Hitched!. Ruth Jean Dale

speed.

      “THIS IS A HIJACKING!” A rough male voice sliced through the flight attendant’s smooth recitation. “Everybody stay where you are and nobody will get hurt.”

      The flight attendant’s voice shot up into a squawk of protest and the intercom went dead.

      Ha, ha, Maxine thought crossly. Just what I need—a comedian serving the pretzels.

      She glanced at the darkly handsome man in the aisle seat, curious to know how he’d react to this less-than-funny prank. His eyes were closed, so perhaps he was sleeping. That gave her an opportunity to admire him for just a moment.

      Rand Taggart wore a butter-soft leather jacket, a shirt with an expensive logo, khaki trousers and pricey leather sneakers. And he wore it all with the kind of nonchalant grace that shouted “Money!” without him ever opening his mouth.

      It was more than that, though; the photograph definitely hadn’t done him justice. He was so damn good-looking that she’d caught her breath in surprise at first sight of him. He had a square-jawed suntanned face, dark hair that curled slightly around his ears and temples, long-lashed eyes a shade of blue-gray she’d never encountered…

      And a natural arrogance not unexpected, under the circumstances. Nevertheless she was determined to strike up a conversation with him. After taking off her eyeglasses, she rubbed idly at the bridge of a nose unaccustomed to their weight. No way did she intend to waste this flight to San Antonio, especially at first-class prices, when she’d gone to so much trouble to—

      The intercom opened again in a hail of static. “We’re being hijacked!” the flight attendant shrieked. “This is not a joke!” A series of grunts and gasps and the sounds of a scuffle followed.

      Rand sat bolt upright. “I close my eyes for five minutes and we’re being hijacked?” he demanded. Half rising, he looked about.

      Maxine stayed where she was, aware of the increasingly anxious buzz around her. People were confused, their voices growing louder in alarm. From the row of seats directly behind, a child let out a screech that cut through Maxine like a blade.

      Even so, she refused to believe the plane was actually being hijacked. No way! She’d been nervous about booking this flight, but fear of flying wasn’t why. Normally as subtle as a sledgehammer, she’d set herself a task that depended on subtlety. She wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted by—

      “Hijacked! The hell you say!” This new, masculine voice came from behind the open curtains separating first and tourist classes. “Don’t worry, Robyn, somebody’s gettin’ cute. We’ll see if the FAA thinks it’s so damn funny.”

      Rand sat down suddenly, his arm pressing Maxine back against her seat. “There’s a guy with a gun comin’ up the aisle,” he said, a touch of Southern steel creeping into his mid-Atlantic accent. “Lean back and keep quiet. Don’t do anything to attract attention.”

      The flight attendant’s shaky voice rose above the babble with a boost from the intercom. “Please, keep calm and nobody will be hurt. Do everything they say.”

      “How the hell many are there?” Rand muttered, not turning to see. “Jeez, I don’t believe this!”

      A man shoved past, heading for the front of the plane. Turning at the forward seat in first class, he glared back at the hapless passengers. Maxine caught her breath on a little moan at the sight of the guy’s menacing expression.

      It didn’t help that he was waving a pistol around in one hand while exhibiting a hand grenade in the other. “Everybody shut up!” he roared, red-rimmed eyes glowing. “Next person who opens his mouth will get a grenade shoved down his throat.”

      Maxine snapped her teeth together with a click. In her immediate vicinity, all sound ceased except for the snuffling of the child in the seat behind. Those in tourist class apparently couldn’t hear the man’s warning, though, for it was beginning to sound like pandemonium back there.

      “Goddammit!” The hijacker strode back down the aisle, still brandishing his weapons. Rand leaned slightly in, his shoulder touching hers until the man had gone past.

      “Two of them.” He was looking at her, but she knew he was thinking out loud. “I hope to God nobody gets any bright—”

      The intercom crackled and a new voice came on, a voice rough and threatening. “You people shut up and listen! We’ve got guns and grenades and we’re ready to use them unless we get some damn cooperation!”

      He’d convinced Maxine, and everybody else, as well, it seemed. Suddenly she could have heard a pin drop. There was something utterly persuasive about his threats. Wide-eyed, she couldn’t help counting on Rand Taggart for reassurance. He shook his head in silent warning, then took her hand and squeezed it.

      He must think she was on the verge of hysteria or something. She wasn’t that weak or stupid…but there was some comfort to be found in his steady grip nonetheless. She didn’t pull away.

      “Listen up,” the disembodied voice continued. “I’ve got a gun pointed straight at the captain’s head and my partner will keep you folks in line out there or else—you got that? Try anything and I will surely shoot the shit outa this pilot, in which case we’re all dead meat.” He didn’t sound as if he cared.

      The intercom went dead. Rand grimaced. “I’m taking him at his word,” he said. “If everybody keeps cool, we should be all right.”

      Small comfort. “Do you think—”

      The intercom cut her off. “This is your captain speaking.”

      Maxine felt a leap of hope at the new, confident voice—hope dashed by his next words.

      “If everybody will just remain calm and cooperative, I’m sure we can work something out with these gentlemen. The seat-belt sign will remain on and I’d personally appreciate it if you’d all stay buckled up. Mr….?”

      “Smart-ass,” the other voice snarled. The sound of a blow, a groan.

      When the pilot spoke again, his voice was no longer calm and assured. “This gentleman h-has instructed me to, uh, has given me a new flight plan. Sit tight and pray. We have plenty of fuel and no intention of doing anything foolish.”

      “Oh, gosh…” Maxi swallowed hard. “This isn’t sounding very good.”

      THE WOMAN in the front row likely agreed, because she burst into hysterical sobs. Rand didn’t say a word, just leaned back and closed his eyes. At least his own problems were taking a back seat, what with overwrought passengers, weeping children and erratic flying patterns.

      Not that there was a helluva lot he could do, which was frustrating. Beyond occasional comforting words for the woman in the seat next to him—Maxine something-or-other—he was powerless. When this whole thing started, what little color she had in her face had disappeared, apparently never to return.

      “Can’t we do anything?” she finally blurted at him.

      “Like what?” She must be nuts.

      “You’re a man. Men are supposed to know these things.”

      He felt his temper soar. “If you think I’m gonna get shot trying to be a hero, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

      “I probably do.” She settled back, radiating disapproval.

      Well, hell. What did she expect? Now he had something new to brood about.

      Around them, many of the passengers were climbing beyond the point of no return on the hysteria scale. Maxine, although she’d shown no signs of losing it, was obviously scared to death. Hell, so was he. He should be more understanding.

      He kept his voice low and easy. “Did you say you live in San Antonio?”

      She gave him a startled glance and shook her head.

      “Maxine,” he said reproachfully, “I can’t