Lucy swallowed heavily against the huge, heavy ball of bile rising up her throat. They were on the tarmac in an isolated part of the airfield, quickly approaching the lone Learjet stationed there, steps down, pilot waiting at the top of the stairs. The plane looked sleek and brand-new, a marvel of modern technology. Designed to glide through the air, invincible. Except when it didn’t—and plummeted through the sky to earth. Deep tremors shook her body, but she’d long since learned to hide those. She could hide more or less all signs of stress, something she’d learned very early in life. The only giveaway would be the color of her skin. She knew she was icy white. But she’d slapped on a slightly darker foundation, used a light blush and lipstick and just hoped to God that Captain Mike Shafer—no! Michael Harrington, investment banker—was one of those macho men who didn’t really notice women until he needed them for something.
