A Bride For The Taking. Sandra Marton

seatmate yawned loudly. ‘You don’t really expect to find Alexander standing around out there?’ He yawned again and settled back in his seat. ‘Old Jaacov is tucked away in a private compartment up front, sleeping the sleep of the angels. Which is what I intend to do, Oliver. If you wake me again, it’d better be for a damned good reason.’

      There already was a damned good reason for staying awake, Dorian thought. Mechanical troubles, the steward had said, but there still wasn’t a mechanic in sight—there was only that cluster of men, drawn tightly together, in what appeared to be deep conversation.

      She stirred uneasily. Something was up, but whatever was happening, the reporters would be the last to know—unless they found out for themselves.

      Her pulse thudded as she got to her feet. The cabin was in darkness, window shades pulled against the pale morning light. Everyone was asleep—at least, they seemed to be, and the steward was nowhere to be seen.

      Still, she had to be careful.

      She moved quietly, slipping towards the front of the cabin and the door that stood ajar. Her heels clinked lightly on the metal boarding stairs and she held her breath, waiting for someone to shout a warning. But the steward hadn’t heard her, and neither had the Dark Suits. They were on the opposite side of the plane—she could see them if she leaned out a little—and they were too caught up in conversation to notice anything else.

      Dorian peered to where the ghostly hangar loomed against the lightening sky. Its door stood open. The interior was dark. The only thing she could see was the glint of metal and—and a figure, a tall figure wearing an embroidered white shirt.

      She looked around quickly. No one had noticed her yet. There was an open stretch of ground between the plane and the hangar, but if she moved quickly enough... There was a story here, she was sure of it, something that would give her the angle she needed, that would separate her first dispatch from everyone else’s.

      Besides, what was the absolute worst that could happen if she got caught? A dressing-down from someone in the Barovnian delegation? Hell, any reporter worth the name had lived through that and worse. You were supposed to go after stories aggressively, and if you stepped on toes while you did, well, that was just part of the game.

      Still, her adrenalin was pumping as she slipped out from the shadow of the plane. The hangar suddenly seemed a million miles away; her breath was whistling in and out of her lungs by the time she reached it.

      She stepped inside the door and flattened against the wall. Her eyes swept the cavernous space. Yes. There was a plane, a small, sleek jet. But the man she’d followed—he was nowhere to be seen.

      The jet blocked her view of the rear of the hangar. He was probably back there somewhere. She’d just have to check.

      Dorian swallowed. There was a sharply metallic taste in her mouth. It was fear, but there was nothing to be afraid of. After all, what could possibly—?

      A sudden loud whine filled the hangar. She spun around, hand to her throat, and as she did the whining noise increased until it was a roar.

      Dorian’s eyes widened. The plane—her plane—was—oh, God, it was moving. It was moving! It was racing down the runway and—

      A hand, hard as steel, fell on her shoulder, the fingers biting sharply into her flesh.

      ‘What in hell are you doing here?’ a harsh, angry voice demanded.

      She swung around again and stared into the furious face of the man she’d been following.

      ‘The—the plane,’ she stammered. ‘It’s leaving!’

      His mouth curved downwards. ‘I asked you a question, Miss Oliver. What in God’s name are you doing here?’

      Dorian shook her head. ‘Didn’t you hear me? Our plane—it’s taken off. It’s left us behind.’

      He laughed coldly. ‘A brilliant assessment. I suppose these are the superb sorts of intellectual skills that make you the fine reporter you are.’

      ‘Dammit, don’t you understand?’ She twisted away from his hand. ‘The plane to Barovnia just took off.’

      He looked at her for a long, silent moment, and then he nodded. ‘Yes.’ His tone was clipped. ‘It did exactly that.’

      ‘But—but how could it? How could that happen? Didn’t they know that we—?’

      ‘How did you get off that plane?’

      ‘The same way you did. I simply—’

      She cried out as he caught hold of her again. ‘There’s nothing simple about it, Miss Oliver. You were told to stay on board.’

      ‘Let go of me. Do you hear me?’

      ‘You were given orders.’

      ‘I don’t take “orders”,’ Dorian said sharply.

      His mouth thinned. ‘So it would seem.’

      Dorian’s heart was slowing as things began to fall into place. There’d been a mistake, that was apparent. The plane had taken off without them, and if her absence hadn’t yet been noticed surely his would be. The plane would turn around and come back for them in just a few minutes.

      ‘Pretty sloppy security,’ she said smugly.

      ‘Yes.’ His voice was grim. ‘My thoughts precisely.’

      ‘I mean, if they didn’t notice that you were missing—’

      ‘Didn’t anyone try to stop you from leaving, Miss Oliver?’

      ‘It’s going to make a terrific story, though. “Two left behind at...”’ She cried out as his grasp tightened. ‘You’re hurting me!’

      ‘Two? Is that all your report will say? Just, “two”?’ He stepped closer to her and his voice became a purr. ‘No names, Miss Oliver?’

      ‘I don’t know your name,’ she said, gritting her teeth against the pressure of his hand. ‘And even if I did—’

      ‘Don’t you?’

      ‘I only know that you’ve been the perfect gentleman from the moment we met.’ She forced a cold smile to her lips. ‘Manhandling me in the car, manhandling me now—’

      ‘You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing.’ His face darkened. ‘Just why the hell did you follow me?’

      ‘I didn’t follow you. Not exactly. I just knew something was going on.’

      His hand fell away from her. ‘Did you.’

      His tone was flat, turning the question into a statement. Dorian felt a chill tiptoe up her spine. In the excitement, she’d almost forgotten why she’d come after him in the first place, her conviction that something was happening that no one was supposed to know about.

      Now, the feeling returned. She’d been right; something was going on.

      But what? And what part did this man have in it?

      Her chin rose in defiance. ‘Yes,’ she said, bluffing, ‘and you might as well give me the details.’

      He gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘An exclusive interview, is that it?’

      ‘Why not?’ Dorian looked outside. The sun had risen; the sky was a pale, cloudless blue. ‘We’ve plenty of time. The plane’s not in sight yet, and—’

      He laughed again and put his hands on his hips. ‘Isn’t it?’ he said, as if she’d made some clever joke.

      She hesitated. There was something in the way he was watching her that made her feel uneasy.

      ‘For a start, who are you, anyway?’

      ‘I thought you already had all the facts, Miss Oliver.’

      ‘I never