Page 4 of Polestar
Magnus grunted.“You get used to it.Wheels up in ten.Stow your bag.”He nodded to the laptop bag on the seat beside her.
“Of course.”
Magnus wasn’t fazed.He was familiar with the expression of disbelief due to his appearance.
Six foot five, impeccably kept long hair and beard, Nirvana t-shirt and jeans.No, he didn’t dress like a pilot.Nor did he think he had to in order to do his job properly.
Although, the agency often tried to convince him otherwise.
Agent Ortega clearly adhered to the agency’s dress protocol in her crisp office skirt-suit, white button-up and heels.
No wonder she’s so uptight.No room to breathe.
As he cast her one last glance, he noticed she had retrieved an eye mask from her laptop satchel before tucking the bag beneath her seat.
He closed the door and got to work.
TWO
Analieselurchedatthesensation of falling in darkness, then skipping over a series of speed bumps at racetrack speed.
Her heart hammered wildly, and her limbs flailed, slamming against too-close objects.
Chest heaving, her hands clutched the arms of her chair as soon as she found them, then she reached up and ripped the mask off her eyes to dispel the nightmare.
Plane.Charter.Giant pilot.Going to Iceland.
Had she slept the entire flight?She glanced at her watch, then pushed the window shade up.
Chaos filled the small window.
Rain poured down the glass.The plane swayed.The steel-tinted sky lit with a flash, followed by a deafening crash.
Ana slammed the window screen shut, then threw herself back against her seat, eyes closed as she prayed.Her fingers gripped the seat handles, feet securely against the plane floor.
Her gaze darted to the small door, blocking her view to the pilot.This particular plane had a thin wall dividing the cockpit from the rest of the cabin.Probably to stop passengers, like herself, from screaming at the pilot in terror.
A dull ‘pong’ drew her attention to the ceiling.
The pilot had illuminated the seatbelt sign.
No shit.
The plane lurched and continued to descend.
Breath stuttered through her chest.One of her nails cracked as her grip tightened on the seat.
She hated flying almost as much as she hated the cold.
“If I die… in a plane crash… in the North Atlantic… I’m going to friggin’ haunt you, Carson Perenga,” she spat through her clenched teeth.
She was almost sorry for all the complaining she’d done while at the mercy of Lirikai’s driving.Almost.
At least, in that case, she was already on the ground.
She waited for the ‘brace for impact’ message to come over the com.Instead, the plane leveled out and eased downward.She held her breath till the wheels touched the ground and they rolled to a stop.The seatbelt sign went dark, then the engine went silent.
Ana disengaged her nails from her seat and unbuckled her belt, still cursing Carson’s name.
