The Player, The Thief and The Broken Heart - Chapter Eleven - Red Eye Flight

Agent Le Bon settled into the seat next to his minder, Agent Matins. He checked his watch. Although they were traveling by private jet, they were flying red eye and they would be landing at some Godforsaken hour, bleary-eyed and exhausted. He glanced at her several times but she kept her gaze fixed on the back of the seat in front of them. Her grey suit jacket was buttoned primly to her neck. On her lap she hugged a black leather briefcase on its edge, covering most of her chest with it. The way she held herself in the self-constricted space, one would think they were flying economy.

"Is that the money?" Agent Le Bon asked, primarily to ensure she hadn't been replaced by a particularly lifelike mannequin. Less waxy, at any rate.

"Yes. And I'm not letting either of you out of my sight."

Obviously civilised conversation wasn't on her agenda. He never liked to sedate himself on flights, so he had to find some way to amuse himself the next eight or so hours. They sat in silence while the jet pulled out of the gate, taxied down the runway and lifted off. Once they reached cruising altitude, a stewardess came around. Le Bon ordered his usual gin martini with a twist of lemon, while Matins asked for a tonic water with vodka, no ice. Not a teetotaller; that was one thing she had going for her, he noted. And her nose, which he could only see in profile, was straight and quite well-shaped. She had delicate, sculpted features. On a person in possession of a soul, they'd be quite attractive.

Repeated attempts at pleasant small talk were rebuffed, so finally he said to her, "I sense some hostility behind that pretty face of yours. That will change. Before this trip is over, that pretty face of yours will be waking up next to mine. Watch."

Precisely as he'd hoped, he'd crawled under her skin like a nasty tropical insect. Her eyes didn't so much as flicker, but her fine-boned jaw tensed as she said, "I suppose you're expecting nuclear annihilation and that you'll be the only man left on Earth?"

Ooh, aiming straight for the jugular, that one. He raised his glass to her, winked rakishly and said, "I'm always up for a challenge."

She faced him directly, nostrils flared. "Climbing Mt. Everest is a challenge. I'm saying for you to back off or you'll be slapped with a sexual harassment suit so hard your head will spin off your neck."

He gazed out the window and smirked. She was so prickly, like a cast-iron sea urchin. However, he'd yet to meet a single woman who hadn't melted in the palm of his hand once he'd set his sights on her. Hundreds, if not thousands of people had climbed Mount Everest, but how many men out there would ever be able to soften a women like her, seduce her, warm his way through that frozen stare and the fortress of ice she'd built around herself.

In the window's reflection, he caught her eyeing him, her upper lip curled. Swap the matronly clothes and hair and she could easily be a Prima Ballerina or star Soprano. With sharp cheekbones, aquiline nose and swannish neck, she could be quite beautiful if she wanted to be. The key was getting her to want to be.

"I know what you're thinking and the answer is 'no'," she said. "Unlike you, I take my job seriously. There are certain lines I never, ever, cross."

"I never cross any lines either," he said. "I stamp them out with my foot first, until they no longer exist." Time to deflate her ego a little. "Would you mind fetching me a blanket from the overhead bin, please? You company is putting me to sleep better than any sedative I've ever tried."

Shock, or perhaps a tinge of ... disappointment ... flashed across her face. Inside, he felt a burst of triumph. Then she shrugged, and signalled for the stewardess. The stewardess handed her a blanket and she held it out to him. "Need me to unwrap it for you as well?"

Ignoring her sarcastic tone, he smiled. "That would be very kind."

She let out a noise halfway between a sigh and a grunt as she removed the plastic. She then shook it out and let it fall onto his lap. He wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders and torso, set a tiny pillow under his head. He nestled against the wall of the aircraft cabin. "Don't let me oversleep, thank-you," he mumbled, pretending he was already nodding off. He'd bide his time, wait for her guard to slip, and then would he strike. They never declined him for long.