Not Quite Perfect
Page 81

Mary froze.
“I insist.”
“Kent, you’re scaring me. Let go.”
“No. I don’t want that.” He twisted her toward the door, kept a grip around her waist. “Let’s check it out.”
Her heart started to kick and her eyes lost sight of everything that wasn’t directly in front of her. She felt the entire length of Kent’s frame along her backside, tried to put some distance between them. “Stop it. You need to leave.”
He gripped the handle to open the door and gave it a massive shove, pushing her inside with the force.
The second the door opened, her alarm started to beep. The warning to disengage would give way to screaming for the police in less than a minute.
Kent grabbed her shoulders.
Her purse fell to the floor.
“Turn it off.”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to scream.
Kent’s firm hand closed over her mouth before one syllable left her lips.
Panic started to give way to common sense when she found it difficult to breathe through her nose.
Kent dragged her through the house to the control panel of the alarm. With his lips close to her ear, he said, “Turn it off!”
Mary looked at the keypad with vertigo setting in.
Think.
Think!
“Now, Mary.”
She lifted a shaky hand to the device and turned off the beep.
Kent pushed her body against the wall and let loose his grip on her mouth long enough for her to suck in a breath.
“Don’t scream.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her words came out chipped and on the edge of breaking.
“You need someone to watch over you. You can’t do that on your own.”
“Kent, please.” She felt tears in her eyes.
“That’s more like it.”
Glen sat in the captain’s seat of the Challenger waiting on Trent.
The time on his phone inched closer to the deadline he’d given Mary to call him and panic started to set in.
“Thank you, gentlemen. We have it from here.” Trent’s voice came from the interior of the aircraft.
The sound of the door being shut and sealed, along with a light on his board telling him they were clear to move, had Glen in motion.
“Hey, big brother. We ready to fly?”
Glen tapped a nervous finger on the controls and looked out at the nearly empty tarmac while Trent slid into the copilot’s seat. “She was supposed to call by now.” It was exactly forty-eight minutes from the time he’d hung up with her.
“We’re talking about Mary.”
He started shaking his head. “It’s bad, Trent. I’m telling you . . .”
“Then call her.”
Glen looked at his phone as if it only had one direction of communication.
Then it rang, and he nearly dropped the thing on the floor. “Mary?”
“Is this Mr. Fairchild?”
Male voice that wasn’t Mary. Glen wanted to scream. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m in the middle of an emergency and need to leave this line free.”
“Don’t hang up. This is Essential Securitas calling. Your name is first on our list of people to call if a distress signal comes from the residence of Mary Kildare.”
The blood from Glen’s head threatened to drop to his feet and render him unconscious.
“Distress signal? What do you mean?”
“You are Mr. Fairchild?”
“I am.”
“Good. We just received the distress code from Miss Kildare’s home. The one she would put in during a possible hostage situation.”
This is bad. This is bad!
“Mr. Fairchild, listen to me carefully. We need to respond quickly. There is a chance Miss Kildare mistakenly put in the wrong code. She’s only had the equipment for a few weeks. We need you to remain calm and follow my instructions to ensure Miss Kildare’s safety.”
Glen was vaguely aware that Trent sat watching him. The lights on the control board were blinking. The air that would take him to Mary was just feet above him.
He sucked in a breath and unbuckled his belt. He signaled to Trent to switch places, which his brother didn’t question and simply did.
“What do you need me to do?”
“You need to call Miss Kildare’s home. I’ll be on the line the entire time. If she answers the phone, I need you to talk to her. Do not, under any circumstances, say that I’m on the line or that I’ve contacted you. Do you understand?”
Glen knew he looked like a deer in the headlights when he rolled his free hand toward Trent to encourage him to move.
As the motion of the plane began, Glen concentrated on the man on the phone. “I understand.”
“If in fact there is a hostage situation in progress, we need to do everything in our power to keep the hostage in place until the authorities can arrive. Do you understand?”
He sucked in a breath, felt his heart beating too fast for his chest to contain. “I do.”
“This is often a false alarm, Mr. Fairchild. But even if you believe it is, do not say a word about our current conversation. Do you understand?”
“I get it. Are the authorities on their way?”
“Yes.”
There was some comfort in that.
“When you’re talking to her, I might talk to you. Understand she and whoever might be listening will not hear me. Do you understand?”
“I under-fucking-stand. Let’s get on with it.”