Page 24 of Sweet Revenge
“We’re not taking the train.”
She groaned. “Declan, the drive takes twice as long. Longer in traffic at this hour.”
“I know that.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?”
He didn’t answer her as he took the exit for the airport and drove into the private craft section. Well, a jet wouldn’t be half bad and a third of the time of taking the train. Except when he pulled to a stop and put the car in park, the only thing she could see was a helicopter.
“Where’s the jet?”
He climbed out of the car and turned around to face her. “What jet?”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a deep breath. God help her. “What are we doing at the airport if we’re not taking a jet, Declan?”
He turned to stare at the helicopter that sat waiting about fifty yards away, and her eyes widened in horror. “Absolutely not.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “It’s not as fast as a jet, but faster than the train. And she’s steadier than she looks.”
He rounded the hood of the car and pulled open her door, lifting out the bag she’d set by her feet. When she still didn’t move, he reached in and undid her seatbelt, chuckling when she slapped at him.
“I am not getting in that thing. It’s an accident waiting to happen. We’ll take the train. There’s another one leaving in”—she checked her phone—“forty-five minutes. We can make it if we hurry.”
“The Evie I knew was fearless.”
Her head whipped around, and her eyes narrowed on his face. “That was a low blow, even for you.”
“It’s just a helicopter.”
“Until you crash into the Delaware,” she muttered.
Before he got the bright idea to bodily remove her from the car, she snatched her purse off the seat and hopped out, ignoring his amused chuckle as he followed her to the chopper. It was bigger than she expected, with a cockpit up front for the pilots separated from a passenger area by a pane of glass. The back looked more like a limo than a helicopter with black leather seats and cup holders and enough leg room not to feel cramped.
She hesitated when the ground crew opened the door for her. What in the hell was she thinking, agreeing to ride in this death trap? To buy herself some time, she tossed her purse onto an empty seat and quickly swept her hair up into a ponytail.
“Need some help?”
She jerked at the sound of his voice, shooting him a look over her shoulder. “No, of course not. I’m just…wondering what seat you’re going to sit in.”
He grinned as he climbed in, reaching back to offer her a hand up. She settled in the seat across from him, rubbing her hands on her thighs. She’d flown in private jets hundreds of times, but a helicopter felt thin and unsteady by comparison.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her when the ground crew closed and locked the door, signaling to the pilots that everything was secure. “Put those on.” He pointed to the headphones hanging on a hook next to her head.
She slipped them on and adjusted the microphone in front of her mouth. Even through the headphones, she could hear the low hum of the engines as they turned on, like the steady sound of a distant lawnmower.
“It’s almost like taking a jet.” The sound of his deep voice filled her ears. “The weather is clear, it’s not very windy, and we’ll be there before you know it.”
“It is nothing like a jet,” she mumbled as the blades began to rotate.
“You look a little green.”
“Shut up,” she gritted out, fingers gripping the armrest with white knuckles.
“All I’m saying is if this is going to be like the time you threw up cotton candy all over Sister Bernadette at the summer festival, please tell me now so I can get you a sick bag.”
Her eyes snapped to his face. “I was nine! And it was potato salad.”
“Was it?”
