“Not from an old nuisance.” Hunter sat down on the other half of the sofa. With the change in course for the plane, he might be able to finish this conversation before they landed. If not, he had more time now that he wasn’t handing her over to Joe. “Now, about tonight with Gwen.”

“First I want to know who you are and why you were sneaking around the party and how you got into my apartment…” She stopped talking and cocked her head at him in a cute way if not for the stubborn set of her jaw. “How did you know what was happening in my apartment?”

There was no real benefit in trying to fool her further after what she’d witnessed in her apartment now that he’d made the choice to keep her, but there was a limit to what he could share. That choice meant protecting her, which wouldn’t be easy since he needed unrestrained mobility to function. “I can’t tell you what I do or who I work with, but I’m with the good guys, for lack of a more specific explanation, and I have training for what I did tonight. I stuck a transmitter over a button on your dress so I could hear you.”

Abbie couldn’t decide if she was thrilled he’d heard the killer or appalled he’d invaded her privacy so callously. “Did your thingamabob transmit pictures or just sound?”

“Just sound.”

“So when did you see the mole on my thigh?”

“Before you jump to an unsupported conclusion, I did not take advantage of your being passed out. I covered you with my jacket at your apartment, which protected half of your modesty. Figured you’d want to have more on when you came to. That nightgown was the only thing I found.”

“Where’s my-” Abbie cut herself off when she saw the flight attendant enter the cabin. The woman stopped next to Hunter’s chair and said, “The pilot wanted to let you know we have turbulence ahead. He’d like to take a quick break before that.”

“Tell him I’ll be right up.”

She nodded and left as quietly as she’d arrived.

Abbie processed the brief conversation and added another worry bead to her mental string. “Are you going to fly the airplane?”

“Yes.” Hunter sat forward, preparing to stand.

“Are you qualified?”

“Yes.” But this “yes” was drawn out with a tail of exasperation.

Tough.

“Where’s my cell phone, ID, purse…?” She wanted to add “dignity” to the list. Heat crept up her neck at the idea of being exposed to Hunter and God knows who else while he toted her around, but she had to admit he hadn’t said anything to make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed about her seminudity.

“What?” He shook his head at her change of subject. “I didn’t have time to do anything but get you out of there after the flash bomb and tear gas were released.”

So that’s what the flash and blur had been right before she got knocked out.

She took it all in, replaying what came easily to her. Hunter had walked into a volatile situation he knew would be dangerous for him and managed to get her out of there alive, plus arranged for this airplane.

Hard not to overlook his obvious ulterior motives for taking her with him or that he hadn’t explained squat, but she didn’t know another man who would put his life at risk for her now that her father was dead.

On the other hand, she still didn’t know who Hunter was or how he knew her.

He stood to leave.

“Wait. Back to the mole.” She spun her index finger in a rolling motion for him to continue. “You were explaining?”

His eyes took her in from her head to where her toes were hidden under the blanket. He hooked his thumbs in his pants pockets. When he met her gaze again his green eyes crinkled with a sly glint powered by a thought she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear. “I saw the mole when I laid you on the bed. That’s when it all came back to me.”

“What came back to you?”

“How we originally met… when I saw your mole. I remember what you asked me to do.”

The Jack Daniel’s sloshing around in her stomach threatened to whip into a sour tornado. Her mind jumped to the first thought any woman would have about a guy insinuating he’d seen the inside of her thigh before, but she’d remember sleeping with someone like Hunter.

She’d remember just kissing a man like him.

None of the three men she’d been intimate with in her life looked anything like him. If they had she’d still be in bed with one of them.

Maybe he was just jerking her chain and had seen her on a beach or at a pool where she might have been in a bathing suit. Been a long time since she’d worn anything skimpy. What would she have asked him to do? Put sun lotion on her?

The airplane jostled. A streak of bright light fingered through the darkness outside. Lightning.

Hunter didn’t budge from the motion, solid as a mountain standing there. “You can stay on the sofa, but buckle up. We’re headed into turbulence.”

“When are you coming back?”

“When I can.” He started toward the front of the airplane.

“Wait.”

He stopped short of the door leading to the cockpit and turned back with raised eyebrows.

“What did I ask you to do?” The question came out a little more tense than she’d intended.

“You begged me to take you home with me.” He opened the door, stepped through, and snapped it shut.

Vestavia instructed Linette to climb into the backseat of a black Range Rover. One of six matching vehicles lined up across the seventy-foot-wide garage. Tinted windows meant they’d escape the media camped in the dark outside the Wentworth fortress.

He spoke quietly with Ostrovsky before they separated. “I want to know who was behind that strike tonight. Peter Wentworth does not make idle threats. He will not continue to support the movement if his daughter dies. The Fratelli would suffer a financial blow from loss of his support that could set our Council back ten years or more.”

“That would not be a setback.” Ostrovsky’s stoic mouth turned harder. “That would be failure. I will report to the others-” He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Bardaric joined them. “Peter has no reason to suspect a Fratelli,” he whispered. His eyes cut back and forth, checking, but no one stood close enough to hear them.

“Who should he suspect?” Vestavia couldn’t read the British prick. Bardaric appeared genuinely shocked by the attack on Gwen, but her death would benefit him the most.

Bardaric’s nostrils flared. “What are you insinuating?”

Ostrovsky stepped forward. “Enough. It is in all our best interests to find the killer and appease Wentworth.”

Was it? Vestavia had yet to be convinced of that.

If Peter Wentworth found out a British Fratelli follower shot his daughter, he’d pull his resources until he received satisfaction in the form of Bardaric’s head.

Literally.

Vestavia would hand him the machete.

But if Peter received evidence that pointed a guilty finger at someone within the North American Fratelli, losing Wentworth’s financial support would be nothing compared to the fallout within Fratelli.

Sitting atop the North American Fratelli pinnacle, Vestavia would be the immediate target. He took Bardaric’s measure once more. Could the Brit be trying to take out the Wentworth breeder and implode the North American Fratelli?

Or is he just trying to kill me?

Vestavia saw a moment of opportunity with Ostrovsky still in attendance. He told Bardaric, “If your plan is approved, you can choose the targets, but I choose the detonation time.” Otherwise, Bardaric would escalate the schedule and blame it on a communication glitch.

“You can’t do that,” Bardaric argued.

“Why not? I thought we were working together on this.”

Bardaric lifted a finger toward Vestavia’s face.

Ostrovsky stepped between them. “A reasonable request.”