“Hell, Faythe, I’m pretty sure that never touching you again would hurt worse than the nastiest death Calvin could think up for me.”

Nineteen

We arrived at the Roswell airport with an hour to spare, and since we had no luggage to check, we made a quick trip into a gift shop for an extra T-shirt and toiletry essentials for me—the guys had what little they needed in their backpacks—then picked up a new cell phone for Jace at a kiosk near our gate. Our plane left on time, and after a short layover in Dallas, we settled in for a longer flight to Lexington.

The plane had a row of three seats on one side of the aisle, and two on the other. Jace and I had adjoining seats on the two-seat side, with Marc right in front of us. But when we boarded the plane, Marc took Jace’s window seat, and tossed an offhand gesture toward the one he’d passed over.

Jace scowled but took the seat in front of him without comment. For which I was endlessly grateful.

“So, what’s the plan from here on out?” Marc asked once we were in the air, as a pair of flight attendants began the beverage service at the front of the plane. “What kind of proof are we looking for?”

I’d thought it over during my long walk from the thunderbirds’ nest, but had yet to hit upon a stroke of brilliance. Or even sufficiency. “Um…I was thinking we could find the feathers Brett was going to bring.”

“Why would Malone keep them?”

“I’m kind of hoping he never found them. Brett said he had them hidden, and right now Kaci’s life is riding on the hope that Brett died before he could retrieve them.”

As Marc thought, his expression cycled through doubt, skepticism and raw fear. For Kaci, most likely. I’d never seen him afraid for himself, because Marc was truly, completely selfless. Except where our relationship was concerned.

Finally he faced me, leaning with his temple against the back of his seat. “Do you have any idea where he hid them?”

“I was hoping Jace might have a little insight to share with us.”

“How ’bout it, Hammond?” Marc kicked the back of Jace’s chair. Jace dropped his seat back as far as it would go, wedging it against Marc’s knees. “Damn it!” Marc shoved Jace’s headrest, but Jace only grinned at me through the now-wide crack between his seat and the vacant one next to him.

“I don’t know. Under his mattress? That’s where he used to hide stuff he didn’t want Mom to find. If you want anything more creative than that, I’ll have to think about it. After my nap.” With that, he winked at me and leaned against the window, out of sight, without raising his seat.

“What the hell is his problem?” Marc shoved Jace’s chair one more time, then twisted to face me more fully, obviously uncomfortable in his newly tight quarters. “I swear, if he wasn’t a damn good fighter, I’d send him home and ask for Vic instead.”