Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The plane had not yet reached the runway when Roman pressed the call button.
A flight attendant appeared with the tired smile of someone who had already apologized to two hundred people that day.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes. I need to speak to the captain.”
Her smile changed.
“That won’t be possible during taxi.”
“Then tell him there may be a security issue involving a passenger.”
Norah grabbed Roman’s sleeve.
“Stop.”
He looked at her.
“If you make them turn around, whoever is watching will know I found you.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“You think someone is watching?”
“I know someone has been watching.”
She glanced toward the other passengers.
The flight attendant waited.
Roman made a decision he hated.
“Never mind.”
She left.
Norah released his sleeve.
Roman lowered his voice.
“Start talking.”
The twins slept through the tension between them.
Norah looked down at the girl against her chest.
“Her name is Isabella.”
Roman’s expression shifted despite himself.
“You remembered.”
“I remembered everything.”
The boy stirred in her lap.
“And him?”
“Daniel.”
After Norah’s father.
Roman nodded once.
He wanted to touch them.
He did not.
Norah noticed.
That restraint seemed to surprise her more than anger would have.
“You said Miriam is dead.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“House fire in Vermont.”
Norah shook her head.
“No. She called me yesterday from a Colorado number.”
“Did you see her face?”
“No.”
“Video?”
“No.”
“Then you heard a voice.”
“It was Miriam.”
Roman’s gaze turned toward the aisle.
“Voices can be copied. Phone numbers can be spoofed.”
“This wasn’t artificial. She knew things.”
“So did whoever listened to our bedroom.”
Norah flinched.
Roman hated that.
Not because she was weak.
Because someone had trained his wife to react to danger he had failed to see.
The plane accelerated.
Norah tightened her arms around the twins.
Roman braced one hand against the seat.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then New York disappeared beneath cloud.
Roman’s phone lost signal.
That made him feel blind.
Norah looked at him.
“You were going to Denver because of the shooting?”
He studied her.
“How do you know there was a shooting?”
She went still.
Roman’s attention sharpened.
“I didn’t tell you Luca was shot.”
Norah looked toward the sleeping twins.
“Miriam did.”
Roman leaned back slowly.
“And what exactly did Miriam tell you?”
“That someone close to you was hurt in Denver and that you would come.”
Roman felt a coldness move through him.
“She knew my route.”
“She said I had to get on this flight because it was the only safe way to reach Colorado.”
“Safe from whom?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Roman almost laughed.
Not from amusement.
From disbelief.
“So a dead woman arranged for my missing wife and children to board the exact commercial flight I would be forced onto after my private jet was grounded.”
Norah’s face changed.
“When you say it like that—”
“It sounds like a trap.”
“It sounds impossible.”
“In my life those are usually the same thing.”
A baby whimpered.
Roman’s entire posture changed.
Norah noticed.
Isabella’s face crumpled.
Before the cry fully formed, Roman instinctively reached toward her and stopped his hand midway.
Norah looked at the hand.
Then at him.
“You can touch her.”
Roman’s eyes lifted.
“You’re sure?”
Norah’s expression softened for the first time.
“She’s your daughter.”
Roman touched one finger to Isabella’s tiny fist.
Her fingers closed around it.
The man who had ordered beatings without blinking stopped breathing again.
Norah watched his face.
Something painful moved through hers.
“You would have loved them,” she whispered.
Roman looked up.
“Would have?”
She looked away.
The word had slipped out.
Roman pulled his hand back.
“Whatever you think happens after this flight, stop thinking it.”
“You don’t control everything.”
“No.”
He glanced at Isabella.
“But I am not losing twelve more months.”
A man across the aisle pretended to sleep.
Roman noticed his shoes.
Polished black.
Too polished for a holiday traveler in a snowstorm.
His coat had no salt stains.
His hands were bare.
No wedding ring.
No watch.
Nothing memorable.
Roman looked toward the front.
Another man three rows ahead had the same haircut.
Military short.
Roman’s body recognized the pattern before his mind completed it.
Security.
Not airline security.
Not federal.
Professional.
He leaned toward Norah.
“Do exactly what I say.”
Her face tightened.
“What?”
“Do not look behind us.”
She immediately wanted to.
“Why?”
“Because there are at least two men on this plane who are here for us.”
Fear drained the color from her face.
Roman unbuttoned his jacket.
He had no firearm.
TSA had made certain of that.
He did have a heavy steel pen clipped inside his pocket.
He also had a belt buckle thick enough to become a weapon.
And thirty years of instincts he wished his children would never need.
Norah whispered, “How can you tell?”
“Because nobody dresses that boring by accident.”
She almost laughed.
The sound died quickly.
The seatbelt sign switched off.
The man across the aisle opened his eyes.
He looked at Roman.
Then at Norah.
Then at the babies.
Roman smiled.
The man looked away.
“Confirmed,” Roman murmured.
Norah’s breathing became shallow.
“Roman, what do we do?”
For one strange second, he heard the old trust in her voice.
The trust that had existed before fear, before disappearance, before twins.
He kept his answer simple.
“We make them think they’re still in control.”
The cabin lights dimmed.
A flight attendant began serving drinks.
Roman ordered water.
The man across the aisle ordered nothing.
Three rows forward, the second man stood and walked toward the restroom.
He passed Roman without looking at him.
A folded napkin fell near Norah’s foot.
Roman saw it.
So did she.
“Don’t touch it,” he said.
The man entered the restroom.
Roman waited.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
The man did not come out.
Roman bent as if adjusting his shoe and picked up the napkin with the edge of his handkerchief.
Inside was a handwritten message.
GIVE NORAH THE PHONE.
A small prepaid phone was taped beneath the napkin fold.
Norah stared.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
The phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Roman answered.
No greeting.
A woman’s voice spoke.
“Norah?”
Norah went pale.
“Miriam.”
Roman pressed the phone to speaker.
The voice continued.
“Do not trust Roman. The men near you are there to protect the babies.”
Roman looked at the man across the aisle.
The man did not react.
Norah whispered, “Miriam, where are you?”
The voice paused.
Then said, “I’m sorry.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
He knew the problem.
“Miriam Hale had a stutter.”
Norah looked at him.
“What?”
“Only when she said the word sorry.”
The voice on the phone went silent.
Roman smiled coldly.
“You’re not Miriam.”
The call ended.
At the same moment, the restroom door opened.
The second man stepped out.
And the captain’s voice came over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, due to a mechanical warning, we will be making an unscheduled landing in Pittsburgh.”
Roman looked at the man across the aisle.
The man looked back.
Then smiled.
Norah’s hand found Roman’s sleeve again.
This time she did not let go.
Roman lowered his voice.
“They’re not taking us to Pittsburgh.”
May you like
“How do you know?”
“Because nobody smiled until the plane changed direction.”
