ESCANTA: A James Thomas Novel (The James Thomas Series Book 1) (2 page)

The plane began to taxi toward the runway and Mak placed her hands on the armrests. She had a moderate fear of flying, and takeoff was her least favorite part of the experience. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her anxious mind, and let her head drop back against the headrest. But as the plane sped up, so did her anxiety. Her fingers wrapped around the armrests and she held her breath as the front wheels came up. Only once the plane had finished climbing did she pry her hands away and move them into her lap.

Wanting to distract herself, Mak pulled her laptop from the side compartment and fired it up. If there was one way she’d learned to deal with her aviation-related anxiety, other than taking a sleeping tablet, it was to work. She opened her email program and finished responding to those she hadn’t gotten to in the car.

Mak had made a name for herself quickly, taking on high-risk cases, and so far it was a strategy that had paid off—in terms of career success at least. State prosecutors earned peanuts compared to private lawyers, but Mak didn’t care so much about the money as long as she had enough to live comfortably in New York City.

But the case she was currently working on, the triple murder, was a difficult case and the odds were stacked against her. She had faith, though, and she believed in herself. She could do it. She had to—for the families of the victims, and to prevent a murderer from walking free and hurting another living soul.

Mak was just sending the last email when the mysterious man from 9C walked past her, toward the front of the plane. She raised her eyes just enough to observe him. He was tall, over six-foot—she guessed—and well built. He was not bulky like a bodybuilder, but he looked strong. And he walked with a confident ease—long, purposeful strides—but Mak couldn’t imagine where he was going other than the bathroom.

When he disappeared behind the curtain, Mak released the breath she had been subconsciously holding. He was certainly attractive and she noted she hadn’t been the only one watching him walk by. But it wasn’t just the olive skin, dark eyes and shaved head that made him mysterious. It was something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on. It was unsettling and again she wished she could get off the airplane before he returned to his seat.
Far too late
,
Mak
.

Mak’s email alert captured her focus once more and she was grateful for the distraction. She turned her eyes from the aisle and back to her screen. It was an email from her assistant, containing a routine update—certainly nothing sufficient to hold her attention at the present moment. It had taken her three hours of email to suppress the anxiety she’d felt upon boarding the plane, and within seconds the mystery-man had resurrected it.

Mak looked up at the restroom signs now and realized they were all green. If he wasn’t in the bathroom, where was he? And what could he possibly be doing?

Five minutes passed and she felt his eyes before she heard him. Her blood spiked with adrenaline and when she looked up, he was looking directly at her. His expression was as unreadable as it had been the first time their eyes had locked. His eyes were like black, bottomless holes but the gaze they generated was commanding. Her chest constricted and she broke eye contact and looked down at her laptop.

As he passed her row she smelled a fine trace of cologne—a masculine, fresh note with a hint of cinnamon that, although faint, insulted her senses. Senses that were already heightened by the alert state of her mind.
As least if he attacks me from behind I’ll know who it is
, she thought.

Mak closed her eyes. Twice he had made eye contact with her, and twice he’d made no effort to hide it. Her state of unease made it more difficult to rationally analyze the situation and his behavior. She mentally profiled him, like she did for a witness or defendant, but she still couldn’t work him out. She was usually good at reading people, and that’s probably why she was good at what she did—she knew when the defendants were lying and when to push them. But she got nothing from him. Nothing.

The plane bounced unexpectedly and Mak grabbed the armrests. It quickly settled again and Mak said a quiet thank you—she did not need a bout of turbulence to send her over the edge. She released the in-flight television remote control from the chair and turned on the flight path.

Seven hours to go.

Mak questioned if she’d have had the same reaction to him if the scroll hadn’t already set off her nerves. Was her mind spinning so wildly out of control that she’d built it all up in her head? None of the other passengers seemed fazed by his presence. None of them were cowering in their seats as he walked past. Only her. But then she hadn’t seen him giving any of the other passengers the same look he gave her, either.

Her mind was like a centrifuge, spinning her thoughts around and around. She wished she had been seated in a row behind him so that she could watch him, keep tabs on him. If he was after her, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

I wonder if that’s how Eric felt
? Mak thought. Eric was her husband—her husband who had disappeared thirteen years ago.

Her husband’s disappearance was something she had come to accept over the years. At first, she’d been devastated and concerned. But every night that he hadn’t come home, the worry and anxiety had faded until it ceased to exist—Mak no longer expected him to return. She’d never been able to find out what had happened to him, but she knew him, and his tenacity, and if he met with foul play, he wouldn’t have made it easy to take him, or to hurt him.

Mak and her husband had married young, at the tender age of twenty-two, and if she were being honest it was unlikely that their marriage would have lasted even if he hadn’t gone missing. They were two very ambitious people who put their own needs first. Always. They both wanted success, which is probably why they had connected in the first place, but ultimately that drive would’ve destroyed them. Anyone who’s been married for longer than five minutes will tell you that dedicating all of your time to your career, and none to your spouse, is not a good recipe for a long and happy marriage.

Mak still clearly remembered the night he went missing, as uneventful as it had seemed at the time. She’d been up late studying for a law exam when he called saying he’d be home within the hour. It was nothing out of the ordinary that he had been out late, since he was often at some networking event or another, and she’d barely responded, more irritated than anything that he’d disrupted her study just to tell her he’d be home soon. But four hours later when she’d looked up from the textbooks her head had been buried in, he still wasn’t home. And he hadn’t walked in the door since.

Some days, like today, Mak thought about her husband, and other days he was completely absent from her thoughts. She had initially hired a private investigator to look for him, after the police had come up with nothing, but they, too, proved fruitless and a waste of money. Eventually, after years without a single answer, she’d given up and moved on with her life. She still wished she knew what had happened to him, though. And she wished she had a body to bury and a chance to say goodbye.

But life wasn’t going to give her that.

“Samuel,” James said, deliberately slowing down to ensure he stayed six paces behind the petite blond who had kept him awake all flight. He’d intended to sleep, as he’d done so little of it lately, but she’d been an unexpected distraction. And an unwelcome one. “Anything to report?”

“No, you need to give me more time, James,” Samuel replied.

James didn’t want to give him more time—he wanted answers, and he wanted them now. He wanted to know who Escanta was, and why they were hunting him.

But he’d also worked with Samuel a long time and he knew the lack of information wasn’t from a lack of trying. James masked his frustration, which he knew better than to take out on Samuel, particularly given his next request.

“Okay. Also, I need you to run a report on a woman named Makaela Ashwood. She was sitting in seat 6A on my flight. Send it to my phone when you’re done.”

James dropped farther behind when Makaela didn’t turn at the exit to the baggage carousel, but instead continued toward the airport exit.
She wasn’t in London long, then, if she’d only taken carry on
, he thought. He knew she was American, based on the accent he’d picked up when she was talking to the airhostess, so chances were she lived in New York.

“Ah, sure. But why?” Samuel asked.

James didn’t have the answer, or at least a suitable answer. She’d captured his attention from the moment she walked on to the plane. She was stunning with small features and plush lips. But the longer he observed her the more he saw the contradictions in her appearance versus her personality. He’d been watching her, trying to work out why she had him so intrigued, when she’d turned to face him. She met his gaze and she didn’t back down—not even from the look he was giving her. It wasn’t a look intending to scare her, but nor was it a look inviting her to flirt with him. He couldn’t remember being instantly so attracted to another woman, which in equal parts both fascinated and concerned him. Perhaps recent events had affected him more than he realized. Regardless, he wanted to know more about her, even if he intended to do nothing with the information.

“I’m not sure yet,” James said elusively.

Samuel paused but didn’t press him further. “Well, when do you want this by? I can only do so much,” he said, and James could hear him typing as he spoke.

Samuel was a brilliant computer hacker and over the years they had grown so close that James now considered Samuel family. And he was one of only three people James completely trusted.

“Run it now, it shouldn’t take too long, and then get straight back on to Escanta. I want to know what this organization is,” James said, moving into the taxi queue with no intention of catching a cab. He was still watching her, and watching everyone around them—he was always alert, his eyes always darting from point to point. With his past, everything that moved was a potential threat.

“Right, I’ll send it through when it’s done,” Samuel said. “By the way, how did you get her name?”

James grinned. “Let’s just say the airhostesses shouldn’t leave their paperwork lying around,” he said.

Samuel laughed. “I see. I’ll get back to you shortly,” he said before ending the call.

James slid his phone into his pocket.

Makaela looked over her shoulder, as if looking for a shadow. She’d done it several times, and she’d looked uneasy on the flight.
Why is she so anxious? What does she have to fear?
A black car pulled up and a man, who was not the driver, stepped out and ushered her into the car.
Security.
James memorized the number plate as it drove off and then sent it to Samuel.
Why does Makaela Ashwood need security?

James ducked out of the taxi line and walked toward the parking lot, where a
Thomas Security
car was waiting for him. He looked over his own shoulder now, checking for any shadows, but he was safe for the moment. London had been an unexpected trip, and one he wished he hadn’t had to take. But the thing about your past is that it’s never far behind you, and it always catches up with you.

James had been tying up some loose ends for a client in Spain when he noticed he had a shadow other than his own. It had happened in a restaurant. He noticed a pair of eyes looking at him one too many times and his sixth-sense told him not to ignore it. James had a friendly chat with the man in the bathroom, left with the man’s phone, and then had put Samuel to work. Three hours later he was on a flight to London.

James reversed out of the parking bay and exited the lot, driving directly to Thomas Security—his company’s headquarters and his place of residence. Thomas Security was a purpose-built building, and it was the safest place on Earth for him and his brother Deacon, Samuel, and Cami. They had everything they needed in one building, and it was riddled with escape routes. They hadn’t had to use them yet, and hopefully they never would.

When James pulled into the company parking lot he checked his phone: nothing from Samuel. He grabbed his overnight bag, slung it over his shoulder and took the elevator up to his apartment. He went through the motions of unlocking his door—a series of security passes that included fingerprint and retina matches—and then walked into a silent, dark foyer. The curtains were drawn, as they always were, and his apartment looked like a showroom. There was nothing personal—no photographs, no travel mementos, and no family heirlooms. There was no point collecting possessions when you might need to disappear and leave it all behind. And he had no memories, let alone heirlooms, of his family. One of Thomas Security’s best-kept secrets was that the two brothers who ran it were not really brothers at all—at least not biologically. But they had become brothers in every other sense and James thought of Deacon as his brother, as family.

James dropped his bag onto the floor of his bedroom and walked to his ensuite. He stripped off his clothes and stepped underneath the gullying shower, but only for a few minutes. He had to be somewhere, and he was already late.

James threw the towel over his head, drying his shaved scalp and then the rest of his body, and then hung it up, walking naked back to his bedroom. He dressed in a black suit, and debated whether he should wear a bow-tie or a tie. He settled on a tie, knotted it, and then checked his phone again: still no report.

He ran a finger along his brow in frustration. He was itching to call Samuel and find out why it was taking so long, but Samuel didn’t take well to being pestered—James knew this from experience. James also knew that interrupting him constantly was counterproductive. But what could be taking so long? Samuel could create a basic security report in minutes—personal details, bank accounts, employment history, relationship history—it was all readily accessible if you knew where to look and had the access to the files.

James heard his apartment door open but he didn’t panic. There were only four people with a code to his apartment, and for anyone else, it was virtually impassable. James met Cami in the hallway.