The Hitman

The Flight

Nick Sievers' POV

"What are you doing?" Anderson questioned.

I waved her off and continued searching through the suitcase.

"You realize that's private property, right?" she asked. "What you're doing is illegal."

I smirked. "Does it look like I care?"

Anderson frowned. "No, not really. It's just....you know, I'm part of the FBI? If you're going to steal something, could you make it a little more discreet?"

I continued rummaging through the suitcase. Typical Hawaiian tourist shirt, no. Phone charger, no. Underwear, no—wait, ew. I flung it across the floor.

"Are you going to pick that up?" Anderson asked. "I mean, we can't exactly just leave underwear lying around the luggage compartment."

"You pick it up if it's that important," I responded. Anderson opened her mouth to protest, but huffed instead.

"There!" I cried.

I held up a pair of black sunglasses and smiled. I slid them onto my face and instantly felt more relaxed. The way the plastic hugged my ears eased me immediately.

Anderson returned, holding the underwear with two fingers. She dropped it into the suitcase, face contorting in disgust, and brushed her hands off on her clothes.

"Um, Sievers?" she asked. "We're in an airplane's luggage compartment, where there's barely any light. Why, exactly, do you need sunglasses?" She was right. The only light came from her phone's flashlight. But that's not the only reason someone wears sunglasses.

I shrugged. "We all have our quirks."

"And I take it those don't belong to you, either?"

I chuckled and sat down against the curved wall. "Of course not."

Anderson sighed and looked around. "Do you know how impossible you are to deal with?"

"Aldridge seems to bear me," I answered, leaning against the cool metal behind me.

Anderson suddenly knelt down very close to me and jabbed a finger at my chest. "Listen. I know your type. You try to convince women you love them, then rip their hearts out. And I won't let you do the same thing to Brook."

Brook. No one called her that. Anderson must have been closer to her than she let on.

I nodded. "You keep to yourself, and I'll do the same."

I glanced around the lonely space, stacked high with suitcases of all different colors and sizes. If I wasn't sitting right next to a freaking FBI agent, I would be searching through all the delights just waiting to be stolen.

Sighing, I scanned the room for escape routes. The bay door that the luggage entered and exited through was drawn up, and there was another door that presumably led to one of the main airplane cabins.

"Why so quiet?" Anderson asked.

I looked at her. "No one plans a murder out loud."

Anderson shifted and opened her mouth to say something, but there was a sudden commotion. I stood up, as did Anderson. She turned off the flashlight on her phone and motioned for me to follow her. We ducked behind a pile of suitcases.

"I know I heard voices...." a voice said.

Two pairs of footsteps clanked against the metal floor. I patted my pocket for the knife, but it wasn't there. I cursed inwardly. I had forgotten to retrieve it from the body it was stuck in.

Besides, Anderson might have tackled me if I pulled a knife on a person. 

The footsteps grew closer, and I crept away. Anderson followed, but her foot must have caught a suitcase.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as a pile of suitcases toppled to the floor. A bright light instantly shone in my face, and both Anderson and I put our hands up.

"Well, what do we have here? Two stowaways. Too cheap to buy your own tickets, eh? Had to sneak onboard?" the man questioned. He must have been an air marshal.

Suddenly, my arms were yanked behind me. What the heck?

Of course. I had forgotten there were two of them.

I kept waiting for Anderson to pull out her FBI badge, but she never did. I frowned. What was her game?

Cool metal pressed against my wrists. Handcuffs.

I glanced at Anderson. How were we going to explain this?