Chapter 5

Harmon turned from the window, and as he paced away from the glass, his path brought him directly in line with the doorway. His eyes, sweeping the room, snagged on the sliver of light from the hall and met hers through the crack in the door. The hard, commanding expression on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by a look of mild surprise.

"You're home," he said, his voice back to the warm, low tone she remembered. He walked toward her, his presence filling the small hallway. "Sorry about that. Just dealing with some... airline management issues."

He brushed past her, the scent of his aftershave and the faint smell of jet fuel clinging to him. The explanation was smooth, plausible. An "acquisition" could be about new routes or fleet management. She wanted to believe him, so she did.

The next morning, he was gone again. A note on the counter next to a fresh cup of coffee was the only sign he'd been there at all.

Life returned to its strange, new normal, until a frantic call from her other best friend, Kalie Jones, shattered the peace.

"Erin, I need a huge favor," Kalie said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I know it's a lot to ask, but there's a sealed report... it's a psychological evaluation... and I need you to get it to someone at JFK. Today."

"Okay, slow down," Erin said. "Who?"

Kalie's breath hitched. "His name is Braxton Sargent. He's a captain for AeroLux. He's flying out this afternoon."

The name was vaguely familiar. Erin had a complicated mental map of the men who had broken Kalie's heart, and Braxton Sargent was a dark, unexplored continent.

"Kalie, I..."

"Please, Erin," she begged. "His mother monitors everything-his emails, his mail, all of it. She can't know about this report. It's life or death. You're the only one who can do it because she doesn't know who you are. You have to hand it to him personally."

Erin's reluctance melted away. She would do anything for Kalie.

An hour later, she was navigating the chaos of JFK's Terminal 4. She found the AeroLux crew lounge, a sleek, private space tucked away from the public eye. She pushed open the frosted glass door.

The scene inside made her stomach clench with anger.

Braxton Sargent was lounging on a leather sofa, a flight attendant practically in his lap, her laughter high and shrill. He looked arrogant and careless, the kind of man who broke things for fun.

Erin thought of Kalie's tear-filled voice, and a cold fury settled over her.

She strode forward, the sealed manila envelope a weapon in her hand. She slapped it down on the coffee table in front of him. "Captain Sargent. This is for you."

He looked up, his eyes a lazy, dismissive gray. He recognized her-she could see the flicker of awareness. A smirk played on his lips. "Well, well. If it isn't Chandler's little wife."

The way he said it made her skin crawl.

"I'm here for Kalie," Erin said, her voice tight. "She wastes far too much of her time on men like you."

Braxton's smirk vanished. He slowly disentangled himself from the flight attendant and rose to his feet. He was nearly as tall as Harmon, but where Harmon was a steady, grounding presence, Braxton was pure, menacing energy.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his voice a low growl. He stepped toward her, invading her personal space.

Erin held her ground. "I know that a pilot who's fooling around minutes before a flight doesn't deserve anyone's trust. Especially not hers."

The argument had drawn the attention of the other crew members in the lounge. They watched, but no one moved.

Braxton's face darkened with rage. He shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist, his grip like steel. "You need to learn to mind your own business."

Pain flared up her arm. She tried to pull away, but he was too strong. A hot, helpless shame washed over her. Her eyes started to burn.

"Let go of me," she seethed, refusing to show him her fear.

His grip only tightened.

Just as a tear of pure rage and humiliation escaped her eye, the lounge door swung open again.

A figure stood silhouetted against the bright terminal lights, dressed in a crisp pilot's uniform. The authority in his posture was absolute.

"Braxton," the voice said, calm and lethally cold. "Take your hand off my wife."

Harmon Chandler stepped into the room, his blue eyes like chips of ice, fixed on Braxton's hand around her wrist.