Chapter 3 - THE PRIVATE TARMAC
“Excuse me?” I gasped, my voice rising in panic as I clutched Sophie to my chest. “No! I am not going anywhere with you! I’m going to my sister’s wedding in Naperville!”
The cabin fell completely silent. The flight attendants shrank back into the galley, avoiding my eyes entirely. The two bodyguards stood like brick walls on either side of the exit door.
Ethan didn't raise his voice. He didn't show an ounce of anger. He simply stepped out into the aisle, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a sleek silver phone.
“Miss Morales,” he said calmly, using my surname before I had even offered it to him. “Your sister, Elena, is getting married at St. Patrick’s Church on Saturday at two in the afternoon. Her fiancé is Thomas Miller, a mid-level accountant at a firm downtown.”
My mouth fell open. “How... how do you know that?”
“I know who boards my flights,” Ethan replied neutrally. “And I know that your sister’s wedding rehearsal dinner tonight has been canceled because her fiancé’s family is currently dealing with a severe logistics problem at their venue.”
I stared at him, my brain struggling to keep pace with the sheer speed of events.
The plane taxied off the main runway at O'Hare, bypassing the bustling commercial gates entirely. Instead, the aircraft rolled toward a private, heavily guarded hangar on the far southern perimeter of the airport grounds.
Through the small oval window, I could see three black, armored SUVs parked on the wet tarmac, surrounding a sleek, matte-black Gulfstream private jet. Armed men in dark coats stood in formation near the open hangar doors.
The cabin door opened, allowing the crisp, freezing air of a Chicago morning to rush inside.
“You’re exhausted, Rachel,” Ethan said, standing beside my seat with his hand extended toward me. “You have three dollars in your checking account. You have no hotel reservation, and your sister’s apartment is currently overcrowded with eight out-of-town guests.”
I felt a sudden, terrifying chill run down my spine. He knew everything. In the three hours we had been in the air, his people had completely dismantled my life's privacy.
“Are you kidnapping me?” I whispered, my voice shaking with raw terror.
A faint, almost invisible smile touched the corner of Ethan Callahan’s lips.
“I don't kidnap mothers and babies, Miss Morales,” he said softly, his tone laced with absolute authority. “I offer them protection. You served my family’s interests without knowing it three years ago when you worked at the diner in L.A., and I do not leave debts unpaid.”
I blinked, thoroughly confused. “What diner?”
“Get up, Rachel,” Ethan said gently, offering his hand once more. “The wind outside is freezing, and Sophie needs a warm place to rest. My home is secure, fully staffed, and entirely at your disposal. You will attend your sister’s wedding on Saturday in a private car, with every expense paid.”
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I looked down at Sophie, who was stirring in my arms, shivering slightly as the icy Chicago draft swept through the plane's open door. I looked at my worn canvas bag, my empty pockets, and the terrifyingly powerful man standing before me.
I took his hand.
