Chapter 4 - The Private Hangar
The rain was falling heavily by the time the Maybach pulled through the rusted perimeter gates of the Gary Regional Aviation Center. The industrial airfield was largely abandoned at this hour, surrounded by vast expanses of cracked asphalt, overgrown weeds, and tall chain-link fences topped with razor wire.
A sleek, silver Gulfstream jet sat parked outside Hangar 4, its engines whining at low idle, white vapor spewing into the damp cold air.
Lucian’s car stopped behind a line of shipping containers two hundred yards from the terminal building. The driver killed the headlights, plunging the interior of the car into shadow.
"My men are positioned at every exit," Lucian said, pulling a small silver ear-piece from his pocket and handing it to Camille. "Put this in. You will hear my voice at all times. I will be twenty yards behind you, inside the main concourse."
Camille took the small device and fitted it into her ear. "What if Mara Radcliffe is with him?"
"Mara is currently in police custody at O'Hare Airport," Lucian replied casually. "I had my legal team tip off federal agents regarding her unregistered travel documents two hours ago. She won't be joining Trevor today."
Camille felt a sharp pang of satisfaction. "You don't waste time."
"Time is the only asset that cannot be laundered, Miss Hunt," Lucian said, reaching over to unlatch her door. "Now. Walk into that private lounge. Look at him the way a heartbroken bride looks at her fugitive fiancé. Get him to walk out onto the tarmac toward the boarding stairs."
Camille stepped out into the cold Indiana rain. The wind whipped her dark hair across her face, pulling at her light coat. She didn't feel cold. The heat of her anger burned bright enough to keep the chill at bay. She walked toward the glass doors of the terminal, her heels clicking sharply against the wet pavement.
Through the tinted glass of the executive lounge, she saw him.
Trevor Ames was pacing nervously back and forth near a leather couch, a glass of scotch in one hand and his phone held tightly in the other. He looked disheveled—his tie undone, his hair messy, his eyes darting frantically toward the runway every time the jet's engine pitch changed.
Camille pushed the heavy glass door open. The sudden chime of the bell echoed through the empty lounge.
Trevor spun around, dropping his phone onto the carpet. His eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror.
"Camille?" he choked out, his voice cracking. "How... how did you find me?"
Camille walked into the warm, carpeted room, letting her coat slip slightly off her shoulders. She forced her eyes to fill with manufactured hurt, allowing her lower lip to quiver just enough to sell the lie.
"You left your tablet synced to the house Wi-Fi, Trevor," she lied smoothly, taking a slow step toward him. "Your flight confirmation came through to my phone."
Trevor swallowed hard, looking wildly toward the empty hallway behind her. "Camille, you shouldn't be here. You need to leave right now. It's not safe."
"Not safe?" Camille cried out, taking two more steps forward, bringing herself within ten feet of him. "You destroyed our wedding! You lied to me about Chicago! You told me another woman was having your baby!"
"I had to!" Trevor hissed, rushing forward to grab her by the shoulders, exactly as Lucian had predicted. "I had to make you hate me, Cam! If you stayed mad at me, you wouldn't come looking for me! You don't understand who I'm dealing with!"
"I don't care who you're dealing with!" Camille yelled, shoving his hands off her. "You took my father's pride! You took my family's money!"
"I didn't take your father's money!" Trevor pleaded, his hands held up in defense. "I took money from a monster, Camille! A man named Lucian Vane! He's mafia, Cam! He destroys people! I took his money so we could be free! So you and I could go to South America and never have to worry about anything again!"
Camille stared at him, feeling a sudden, deep disgust at how easily he spun his cowardice into an act of heroism.
"You didn't do this for us, Trevor," she said softly, her voice dripping with venom. "You did this for yourself."
"Camille, please!" Trevor grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the glass door leading out to the tarmac. "The plane is waiting! Come with me! We can fix this! Just walk out to the stairs with me!"
Through her earpiece, Lucian’s quiet, smooth voice sounded: "Good. Bring him out."
Camille looked at Trevor, giving him a slow, tragic nod. "Okay. Show me the plane."
Trevor let out a desperate sigh of relief, pushing the heavy push-bar door open and stepping out into the pouring rain, pulling Camille by the hand. They rushed across the slick tarmac toward the silver Gulfstream.
They were halfway to the boarding stairs when three dark SUVs pulled onto the tarmac from behind the main hangar, blocking the jet's path and surrounding them in a wall of blinding halogen headlights.
Trevor stopped dead. The grip on Camille's hand went slack.
May you like
The rear door of the center Maybach opened. An umbrella was raised, and Lucian Vane stepped out into the rain, his dark suit pristine, his eyes cold and fixed entirely on the terrified man standing beside her.
"Going somewhere, Trevor?" Lucian asked softly.
