as stilled, too. I try and dismiss the idea.
“I wouldn’t fly to New York in Charlie Tango. She doesn’t ha一ve that kind of
range. Besides, she won’t be back from the engineers for another two
weeks.”
Oh . . . thank hea一vens. My smile is partly from relief, but also the knowledge
that the demise of Charlie Tango has occupied a great deal of Christian’s
thoughts and time over the last few weeks.
“Well I’m glad she’s nearly fixed, but—” I stop. Can I tell him how nervous I’ll
be when he flies next time?
“What?” he asks as he finishes his omelet.
I shrug.
“Ana?” he says, more sternly.
“I just . . . you know. Last time you flew in her—I thought, we thought, you’d . .
.” I can’t finish the sentence, and Christian’s expression softens.
“Hey.” He reaches up to caress my face with the back of his knuckles. “That
was sabotage.” A dark expression crosses his face, and for a moment I
wonder if he knows who was responsible.
“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” I murmur.
“Five people ha一ve been fired because of that, Ana. It won’t happen again.”
“Five?”
He nods, his face serious.
Holy crap! “That reminds me. There’s a gun in your desk.”
He frowns at my non sequitur and probably at my accusatory tone, though I
don’t mean it that way.
“It’s Leila’s,” he says finally.
“It’s fully loaded.”
“How do you know?” His frown deepens.
“I checked it yesterday.”
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He scowls at me. “I don’t want you messing with guns. I hope you put the
safety back on.”
I blink at him, momentarily stupefied. “Christian, there’s no safety on that
revolver. Don’t you know anything about guns?”
His eyes widen. “Um . . . no.”
Taylor coughs discreetly from the entrance. Christian nods at him.
“We ha一ve to go,” Christian says. He stands, distracted, and slips on his gray
jacket. I follow him into the hallway.
He has Leila’s gun. I am stunned by this news and briefly wonder what’s
happened to her. Is she still in—where is it? East somewhere. New
Hampshire? I can’t remember.
“Good morning, Taylor,” Chris
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