Page 9 of The Stowaway
“Wait!” she called. “What did your CO say? I never gave you my dad’s phone number.”
I didn’t need it. Her story checked out, and a simple Google search had led us to news articles. Her old man had been interviewed for one, and with his name and hometown, he’d been easy to find.
The whole fucking thing was a case of the Feds unable to do a goddamn thing because you couldn’t run diplomatic relations with undiplomatic Talibans.
“We don’t have all the details yet, but your story checks out, and we found your dad,” I replied. “I told my people to let him know you’ll be home in about eight days.”
She lit up in that way again that kinda deflated me. She had an absolutely killer smile. She jumped down from the helicopter and ran toward me, and I braced myself. Fucking hell, she was going to hug me. Yup, I was right. Fuck my life. She plastered herself to me and hugged my middle.
“Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you!”
Yeah, all right, enough. I patted her awkwardly on the back before easing off. But I wanted to keep that relief written across her face for a while longer, so I didn’t tell her that her team from The Lunch Box was most likely dead. Nothing had come up in the search about ransom or other demands, and the Belgian government had reached a dead end in their quest to get answers. The parents of the second American had grieved on national television too.
“I’mma go make some food?—”
“Actually, will you let me?” She grabbed my arm and peered up at me. “I’d like to be more than an annoying stowaway. I can cook, I can fish, I can…help out. I can sort out the border pieces for your puzzles.” Her mouth twitched with amusement.
I narrowed my eyes. Was she making fun of my hobby?
“Doing puzzles is badass,” I told her. “It’s relaxing, and it’s good for your brain.”
“I wasn’t teasing you!” Except, her beautiful grin was back. “I actually like puzzles myself. And crossword puzzles and sudokus…”
Oh. All right.
“So, about the food?” she prodded. “Based on the ingredients I saw, I can make a loaf of bread…?”
If she wanted to cook, by all means. I sucked at it. I nodded with a dip of my chin and gestured at the bird. “There’s a boxof supplies behind my seat too. It won’t be enough to last us all week, but I’m pretty sure we’ll have pheasant tomorrow. Knock yourself out.”
“Oh, exciting. I didn’t know about the box. Lunch coming up in a moment, then. Go sit down.”
I just might.
We parted ways, and I?—
“Oh, one more thing, pilot guy!”
Jesus, what now?
I looked over my shoulder.
“It would be nice to know your name,” she said.
Shit. I hadn’t introduced myself.
I scratched the side of my head. “Everyone calls me Hyatt.”
“What does your mama call you?”
Damn. I couldn’t help but smirk. “Sugar.”
Kiera laughed. “Goddammit, Hyatt, tell me your first name.”
Oh, fine. “James. Happy now?”
She beamed. “Very. I’ll let you know when the food is ready, James.”
Uh-huh. I nodded once and headed off, 100% certain now that she was trouble.
