State of Mind - 6. Chapter 6

Crawford County airport was little more than a pub with a runway attached. There were aviation offices, with wide oak doors and engraved nameplates, but they were locked, and Grier noted a layer of dust on the fancy brass handles. He walked past without even bothering to knock. Around the other side of the terminal, a bar, complete with Pacman and a listing pool table, promised 'the coldest, most refreshing draft beer in town'.

There was a man huddled over his alcohol who looked promising. Tie askew, he was mumbling at the television, nursing a half-empty glass of piss-colored beer. The bartender was nowhere in sight. Grier stepped up and cleared his throat. "I need access to the tarmac, if you please. My plane is waiting."

"Oh yeah?" The man glanced over his shoulder. He took another long draw from his glass, depositing a foam mustache across his upper lip, and spun around on his bar stool. "That's your plane out there?"

"Yes." He'd glimpsed it through the fence. Keev's Lear was unmistakable. Flamboyant, but state of the art. Grier has used it more than once.

"It's missing a proper flight plan."

"That's because I don't want you to know where I'm going."

"You—" The man lumbered off his stool. He reeked of cheap beer. "You need to file a flight plan. That part's not optional, sir." He poked at Grier's chest with one chubby finger.

It was the poking that snapped Grier's temper. Lightning-quick, he grabbed the man's hand and squeezed. He reached into his mind and did the same. The man's eyes bulged. "Your interest in my private affairs is flattering," Grier said, voice low and calm, "but I won't be filing a flight plan. In fact, as soon as that plane has cleared the runway, you'll forget it was ever here."

The man's eyes lost focus. "That's right," he wheezed, pliant in Grier's grip. "I will."

"And I'll add, if I may, that you are a disgusting pig."

"Yes!" Bobbing his head made the man's double chin wiggle. "I am."

As a rule, such petty games were beneath him, but the day had been long. Grier could practically taste Keev's expensive scotch, and all he wanted was to be air-born so he could drink himself into the oblivion of sleep. At his current state of exhaustion, it wouldn't take much. And what trouble could Aleck get into while 35,000 feet above the earth? The trip should be peaceful.

He released the man's hand. "Your agreement pleases me. Shall we?"

"Let me just get the keys." The man knocked over a barstool in his rush to do Grier's bidding. He charged out the door like a bull, huffing for air after three steps. Grier's lip twisted; calling the man a pig had been more accurate than he'd realized. He was righting the stool when the bartender pushed through the swinging doors that connected the main area to the kitchen. He frowned at the abandoned beer. "Where'd Stu go?"

"He'll be along." Grier nudged at the bartender's mind, then rolled his eyes. "Go back to your internet porn."

The bartender blinked but obeyed without a word. The door swung shut behind him, and Grier took advantage of the unexpected solitude. He sent a tentative thought in Aleck's direction, and – to his surprise – received one in return. Nothing so complicated or cumbersome as words. Just a gentle return push: all clear. A refreshing turn of events, but bound not to last considering the way his luck had failed him so far that day. He thought again of Keev's well-stocked bar, and his mouth watered.

Stu returned, a large ring of keys in hand. If he knew what even a quarter of them were for, Grier would be shocked. "Excellent. Let's be on our way." He shooed Stu out the door. The nearest gate just happened to be the one closest to Keev's Learjet. Grier's eyes narrowed when he saw Aleck waiting for them. The night breeze was cool, and the whelp was propped up against the fence, shivering. Grier's bags were at his feet.

"I told you to wait in the car." A thorough once-over told him everything Aleck's stubborn silence didn't. The man's lips were pressed into a thin line, and he was clutching his arms close to his chest. Grier frowned. "Take a pill."

Aleck started to shake his head, then winced. "No."

Obstinate idiot. Grier approved of the effort, but the last thing he wanted was Aleck writhing in pain for the whole trip. No one would get any sleep. "We'll talk about it onboard." He accepted Aleck's silence as tacit agreement.

Stu began sifting through the keys, mumbling to himself as he held one after another up to the light. Aleck rubbed his temple while he watched. "Problem with the locals?"

"Not at all," Grier replied.

Stu stopped fussing with the keys and extended his hand to Aleck. "Hello! My name is Stu. I'm a pig."

Aleck shot Grier a dirty look. Grier shrugged, smile playing at his lips while Aleck shook the man's hand, then squeezed his arm. "You're not a pig." He reinforced his words by removing Grier's original subliminal suggestion and then thanked him for his help.

Didn't it figure that Grier had gone fifteen years without a partner, only to be saddled at this juncture with a god-damned boy scout. "Don't confuse the nice man, Aleck."

Aleck gave Stu's arm a final pat. "Was that necessary?"

"He was curious about our destination." And rude, not to mention repulsive. Grier had the facts on his side.

"I am," Stu piped up, dropping the keys again. "Curious. It's my job." Grier's temper began to simmer, a fact not lost on Aleck. Stepping forward, he put himself between the two. The sudden move sent him stumbling, but he caught a handful of fencing before he toppled. Only the strictest measure of self-control stopped Grier from reaching to steady him.

"Of course you are," Aleck said. "And your job's important." He took the heavy ring of keys and slipped them into Stu's pocket. Then he placed his hand over the gate latch. A moment later, the lock disengaged.

Grier's eyes narrowed, but impressed won out over angry. "Neat trick. Could you have mentioned it before?"

Aleck shrugged. "I've been able to tumble locks since I was five. Anyway, you still needed to deal with the flight plan issue."

Wobbling, he turned, and this time Grier didn't fight the urge. He elbowed Stu out of the way and slipped an arm around Aleck's waist. "Through being a hero?" he snarled in his ear.

Aleck shivered, but didn't answer.

"Have a safe trip!" Stu called as they slipped through the gate and started across the tarmac. "Where are you going again?"

"Now that's a man who takes his job seriously," Aleck said with a raspy chuckle.

Behind them, the Learjet's engine roared to life. Their little drama was being observed. Aleck turned back to answer, placing him chest to chest with Grier. He had to yell to be heard over the noise. "Disney World. It's my first time."

Stu shifted from one foot to the other. The keys jingled in his pocket. "Really?"

"It's his dream to ride the teacups," Grier said.

"Oh! I love the teacup ride." Stu waved.

Grier spun back to the plane, dragging Aleck with him. "I'll refrain from making all the obvious jokes."

"Not on my account, I hope. I can't get enough of your clever repartee."

If the barb had been delivered with dry humor instead of repressed pain, Grier may have enjoyed the exchange. But Aleck was mentally and physically compromised, and it was simple enough to call the pull in Grier's gut concern rather than the far more dangerous alternative.

The pilot met them at the base of the steps. Unlike any pilot Grier had ever seen, he wore ripped denim shorts and a tropical print button-down. The words Elvis Lives were tattooed across his left bicep. Black, curly hair protruded from beneath his Chicago Cubs ball cap. He greeted Grier and Aleck with a curt nod. "Gertrude and tagalong?"

The whine of the engine swallowed Grier's bark of laughter. "That's us."

"You Gertrude?"

Grier nodded.

The pilot gave Aleck a thorough once-over. "You pass." To Aleck's raised eyebrow, he said, "Orders from the boss. If you were too pretty, I was supposed to leave you behind."

Aleck's scowl was priceless. Grier drew him closer. "That sounds like Keev. Good thing you look like you've come through a war," he said into Aleck's ear as the pilot turned and climbed back into the plane.

"I'm sure your friend thought you were bringing a woman."

"I'm sure you couldn't be more wrong."

Grier helped Aleck navigate the narrow steps that led into the plane, then signaled to the lush bench tucked into one side of the aircraft. Two facing seats, a table between them, took up the other. Aleck grabbed the bulkhead as he surveyed the posh layout. "I'll take one of the seats."

"You'll take the couch. Stop acting like a child."

"I'm capable of making my own decisions."

"You're incapable of standing on your own at the moment. Are you trying to be a liability? If you've changed your mind and want me dead, just say so."

Aleck stiffened. Grier took advantage, swinging him past the wet bar, into the narrow aisle, and onto the long bench. Aleck went with all the cooperation of a rabid dog. The snarl he leveled at Grier when he let him go added to the imagery. Grier collapsed into one of the empty seats, then pointed lazily at him. "Play dead."

With a hiss of pain, Aleck flipped onto his side and glared. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I'm getting there."

"Are you sure you don't want me to fetch?"

"I thought about asking you to roll over." Grier fastened his seatbelt as the plane began to taxi. "But I doubt you're up to it." That shut him up. So sexual innuendo silenced Aleck as effectively as a gag. He'd be sure to take advantage of that, and often.

A curt warning from the pilot – "One for the money. Two for the show. Three to get ready. Now go, cat, go!" – and the plane surged ahead, engines roaring. When the lurch in Grier's stomach let him know they'd cleared the runway, he took his first deep breath in hours. The plane went into a steep climb, then arced south.

South. Safety, or at least the illusion of it. In truth, the plane was carrying them straight to the lion's den. Even if Roman was in Europe, meeting with Keev was a risk. Grier had given cursory thought to what his friend had hinted at over the phone, but if even a fraction of it were true, the Organization would have its eyes on Keev Petrova.

As the aircraft leveled off, Aleck made a small sound. He'd turned and was pressed face-first against the back of the cushioned bench. Not asleep. No one could rest while that tense. His spine was bowed, his shoulders hunched. His one visible hand was clenched on a belt buckle. Grier slipped from his seat and knelt on the floor next to him, frowning when Aleck flinched from his gentle touch. "What can I do?"

Aleck's laugh was stifled against the soft leather. "Erase this whole damn day?"

"Why stop there? As long as we're being escapist—" His lips twitched when Aleck gave another pained laugh, "—let's redo the entire month. Four weeks ago, I was in Rio. I was between assignments, Monitor-free, and my biggest concern was what seafood to sample for dinner."

"Sounds nice," Aleck wheezed.

"It was." Even if it hadn't been as carefree as he let on. He'd been well aware that something was afoot with Graviel. One hint to his old friend of his suspicions had landed him a two-week vacation in Brazil. Who was it that said that every man could be bought? They'd been right.

As before, Grier cupped the back of Aleck's neck in his palm and massaged the area. He kept up a steady monologue while stealing deep into Aleck's mind, dilating constricted blood vessels and numbing pain synapses. The muscles began to relax under his deft fingers, and Aleck sighed. "I feel like a puppy with you petting me all the time. Don't say it."

"I've no idea what you mean."

"You make me crazy," Aleck whispered.

Grier bit back his glib response. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Do you want me to keep going?"

"No. I'd hate that."

The attempt at humor earned him a reward; Grier pressed into the muscles, working his fingers in tighter circles until the cramps were gone and he'd pulled forth an appreciative groan. The needy sound stabbed through him like an arrow, and he jerked his hand away. Aleck made a wordless sound of protest. He rolled onto his back, assessing with half-lidded eyes. "What's wrong?" Then, without waiting for Grier to answer, said, "I can sense what you're feeling."

Grier stood and stepped back into his seat. "Congratulations."

"You didn't seem to mind before." Aleck propped himself up on his elbows. His face had lost its blotchy flush, and his eyes were clearer. "Why does it matter all of a sudden?"

Because the sentiment wasn't returned. However genuine Aleck's attentions had seemed, they'd been an act. A ruse to infiltrate Grier's apartment. Pursuing what wasn't on offer wasn't Grier's style. "Get some rest."

Aleck settled back onto the cushion. "What are you going to do?"

"Drink. Think. Sleep."

"A three-pronged strategy. I'm impressed."

"You should be. This isn't MacGyver. Surviving is going to take actual intelligence and planning."

Aleck yawned and threw an arm over his eyes. "Don't knock MacGyver. You haven't seen what I can do with a roll of duct tape."

Grier snapped his eyes shut. "Lights to low," he barked, and the cabin dimmed, leaving only a pale halo of light from the cockpit.

Aleck whistled. "Fancy. Is there a voice command to extract that pole from your ass?"

"Why? Did you need it for something?"

Blessed silence followed. Grier enjoyed his victory for a moment before going to raid Keev's liquor stash. By the time he'd poured himself three fingers of scotch and rounded up two ice cubes, Aleck was asleep, mouth parted and cheek cupped against his palm.

The intercom hissed, and the pilot's deep voice flowed over him like molasses. "Welcome to Love Me Tender Airways. Your approximate flying time to paradise will be four hours and fifty minutes. Make yourself at home, relax, and enjoy the flight. Let's rock, everybody. Let's rock."

Grier tilted his seat back and held the glass against his lips, reveling in the sharp odor of the liquor. Keev loved to surround himself with eccentric people; they tempered his mercurial nature. Being Roman Petrova's son would twist even a saint, and Grier had never begrudged Keev his bouts of ego. The boy was also prone to acts of selflessness, though predicting when those would occur was useless.

For a man just out of his early twenties, he'd seen much. Too much, Grier often thought. Their first meeting had proved that.

Paseo de la Reforma shimmered in the unforgiving Mexican sun, its sidewalks crammed with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the parade. Under the portico of The Four Seasons, Grier smoked and watched. Snatches of conversations, some in Spanish, others in English, drifted to his ears, but none interested him. He crushed the hand-rolled cigarette under his shoe and slipped through the door before the bellhop could open it for him.

The lobby bustled, but with none of the brash reality of Reforma. Money smoothed such things. Expensive perfume and leather scented the air instead of sweat and local tobacco. Grier bypassed reception and rode the lift to the eighth floor. The bodyguard stationed outside the Presidential Suite took one look at him as he stepped off the elevator and reached beneath his suit jacket.

"Stop." Grier put his hand on the bodyguard's shoulder. "Time for your break. I'm here to relieve you."

"Oh." The bodyguard took one step, then turned, eyes clearing. "Wait—"

"I said, time for your break." Grier wasn't surprised the man was able to shake the mental suggestion. Petrova could afford the best, and often employed borderline Gifteds. "Take an hour," Grier said, putting more force behind his words the second time. "You deserve it."

"Damn right I do." The man buttoned his suit coat and headed for the elevator. "Petrova's a first-class prick."

"So I hear," Grier said to the bodyguard's retreating back. He knocked on the door, and a moment later Keev Petrova himself opened it. Barefooted, dressed in a loose linen shirt and black pants, he smiled at Grier.

"Ah, there you are." He swung the door wide. "Please come in."

Grier did, then shoved Keev hard against the wall. The boy's gasp was a little too enthusiastic for his taste. "Why are you following me?"

"It's complicated." To Grier's snarl, Keev amended, "but explainable. Not, however—" he pushed Grier away, "—before breakfast." He sauntered further into the suite and gestured at the elaborate spread of food. "Shall we?"

Grier eyed the table set for two. "Expecting someone?"

"You, of course. Champagne?" Keev extracted a bottle from a silver bucket. "Only the best for you, Grier Crist."

Wary, Grier sat, then nodded. Keev popped the cork and poured two glasses. "To us," he said, lifting his in a toast.

Grier didn't drink. "Are you even legal?"

"This is Mexico," Keev said with a roll of his eyes. "They spike the baby bottles with Sangria. And I won't answer that question on principle. You know how old I am."

Twenty-one. Grier knew quite a lot about Keev and the effort to finagle him away from his father. He'd been one of Graviel's few failures, and a spectacular one at that. Grier sipped his champagne. "Changed your mind about the Organization?"

"No. Just you." Keev's tongue darted out to lick the edge of his glass.

Grier cut into his Eggs Benedict while he mulled the odd turn of events. "Does your father use you like this often?"

"He doesn't use me at all. That's the difference between you and I."

Another stab at Graviel. What had the old man done to him? As Grier watched, Keev poured himself a second glass of champagne. He'd yet to pick up his fork. "What do you want?" Grier asked.

Keev shrugged. "Same as you. World peace."

They both chuckled.

"I thought the big money was in war and strife," Grier said. He accepted the strawberries, ignoring Keev's blatant caress as the bowl changed hands.

"For those who don't know how to make an honest living, maybe." Grier chuckled again, but Keev offered a stilted, bitter smile. "No, all right, I'll be honest. Since you're the first cultured company I've had in a week." Keev swished a plump strawberry through the cream. "I've heard much about you. I wanted to see your… skills… firsthand."

Grier chased the fruit with champagne. "And?"

"And," Keev frowned, "I'd planned to be spectacularly unimpressed, drown my disappointment in some dark, doe-eyed local, and return to civilization more cynical than ever."

"But?"

"But I'm not unimpressed." Keev pushed his champagne aside, and Grier paused, eggs halfway to his mouth. Keev's struggle fascinated him. Before today, he'd been a name on paper. A spoiled brat, a highly Gifted one, but spoiled nonetheless. The son of a megalomaniac. Now he'd come to life, shattering preconceptions left and right.

"I watched you yesterday," Keev said. "You let a murderer escape."

Grier hid his surprise. "I did."

"In order to spare a child."

He had. His target was the most despicable of all human filth. One who hid behind the innocent. Grier dabbed his mouth with the corner of his napkin. "He's gained a day's reprieve, that's all."

"He's on your agenda for this morning?"

"This afternoon."

Keev's eyes glittered. "May I come along?"

Grier burst out laughing. "Your father would have my balls."

"Don't be a coward."

"It's self-preservation." Grier pushed away from the table. "The last thing I want is Roman Petrova's eye on me."

"You believe it isn't already?"

"Hardly."

Keev snorted into his champagne. "I'll perpetuate your fantasy then." He stood and stretched, letting Grier admire the slender litheness of his body. "Well, enjoy yourself. Why not stop by afterward? Have dinner. Share the details."

"Why?"

"He's not a nice man," Keev said. And he's hurt me, his silence added. It's personal.

Grier's missions weren't personal. They were for a greater good. He didn't believe in petty revenge, or so he'd always told himself. But seeing a baby snatched from his mother's arms and hauled into harm's way…. "He's not a nice man," Grier agreed.

Keev gave a wolfish grin. "How refreshing that we see eye to eye. I'll expect you later, then? I can be discrete, you know, and my father is far—" he stepped close, "—far away."

He could've been in the next room, and it wouldn't have mattered just then. Anticipation was already tightening in Grier's chest. He indulged in one touch; he tucked a strand of loose hair behind Keev's ear. "I look forward to it."