Free Through the Night by Janelle Denison Page A

if trying to stay calm.
    “Are you okay?” he asked gently.
    She didn’t open her eyes or look at him. “I’m not a big fan of flying, but I’ll be fine once we level off.”
    For him, the takeoff was the fun part of the flight. The thrust of speed, that moment when the plane no longer touched the ground, the gradual climb upward until the aircraft was thousands of feet above land. The only thing better was jumping out of a plane while it was in flight. “So, I guess I won’t be taking you skydiving anytime soon, huh?”
    That prompted her eyes to open, and the look of horror on her face nearly made him laugh. “God, no. Why on earth would anyone want to jump out of a plane and free-fall back to the ground with your only safety net being a parachute that may or may not open?”
    “For the thrill of it and the rush of adrenaline that pumps through your body. And then there’s always that natural high that comes with knowing you cheated death,” he said without thinking, knowing that was the biggest reason he took such insane risks with his life.
    “That’s crazy,” she said with a shake of her head. “ You’re crazy.”
    “So I’ve been told.” Numerous times by his family, and by other people who didn’t understand what drove him to those extremes, the anger and guilt that ate at him. Not bothering to hide his sarcasm, he added, “I had a brush with death when I was younger, and I should have died, so what do I have to lose?”
    She looked taken aback by his comment, and he realized he’d revealed much more than he’d intended. Before she could question him and start up a discussion he didn’t want to have with her—or anyone else, for that matter—he abruptly changed the subject.
    “Would you like something to drink from the bar?” he asked as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Water? Soda? A wine spritzer?”
    “No, thank you. I’m good right now,” she replied, her gaze too intent, as if she was still trying to make sense of his personal philosophy about tempting fate.
    He headed over to the service area and poured himself a cola on ice and grabbed a bag of trail mix to munch on. When he returned to his chair, he was relieved to find her reading a book instead of waiting to finish the conversation he’d walked away from. Then again, the woman was incredibly perceptive, on many levels, and obviously knew when to let something go.
    With a little over an hour left on their flight, Chase switched on his laptop and perused the notes from his last visit to Alcatraz, refreshing himself on a few key points that stood out to him, which he wanted to explore further with Valerie. Since his specialty was touching historical objects, it had been difficult for him to get a bead on anything specific in the prison. Hopefully, Valerie would fare better than he had.
    One of the few valuable things he’d learned through intensive research was the name of a young nurse, Stanley Williams, who’d worked in the hospital ward during Capone’s stay there, and had more than likely come into direct contact with the mobster. Chase had hired a professional investigator to track the whereabouts of Stanley, if the man was even still alive, and hoped to hear something soon from the PI, with some kind of viable lead on the orderly.
    The plane hit an unexpected patch of turbulence, jostling the small aircraft and causing it to drop a few feet. Valerie sucked in a quick, startled breath. Her book fell from her fingers and dropped to the floor, and instead of picking it up, she gripped both armrests with her hands as the jet continued to hit a series of rattling bumps.
    Her face had gone pale, her body tense, and a look of panic etched her expression. Chase attempted to calm her. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just turbulence. It sounds and feels bad, but it’s normal.”
    The aircraft bounced and shook again, and she stiffened even more. “I know, but it still freaks me out.”
    Setting his laptop aside, he scooted forward on