the floor last month. Since neither one of them had gotten around to buying a new one, they just dealt with this new reality.
Yes, Peter had gotten to their one and only proper coffee vessel first. But since his roommate was the responsible party for there being only one, he didn’t feel guilty about it.
Given the happenings in the country the past few years—the gas shortage, the impeachment, nuclear testing, the fall of Saigon—their current mug situation paled in comparison.
Still he should make an attempt to remedy it. The problem was, the shops he passed while going to and from work each day were tourist traps. He’d be damned if he spent ten times as much as a simple coffee mug was worth just because it said Virginia is for Lovers or because it had a picture of the White House on it.
Maybe he could just slip a mug from the diner into his overcoat pocket once the weather turned colder.
With his luck, he’d get caught. Petty thievery, even just of a coffee mug, was the kind of thing that could sink his hopes for a career in politics.
He’d just suck it up and take the long journey to a five-and-dime store. He should probably buy a nicer set of sheets too, while he was there, if Marty was going to be in his bed again.
If. He realized that was a huge if and with that thought, his misery returned.
Luckily, Elijah had taken his jar of coffee into the bathroom so Peter’s pouting—and yes, he did admit it was indeed pouting—didn’t have an audience.
When was Marty coming home again?
He glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was some freebie they’d gotten last Christmas, when stores gave things like that away to their customers. The generic picture of a field with wildflowers didn’t interest Peter, but the date he’d circled in pencil did. Two more days and Marty would be home.
If he had the timing correct, she’d have left Greece today.
Her flight back to the States from Athens connected at Charles de Gaulle Airport, so she had plans to spend the night there in Paris. To do a little sightseeing and enjoy some Parisian food, she’d said, before heading home. All alone.
He didn’t love that. Yes, he liked she was a strong independent woman, but if she was going to be in the most romantic city in the world, he wished he could be there with her.
Then there was that part of him that couldn’t help but worry. A woman alone, in a foreign country . . . the world was too volatile nowadays for him to be okay with that. Even if his concern would piss her off and earn him a lecture on women’s liberation.
He drew in a breath. Maybe the morning news would distract him until he left for work. Once he was in the office, he’d barely have time to eat lunch or even take a piss, never mind worry, probably needlessly, about Marty’s travels.
After flipping on the radio on the kitchen counter, Peter turned. If he wanted breakfast before he left for work, he was going to have to look and see if there were any Pop-Tarts left, or if Elijah had eaten the last one and put the empty box back on the shelf again.
The cabinet open, he was just reaching for the box when what the news reporter on the radio said stopped his hand.
“ . . . it’s believed the hijackers boarded the plane in Athens.”
He spun, staring at the radio as if seeing the source of the sound would clarify what he’d heard. Because he certainly needed clarity.
A flight from Athens. Hijacked. On the day Marty was flying out of Athens.
It was one hell of a coincidence, but he had to remember it didn’t mean it was her flight. There had to be dozens of flights a day out of—
“The flight, originally scheduled to travel to Paris, has been diverted by the hijackers . . .”
His heart pounded as he braced both palms on the counter to keep himself upright.
“ . . . to Libya—”
“What’s he saying?” Elijah asked from behind him.
“Shh!” Peter waved away the question, leaning closer as he turned up the volume.
“In response to the reports that there are American citizens onboard the flight, the FBI hostage negotiating team has been called in. More in a moment.”
The damn station dropped that information that there were Americans on that plane and then they cut to a commercial?
Peter fought the urge to toss the radio across the room in frustration.
His chest tightened and his mouth went dry as he said, “I think that’s Marty’s flight.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s been a hijacking. A flight from Athens to Paris. Marty is on a flight from Athens to Paris today.”
Elijah shook his head. “That doesn’t mean it’s hers. There could be more than one flight between those two airports a day.”
“Well, I’m going to find out if it is hers.” And he wasn’t above using every resource in his arsenal to do it.
Senator Scott’s name would go a long way in getting what Peter needed. That being the flight manifest listing the passengers’ names. And he wasn’t afraid to take advantage of that.
Peter spun toward the bedroom. He needed to get dressed and get to the senator’s office.
“Where are you going?” Elijah called after him.
“Work.” He didn’t explain further.
He didn’t have any brainpower to spare for this conversation as his mind spun with worry to the point of panic. But more than that, his mind also worked on his plan of action.
The trip in was a blur, but once he was at his desk, Peter was like a machine, calculating, focused, determined. He'd remembered he had more than just the senator’s connections to use. He had Tim and his military connections.
So step one was to use the one best resource he had personally—Tim. Chances were very good that even if Tim’s team wasn’t called in to respond to the hostage crises involving the Americans on board, he’d at least be able to get more information about it.
It was still early. Tim lived on the Navy base and as far as Peter knew, he was currently stateside.
Unless Tim was out for a morning run, he should still be near his phone. Of course, he could also be on a flight heading to the rescue mission.
Peter didn’t know if that possibility—that the most well-trained operators in the Navy had been called in along with the FBI—was comforting or even more frightening.
“Talk quick.” Tim’s brisk greeting as he answered the phone knocked Peter out of his own head.
“It’s Peter.”
“Bro, I’m heading out the door. Literally.”
Peter rushed to get out what he needed to, straight and to the point. “I think Marty is on that flight that’s been hijacked.”
There were a few seconds of silence before Tim asked, “Who’s Marty?”
Peter remembered things had happened pretty fast between them. He hadn’t spoken to Tim since their visit a couple of weeks ago. It was like that between them. They would go weeks without talking, between his schedule and Peter’s. But when they got together it was like no time had passed at all.