Page 55 of Guarded Hearts
Layne sat back in her seat, spine pinned to the leather.
Billionaire?
It made so much more sense now. The private jet decked out in top-grade leather. The way that everyone stopped and listened when Carson called the shots.
As if he felt her stare burning into his back, he swung to pierce her in his gaze.
She mouthed,Billionaire?
He turned away, giving the pilot his attention and continuing to argue with him. After a few more moments, he stomped down the aisle to her.
She shot to her feet. “Carson, what is going on?”
“I’ve got money.”
It took her a moment to catch up with his brain. Shaking her head, she said, “I didn’t mean that. I mean what is happening that you want to leave Italy? We just touched down. What was that phone call you took?”
With each question she fired off, her voice rose in pitch as fear claimed her. She thought they had left Wyoming to reach safety. Now here they were in another bad situation.
He had his phone out, thumbs darting over the keyboard.
“Carson—”
“Give me a minute.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. Her thick cardigan sweater was perfect for chilly airplanes, but it didn’t shield her from the icy fear moving through her.
Carson released one of his trademark grunts. The man had a language all of his own, comprised just of sounds he made. A certain low clearing of his throat indicated that he wanted to argue but would refrain. That wasn’t the grunt she just heard, though.
The one she’d heard sent goose bumps skittering down her arms without him muttering a single word.
She grabbed his forearm. “Carson! What is going on?”
He raised his head from his phone and looked her dead in the eyes. “We’re catching a cab.”
“To where?”
“We’re going to a hotel for the night—or for the day, with the time change.” He pocketed his phone and started pulling their luggage out of the overhead compartment.
She grabbed her handbag and slipped the long strap across her body. “Tell me what’s happening.”
He shot her a look as if struggling to decide how much to tell her, if anything at all.
Squaring her shoulders, she riveted her gaze on him. “Who called?”
“Denver,” he bit off, yanking up the handle of her rolling luggage.
“Your brother Denver?”
“Yes.”
Again, she fought with her vision of Denver, who had been an annoying young kid when she and Carson started spending time together during their summers in Wyoming. She shook her head to dispel the image of the shaggy-haired, bratty boy who liked shooting foam darts at them through his toy blaster or putting frogs in her lemonade glass.
“What did Denver want?”
“A matter of national security is going down here. Right now. He advised us to turn the plane around and leave.”
She sputtered. “What kind of matter? Like a bombing?”