Touch of Betrayal, A Read Online Free PDF Page A

suit, but not one I recognized. Didn’t look military. If memory served, those usually had an American flag on the sleeve.
    I backed away from the cockpit door. Touching surfaces in the plane would probably be more productive than demanding answers from Pierce when he was in silent mode. And a huge plus to that plan was that my fingertip images were blatantly honest. No secrets. My ESP didn’t censor stuff like human beings did.
    Starting in the galley would be best because, hey, that’s where the coffee packets were stored, and a hot cup of… my thoughts trailed off as I observed the modern kitchen. Countertops in a soft shade of peach, a microwave, and double sink. Yeah, the sinks were smaller than the ones in Mitch’s kitchen, but still. It was nicely appointed, as all private aircraft probably were, seeing as how they belonged to the rich. Or criminals. Or maybe super-spies. I shrugged. It didn’t matter who the plane belonged to, I had to find out what was going on.
    My fingers curled around the handle of a stainless steel cupboard and an image of the dead body flashed on my internal screen. Only she was alive. Vibrantly alive. Young. And she was making coffee with a comfortable smile on her face that was real enough to bring out the dimples in her cheeks. There was a gun holstered to her hip, a knife sheath laced to her other thigh, and her eyes held that same glint of danger that Pierce’s did.
    I spun around, covered the five steps to the cockpit door, and tore it open. The top of the pilot’s head was barely visible over the headrest, but it was enough to confirm the thick head of sandy brown hair. Ignoring him, I turned to the right and focused on the top of Pierce’s black, shaggy, in-need-of-a-cut hair. “She was on this plane. My DB was on this plane, and you knew her. Brown hair, bright hazel eyes, weapons out the wazoo and dimples. Spies should not have dimples. It makes them all too human.”
    We hit a bump of turbulence that knocked me on my ass. I grabbed for the doorframe, ignored the pain shooting through my hip, and hauled myself up. A mix of anger and curiosity rode my nerves, and I wanted answers. Preferably before the plane landed in Hawaii. “Who is she? Was she?”
    Pierce’s focus remained on the instrument panel. He flicked a switch, then turned and scanned me, probably for injuries. His jaw tightened into a hard line. “She was one of us. You sure your fingers read the images correctly?”
    He knew better than to ask, but I gave him the courtesy of a nod.
    The shadows under his eyes had deepened, so whoever the woman had been, he knew her well enough to show the loss in the chiseled edge of his voice. Intimately? Was she important to him? And I’d just blurted out that she was the corpse.
    “Got a plane to fly, Belisama. Get some sleep. You’ll need it, ’cause there won’t be much down time in Hawaii.”
    Guilt had me backing out of the cockpit.
    I started the coffee brewing, then began pacing the wide aisle. With only a few comfy-type chairs and conveniently placed tables, there was a lot of space for me to move around. The interior of the cabin was done in beige and blue. Soothing colors. There were television monitors, throw pillows, and a couple of cozy-looking down comforters. Definitely not a commercial aircraft.
    Another bout of turbulence had me grabbing for something solid, so I buckled in, leaned my head back and let my eyelids drift closed. I needed to touch things, find out more about this female spy, and use the bathroom. As soon as the turbulence settled down.
    The snap-click of the cockpit door opening roused me. I shook the sleep from my brain. How the hell had I fallen asleep, my untouched cup of cold coffee still sitting on the table next to me?
    “Want a fresh cup?” The sandy-haired dude bent to collect my stale brew.
    I stopped him, sticking my hand out, offering to shake. “Everly Gray Hunt. And you are?”
    He avoided my hand. “Your pilot.”
    Levering