Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

LILY

‘I s there anything I can get you, Mr Donaghue?’ The blonde simpers at him and I would bet my life she’s just reapplied her strawberry lip gloss.

She’s the second member of cabin crew to ask this since we boarded the plane five minutes ago.

‘No, thanks. I’m all good, but I’ll be sure to let you know,’ Tate replies smoothly, giving her one of his kilowatt smiles before settling into his first-class seat for the three-hour flight.

I wait until they finish their mutual appreciation of each other and then shoot him a bored glance, and he grins.

‘Doesn’t it get boring, all this fawning over you?’ I ask, taking out my Kindle.

‘Don’t know what you mean?’

‘Seriously?’

‘People are just nice to me. They like me.’ He gives me his usual cocky smile.

I turn away and see the plane’s captain coming down the aisle. Oh, dear God, now he’s coming to see Tate. He stops beside our seats and extends a hand right across me.

‘Tate Donaghue, the honour’s all mine. I’m delighted to be flying you down to New Orleans today.’

‘Thanks, Captain Frederickson.’ Tate shakes his hand.

‘You feeling confident about the big one?’ asks the captain. ‘I’ve got two hundred bucks riding on the game in your favour.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ quips Tate and they share a manly chuckle.

‘You headed in early. I thought the team weren’t arriving for another couple of days.’

‘Advance party,’ says Tate. ‘Wanted to spend some time with my girl.’ Suddenly remembering the script, he hooks an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me. That’s the line that’s being fed to the media for our disappearance from New York.

He’s also doing it to annoy me. Since our… our episode in the kitchen, Tate’s been using any excuse to touch me, as if he’s determined to prove that he can affect me.

‘Excuse my manners,’ says the captain. ‘You must be Tate’s fiancée. Congratulations to the both of you. I’ll be sure to get one of the stewards to bring you down some champagne. Is there anything else I can get you?’

‘We’re all good, but thank you.’

‘The pleasure is all mine. Actually, would you mind signing something for my boy.’

‘Not a problem.’ Tate whips out a sharpie to sign the baseball cap the captain has produced from inside his jacket pocket. ‘What’s his name?’

‘He’s Josh. He’s ten and he loves his football.’

Tate signs a personal message and pushes it back into the captain’s hand. ‘You be sure to tell him I said hi,’ he says. ‘Do you want to take a picture to give him?’

‘That would be awesome,’ says the captain, whipping out his phone. He takes a couple of selfies with Tate before pocketing his phone. ‘So, Tate, what do you think of the Snakes offensive…’ He proceeds to spout a load of incomprehensible football jargon, not in any hurry to move until one of the stewards approaches him and murmurs in his ear.

‘Right. Right. Guess I’d better get this bird in the air.’ He takes his leave.

The stewardess, another one, gives Tate a smile and leans over me. ‘Is there anything I can get you, Mr Donaghue?’

‘No, I’m all good thanks, Patti,’ he says, reading her badge.

She lets out a little giggle and blushes. ‘You let me know. Just use the call button situated above you.’

‘Like he’s never been on a plane before,’ I intone under my breath.

She gives me a filthy look and saunters off.

‘It’s sad they think you’re so incapable you need help all the time,’ I say, and instantly regret sounding so bitchy.

‘I’m very capable,’ says Tate, lowering his voice to, what I’m rapidly coming to call in my head, his sex tone. Deliberate as I know it is, his low timbre still sends annoyingly gooey shivers rippling across my crazy nerve endings. All the hairs on my arm and the back of my neck stand to attention, flowing like sea anemones at the mercy of the current. ‘Happy to show you how capable I can be.’

The cabin crew start the safety talk, demonstrating how to put a seatbelt on, but as usual barely any passengers are taking any notice of the standard spiel.

‘Have you ever joined the Mile High Club?’ Tate asks.

‘Cliché much?’ I splutter out a laugh and shake my head. ‘Does that line ever work?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ he jokes, and I roll my eyes at his fulsome grin.

‘Well, try it on someone else,’ I suggest.

He grins at me. ‘You’re no fun.’

And, despite everything, I like his good-natured response. Tate is pretty easy to be with. For all his fame, he’s self-deprecating and has always been able to laugh at himself when I take the piss.

‘What do you do for fun?’ he asks, surprising me because he’s studying me as if he’s genuinely interested.

‘Jump out of planes when my neighbour gets really boring.’ I give him a cheesy smile.

He laughs, before his eyes narrow and he gives me a considering stare. ‘Have you ever jumped out of a plane?’ There’s a note of disbelief in his voice as if he’s not quite sure whether I’m being serious. This is fun. I like keeping him on his toes.

‘Yes, actually. I have.’ There’s a flash of surprise and awe on his face. And I’m ashamed to say, it goes to my head. I add. ‘A few times.’

‘What else can you do? Are you like a Navy Seal? You know, can you hold your breath underwater for a really long time?’

I laugh. ‘I’m in security, not The Avengers .’

I’m not sure he can handle what I can really do.

‘You carry a gun. You ever killed anyone?’

I lift a shoulder. ‘I’ll take the fifth on that one.’

He looks in my eyes. ‘What made you go down this route?’

I was lost and looking for purpose in life after I realised that you didn’t love me the way I loved you .

He’s probably not interested in that answer.

‘Family business,’ I say. ‘My boss is my godfather.’

That much is true, although there’s never been much familial relationship with Pennington. He was my father’s best friend in the SAS. I didn’t realise until I was older that my father had worked for MI6. At twenty-two, when the recruiter came knocking, I was ripe and ready. And I had a gaping big hole to fill where my heart had once been.

The cabin crew are doing the last safety checks before take-off and we fall silent. Hopefully, this conversation is over. It’s a relatively short flight, but I’ll have time to read the fire department report emailed over this morning on the damage to Tate’s apartment. Luckily, solid, building fire regulations kept us safe and the firefighters arrived quickly and put out the blaze, which hadn’t spread beyond the area around the door.

From what I can gather, the delivery boy was hijacked and the bag taken off him. The firebomb was small. Not designed to do much damage.

That puzzles me. Are these serious murder attempts or menacing threats? Also, none of the attempts so far have been particularly well thought through.

Tate’s phone buzzes and he glances at it. I can see it’s a message from his dad. His jaw tightens and he switches the phone to airplane mode.

The plane taxis along the runway and I stare out of the window. I love everything about flying. Always have done. Although I’d far rather be in the cockpit at the controls because the thought of sitting idle for three hours is painful. Tate, sitting next to me in the window seat, leans back with his hands resting calmly on his knees, but every so often he rereads the message on his phone’s screen, and a scowl darkens his face.

I lean towards him and whisper in his ear with a throaty purr. ‘So how many times have you joined the Mile High Club?’

His eyes fly open. ‘What?’

‘Once, twice, three times?’

Tate stares at me as if he’s trying to catch up.

I look him up and down. ‘Yeah. I mean, how’d you fit? Those toilets are pretty cramped. Talk me through it. How do you manage?’

He’s still staring at me. ‘What?’

‘You know.’ I prod him and tilt my head. ‘Do you stand? Like upright and hold her. I’m assuming it’s a she. You’ve got the upper body strength, I guess. But your height, I don’t know. It must be tight, I imagine. Don’t you bang your elbows? Or get stuck between the door and the loo?’ My eyes widen with sudden horror. ‘And aren’t you worried that door might fly open by accident. That would be one hell of a photo opportunity.’

Despite the obvious irritation brought on by whatever is in his dad’s message, Tate cracks out a laugh. ‘You’ve given this considerable thought.’

‘A little.’ I feel the slight lift of the plane. ‘Or maybe the guy sits and the lady straddles. But then would there be enough room for your knees?’ I lean down and assess his knees, patting them. ‘I think you’d be too big.’

‘Are we talking about airline toilet sex, or something else?’ quips Tate with a smile. We’re airborne now and he’s breathing easier. The colour has returned to his knuckles.

‘You didn’t answer the question,’ I say, pleased that I’ve taken his attention off the message from his dad.

‘Which question, there were a slew of them there. Who knew you were so interested in my sex life.’

‘I’m not, big guy. I was worried you were a nervous flyer.’

‘I’m not the least bit afraid of flying,’ he shoots back. ‘I spend half my life on planes.’ He narrows his gaze and surprises me with his next question.

‘What are you afraid of?’ he asks.

‘Me?’ I ask brightly. There are plenty of things I have a healthy fear of– it’s what keeps me alive.

‘That’s a stalling tactic, if I ever I heard one, Lily Heath.’

‘In my line of work, fear is always there. It keeps the adrenaline pumping. The day you don’t feel fear is the day you don’t come home.’

His eyes meet mine, and I feel like he can see right through me. ‘You’d have made a good lawyer or a politician,’ he says with a half-smile. ‘That was a neat avoidance of the question. I asked what you are afraid of, not what you fear. Technically, there’s a difference. We all fear lots of things. But being afraid is different, it lingers long after a threat has gone.’

‘Maybe you should be the lawyer, you’re very good at semantics,’ I tell him.

‘Still ducking the question, Lily.’

I stare at him for a few seconds before I have to look away.

I’m afraid of falling in love. I’m scared of having my heart ripped out again.

The plane has levelled out and a new stewardess appears with two glasses of champagne. ‘With compliments from the captain and all the crew. Congratulations on your engagement, Mr Donaghue.’ Her eyes slide to the ridiculous diamond on my finger. ‘Lovely ring,’ she says and smiles at me. ‘Someone has excellent taste.’

‘She does,’ says Tate, nodding at me. ‘She chose me.’

I almost snort my recent sip of champagne out of my nose.

The woman grins and rolls her eyes. ‘I’d say you’re lucky to have her.’

I lift my glass towards the woman in sisterly solidarity.

Tate puts his hand on my knee. ‘Yeah, she’s special, she has to be to put up with me.’

I almost choke again as I recall him saying exactly these words eight years ago to a put-out mean-queen from the football groupie squad, who’d asked him what the heck he saw in me.

‘I hope you’ll be very happy together,’ the stewardess says, before continuing up the aisle.

‘I’ve realised there must be a lot of broken hearts out there, and a lot of ladies wanting to scratch my eyes out,’ I say light-heartedly, because I don’t actually care.

‘Not really,’ says Tate. ‘I’ve always made it clear I’m not a relationship man. Three dates, max.’

‘Seriously?’ I have to ask. ‘That’s your rule.’

He actually has the grace to blush. ‘It’s not a rule but it’s… a boundary. I don’t have time for relationships. I focus on my game.’

‘And do you tell the women you sleep with that they have a sell-by date? And is that before or after they get into bed with you?’

He raises an eyebrow at me. ‘I’m not a slut, you know. I only sleep with women who know the score. I never lead anyone on. I’m the good guy. I’m honest with them. A lot of guys aren’t. They take advantage of their fame and money to get sex whenever they want. I’m not like that.’

‘What changed?’ The bitter question pops out before I can stop it.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

If I say any more I might reveal that he broke my heart, and I’m not going to give him that power.

‘I guess you have to be pretty dedicated to the game to get as far as you have.’

‘Yeah, but it will all be worth it, when we lift the trophy and I have that ring on my finger.’

‘And then what?’ I ask.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What next? What’s the next goal? More money? More fame?’

He frowns at me. ‘I’m focused on the one goal at the moment. Plenty of time later for the future.’

I nod, but the question has stirred me more than it has him. What do I do next? What do I want? I’ve seen the close-knit team around Tate. He’s got friends, allies and supporters. It makes me question what and who I’ve got in my life. It strikes me that I’m pretty aimless. Maybe lonely, too. My goals last as long as each mission. They’re life and death, but if I wasn’t leading those missions, someone else would be. My job is, by its very nature, expendable. It just happens that I haven’t expired in the course of it so far. Dad and Alice might mourn me if I did, but they certainly won’t miss me. You have to have someone in your life to miss them. My job doesn’t allow anyone into my life… although, for the first time, I wonder if I chose it for that very reason.

* * *

I realise trying to keep Tate incognito is going to be difficult, even with a baseball hat and dark glasses, his height and breadth makes him stand out in a crowd.

As we’re waiting in the baggage hall, a young man approaches us.

‘You Tate Donaghue?’

‘Sorry man, I wish,’ says Tate, lapsing into a very credible southern drawl. ‘If I had his money.’

‘Sure,’ says the guy in baggy jeans and an outsize T-shirt, giving him a disappointed shrug and backing off.

Maybe we’ll get away with this.

Winston has arranged a car for us, and there’s a black-suited chauffer who’s almost as wide as he is tall waiting for us bearing a sign that says ‘Lily English’, as we’d agreed. My name has been plastered all over the tabloids and internet, so I wasn’t taking any chances on any eagle-eyed fans spotting it.

‘That’s us,’ I say to the man.

‘Come right this way, ma’am.’ He beams.

We follow him out to a huge limousine and he takes care of our luggage, putting it in the trunk, as I remember to call it, and we slide into the back seats.

‘So far so good,’ I say.

‘Lily, relax. No one knows we’re here.’

‘Apart from the captain, the air crew, neighbouring passengers,’ I say. ‘Including a well-known senator.’

‘I don’t think he’ll say much.’ Tate shrugs. ‘Let’s just say that lady he was not-so subtly groping certainly wasn’t his wife.’

‘Hmm.’ Even so, through our tinted windows I scan the other cars around us.

The driver shuffles into the front seat and he looks in the rear-view mirror, his eyes going as wide as saucers as recognition kicks in.

‘That you, the Don?’ he asks.

‘Shh,’ says Tate. ‘Me and my lady are trying to grab some quiet time before the media circus begins. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention who you had in your car for a few days when the rest of the team gets here.’

‘Sure thing. But can I say it’s a real honour to have you here.’

‘Thank you, sir. What’s your name?’

‘Benji. Mr Donaghue.’

‘Please call me Tate. How long you been doing this job, Benji?’

‘Nigh on six years. I get to meet all sorts of folks. I had Sandra Bullock in that very seat, a few weeks back.’

And just like that, Tate engages him in easy conversation. By the time we arrive at the hotel Benji and Tate are fast friends and Tate has handed over his baseball cap– signed by the ever-present Sharpie.

It gives me considerable food for thought. In his twenties, cocksure and arrogant, Tate had been a big deal on campus, doing pretty much as he’d pleased, encouraged by his overbearing father. I smile to myself. I’d made him work hard to earn that first date. He’d been so damn confident I’d fall at his feet, just like all the other girls.