Blood Ties (Book 3 of The Blood Bond Series)

6. Apologies

Charlie helped Quinn pack a suitcase. The bedroom that Adam had told her was hers had a large walk-in closet with an en suite attached. She'd never seen this much clothing in her life, and it wasn't because she was raised poor. She'd had enough to get by on, and her adopted parents had never been stingy. That being said, she'd never asked for anything that was too expensive either. You didn't grow up on a farm loaded down with cash, but you didn't starve either.

"My brother has great taste," Charlie remarked as she hung up an evening gown inside a garment bag. "Don't know where he thinks he's taking you wearing this little pretty, but I would totally just wear around the house, drinking champagne and feeling fancy."

That almost made Quinn laugh, but the nervous butterflies in her stomach dipped and swooped and just wouldn't allow it. "How are we getting to L.A.? Driving?"

Charlie didn't even look up as she continued to help the younger woman pack up her luggage. "Company plane. We pay the private airport the big bucks and then drive our car onto the tarmac. Enough dough passes hands, and we get the rental agency to pick the car up at the airport."

"Which airport?" If she could only get to her phone, she could have the police meet her there.

"Some place outside of Albany." Charlie shrugged her shoulders listlessly. "Don't know the name of it. I usually fly commercial because Dad's plane is normally on the West Coast. He offers to have it bring me home around the holidays, but that's too much for me. I don't mind flying commercial so long as I can get a seat in first-class."

It would have been nice to fly first, but Quinn had only flown a couple of times in her life, and that was because of a wedding when she was younger. She barely remembered it.

"Is it different from flying commercial?" She usually tried to calm her nerves by constantly prattling on, this time in the form of questions that piled up and wanted to shoot out of her mouth like the rapid-fire of a machine gun. Once that question was brought forth, it was only seconds later another wanted to spill out.

"A bit, but not in a bad way." Charlotte looked over at her a little suspiciously. "You've flown before, right?"

"Over ten years ago, yeah," Quinn replied. "My Uncle Travis on my Dad's side got remarried. He lived on a ranch outside of Billings, Montana. It was a while ago, but I remember being nervous. Landing was horrible. It was rainy and windy. I remember only a little about the flight, to be honest."

"You'll be fine," Charlie assured her. "Dad's old captain retired about fifteen years back, but his new one used to fly the president around. They got rid of him when there was a change in party, and President Owens was known to be pretty paranoid. She thought because Captain Aldred was hired under the old oligarchy that he was going to plow them into the sea or crash them into a mountain." She shook her head as if she thought politicians were all absolutely batshit crazy.

"How many years has Aldred been a pilot?"

Charlotte thought about it for a few moments before speaking. "I think they speak in terms of flying hours, so I honestly don't know the answer, but I do know that he was with the American Airlines before he was the president's pilot, so I would have to think that it's quite some time. Fifteen years maybe? Twenty? Lord knows how many hours that translates to. I have no idea."

Quinn felt marginally better, and she tried to quell the rest of her anxiety with a little warm tea. Somehow, Adam had gone to the store in between talking with his parents and had brought her back some chamomile tea. He hadn't drunk and eaten anything since then, and she had to wonder if he was on some sort of diet. He seemed fit enough, but who the hell didn't at least drink a little bit of water now and then? It was strange.