her suitcase.
“Agent Bellucci?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
“I need to see identification,” he said.
Francesca nodded. She pulled her ID out of her pocket and showed it to him.
The guy nodded, acknowledging it. “My name is Agent Donohue,” he said and showed her his own ID. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes,” Francesca said. “I’m ready to go.”
Donohue nodded. “We’re stopping on the way to pick up your partner,” he said. “Then we’re going straight to the airfield. So if you need to make any phone calls, this will be your last chance for a while.”
Francesca shook her head. “I don’t.”
“All right,” Donohue said, opening the door for her.
Francesca slid into the town car and he shut her inside. She felt a jolt of anticipation.
This is it.
Chapter 3
It was a little after eight when their escort vehicle pulled to a stop in front of a forbidding-looking gate.
“We walk from here,” the driver said, putting the car in park. He got out of the car and went around to the trunk.
Laird looked at Francesca. “Not exactly five-star service is it?” he said good-naturedly.
“Right,” she said. “Time to start being self-reliant.”
He nodded and got out of the car. Francesca followed.
When she reached the trunk, she saw that the men were dividing up most of the luggage between them.
“I’ll get my bag,” she said, reaching for her suitcase.
“I’ll handle it, ma’am,” said Donohue. It wasn’t a respectful sort of ma’am. It sounded like he was putting her in her place.
And maybe he did outrank her. Francesca didn’t honestly know. But still, this was annoying.
“It has wheels,” she snapped. “I can handle it.”
Laird chuckled. Francesca knew he wasn’t laughing at her—at least, not directly—but she still felt annoyed.
He has no idea. He has no idea how hard I have to fight every little step of the way to be taken seriously.
Donohue handed Francesca her suitcase. To her further annoyance, she staggered a little under its weight before settling it on its wheels. Before the driver or Laird could say anything else, she turned and strode off toward the lights of the plane that sat in the center of the airfield.
The door was already open, and the steps were lowered. Laird caught up to her as she reached them.
“Let me carry your bag up for you,” he said.
“All right.” If Donohue had tried to do it again, she would have protested. But Laird was different. Francesca knew she could trust him.
Laird picked up her bag in one hand and his own in the other and climbed up the steps. Francesca had to admit, she was impressed. She would have expected him to need to make two trips. She followed him up and into the cabin.
The plane’s interior was small but luxurious. Instead of traditional airline seats, there were wide, padded high-backed chairs. To Francesca they looked like a slightly narrower version of the recliner she had in front of her television at home. There were only six seats in the plane, and each one had a tray table as large as a school desk positioned in front of it.
“Hey,” Laird said, abandoning the suitcases and dropping into one of the plush seats. “These are pretty choice. What do you think, Frannie?”
“Definitely the way to travel,” she said, thinking of the times she had flown commercially. This certainly won compared to that.
She chose the seat across the aisle from Laird’s—they were in the front row of the plane—and dug the file on Lindström out of her bag. She wanted to have it handy for reading material during the flight.
The plane’s engines came to life and the captain’s voice came over the intercom, telling them it was time to fasten their seat belts. Francesca did so, then sat back in her comfortable seat and closed her eyes.
She wasn’t a nervous flyer. Not exactly. But the takeoff and the landing were always anxiety-inducing. The sudden speed as the plane raced down the runway. The feeling that the ground was falling away beneath her.
She counted to two hundred, breathing in and out slowly, forcing herself not to panic. When she had finished the count, she opened her eyes and looked out the window.
There was nothing below her but clouds.
Minutes later, the seat belt sign had been turned off, though the captain had advised Francesca and Laird to keep their belts on if they were going to be in their seats. Francesca had no objection to that. She would stay in her seat for as much of the flight as possible, and she