Page 95 of Wyatt

“I’m sorry, but the flight has already pulled away from the gate.”

“No!”

The outburst came with a slam onto the desk and even Coco had jumped. Wyatt let out a breath. “No. I need to get on that flight.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Are there any other flights out today?” Coco asked sweetly, her good cop to his Cujo.

“I’m sorry, this is the last flight until Thursday.”

Both Coco and Wyatt blinked at her. “That’sfive days.”

“You could ask Aeroflot, but their next scheduled departure is three days from now.”

Wyatt’s jaw had tightened. Ho-kay. She slipped her hand into his, squeezed.

He looked down at her. “Nope. We’re getting out of here. Today.”

He took her hand and headed toward the Aeroflot desk. “I need you to translate for me.”

She nodded.

Her words to him last night about being just like his father—driven, stubborn, and downright tough—came back to her as he talked first with an Aeroflot official, then someone in the back room, and finally, an Aeroflot flight manager.

Somewhere in there he started handing out dollars. Lots of them.

“Where did you—”

“I came prepared to bail you out of gulag if I had to,” he said.

“I would’ve had to have committed murder to need that much bail money,” she said as they finally exited the terminal, walking out to a cargo plane. An Antonov An-12.

He glanced down at her and lifted an eyebrow.

“I would never do that.”

“Your buddy York did.”

“Actually, both were sort of accidents—”

“Whatever. I don’t like him.”

“Your sister does.”

He drew in a breath. “One problem at a time, please.”

The side door was open, a ladder leading up to the hatch. He climbed up and inside, and she followed.

“Sorry,” he said.

Yeah. Well, “This is what ten thousand dollars buys you?”

He made a face as she slid onto a hard bench. Between the benches was cargo—giant boxes strapped into the center.

“I hope they show a movie.”

He sat down, grimacing, onto the bench.

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