How long was Nick going to give her the silent treatment? He had stopped talking the minute they’d entered the airport.

"You’re being childish."

He didn’t respond. She turned to look at him and noticed how gray his complexion was.

"Are you sick?"

A curt shake of his head was her only answer. Then she noticed his grip on the armrest. "Nick, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong."

"Then why won’t you talk to me?"

"We’ll talk later, after the plane lands… unless…"

"Unless what?"

"We crash and die in a fiery ball."

"You’re joking."

"No, I’m not."

She couldn’t believe it. Macho Man was afraid of flying. He looked like he was going to throw up. His fear was real, and no matter how funny she thought it was, she forced herself to be sympathetic.

"You don’t like flying much, do you?"

"No," he answered curtly before turning to stare out the window again.

"Want to hold my hand?"

"It isn’t funny, Laurant."

She plied his hand away from the armrest and slipped her fingers through his. "I wasn’t teasing. Lots of people don’t like to fly."

"Is that right?"

His grip was firm and she could feel the calluses on his hand. Working man’s hands, but today he was dressed like an executive on Wall Street. Another contradiction, she thought, another layer of his personality she found puzzling and fascinating. Tommy and Nick seemed so different from each other. They certainly had chosen different paths. Her brother was dedicated to the church. He always looked for the good in others, and his primary goal was to save souls.

Nick seemed to have dedicated his life to fighting demons. His job was depressing and unending, and she wasn’t sure if the rewards were worth the price he paid. He seemed so cynical to her. He expected people to be bad, and thus far, he hadn’t been disappointed.

The urge to comfort him took her by surprise. She leaned close and whispered, "We’re almost there."

"We aren’t there until or unless we land."

He was proving to be difficult to comfort. "Landings aren’t dangerous-"

He snorted. "As long as the pilot knows what the hell he’s doing."

"I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. Pilots are trained to land planes."

"Maybe."

"We’ve only got a few more minutes to go. We’re making our final descent."

His grip on her hand tightened. "How do you know that?"

"The captain just told the attendants to sit down."

"Did you hear the landing gear go down? I sure as hell didn’t hear it."

"I did."

"You’re sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure."

He took a breath and told himself to calm down. "You do know that this is when most accidents happen, don’t you? Pilots misjudge the runway."

"Did you read that somewhere?"

"No, I just figured it out. Simple physics. Things go wrong… human error. Think about it. One man’s trying to ease down over a hundred fifty tons of metal on a couple of little rubber rollers. It’s a damned miracle every time a plane lands."

She maintained a somber expression. "I see. Then you believe that if man were meant to fly, he would be born with wings."

"Something like that."

"Nick?"

"What?" Now he sounded surly.

"In your line of work… don’t you have to dodge bullets… and don’t you go into life-and-death situations sometimes? You’re an FBI agent for heaven’s sake. The cream of the crop. Yet you’re afraid of a little plane ride."

"Ironic, isn’t it?"

She ignored the sarcasm in his voice. "I think you should talk to someone about this. Pete could help. He’s a psychiatrist, and he could surely help you get over this… worry."

He didn’t feel like telling her that Pete’s amusement at his phobia matched hers. "Maybe," he shrugged.

Because he was looking at her, he didn’t notice the ground coming up to meet the plane. The landing was smooth and uneventful, and by the time they had taxied to the gate, Nick’s complexion was looking healthy again.

"Don’t you want to get down on your knees and kiss the ground?" she asked.

"It’s plain cruel to make fun of a man’s phobias, Laurant."

"I wasn’t making fun."

"Sure you were," he replied. He moved into the aisle, flipped open the overhead compartment, and pulled the bags down "You’ve got a real mean streak inside you."

He stepped back so she could stand in front of him. "I do?"

"Yeah. I like that."

She laughed. "Pretty cocky now that you’ve got your feet on the ground, aren’t you?"

"I’m always cocky," he boasted as he nudged her toward the exit.

The airport was surprisingly crowded. As they threaded their way toward the baggage claim area, Nick noticed the number of men admiring Laurant. One man didn’t even try to be subtle. He did a double take, then turned completely around and followed them. Nick responded by throwing his arm around Laurant’s shoulders and pulling her into his side.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you stay close," he answered. He shot the gawker a hostile look, then grinned when the man turned and hurried the other way.

"You wear your skirts too short."

"I do not."

"Okay, then you wear your legs too long."

"What’s the matter with you?"

"Nothing. Keep moving."

He continued to scan faces as they walked through the crowd. He had to let go of her when they reached the escalator. She was frowning at him, but it was too late to take back the comment about her skirt.

An agent was waiting for them outside the baggage area. The car, a 1999 Explorer, was parked in a No Loading zone. The agent handed Nick a folder stuffed with papers and the keys to the car, and then loaded their luggage into the back. Two airport security guards were huddled together on the sidewalk, shaking their heads and muttering over the fact that they couldn’t do anything about the illegally parked vehicle.

The agent drew her attention then when he opened a large black case that was tucked into the rear corner of the cargo area. When she saw the display of weapons, she took an involuntary step back. Nick noticed. "It’s not too late to change your mind."

She straightened her shoulders. "Yes, it is."

The agent opened the passenger door for her, wished her good hunting, and then disappeared inside the terminal.

Nick tossed his jacket into the backseat and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as he got in behind the wheel, pushing the seat back as far as it would go to accommodate his long legs. There was a leather console between them. Inside was a map of Iowa.

Laurant knew the way home, of course, but Nick still checked the route that someone had outlined with yellow Hi-Liter.

"Did you hear what your friend said to me?" she asked.

"What’s that?" he wondered, glancing up from the paper he held in his hand.

"Good hunting."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, we always say that," he explained. "Superstition."

"Like ‘break a leg’ before you go onstage?"

"Yes."

She let him finish reading, and after he’d placed the file folder in the back, she asked, "Was there anything important?"

"Just some update stuff."

"We better get going."

"Are you in a hurry?"

"No, but those security policemen look like they want to cry because they can’t give you a ticket."

Nick waved to the guards as he pulled out into traffic. "Are you hungry?"

"No," she answered. "What about you?"

"I can wait."

"Was there anything in the folder about the letter that man told Tommy he’d mailed to the Kansas City police?"

"No, they still haven’t gotten anything."

"Why would he tell Tommy he’d mailed it when he obviously hadn’t?"

"I don’t know. Maybe he was toying with him. I’ll let Pete figure that one out."

She was silent as Nick maneuvered through the heavy traffic. Once they were on the highway, he rolled up his sleeves and settled back in his seat. He had the next two hours to prepare her. He went through the list of all the things she wasn’t going to do and ended with the same reminder he’d given her at least ten times now.