Chapter 104

"All right, Ms. Cromlech. Your papers seem to be in order and your luggage meets all the legal requirements." The customs official handed Aldara back her taped-together passport, which she took and tucked into her equally damaged purse. The vandal had slit the lining but left the leather exterior mostly intact - unlike some of her clothing, which had been shredded. Whoever had ransacked her room had not only been looking for something, he'd been angry when he hadn't found it. "I do have one more question."
"Go ahead." She tilted her head at Mr. Coufax, the middle-aged, sandy-haired man who spoke to her from across a desk borrowed from one of the Mounties.
Marc leaned against the wall and watched from his position beside the door. His father sat in the chair beside Aldara while Beau and Pauline waited out in the lobby. The lieutenant whose office they were using leaned against a file cabinet in one corner, pretending not to watch the proceedings.
"Why did you obtain work visas for both the United States and Canada?"
Aldara opened her mouth to answer but Etienne cut her off. "Ms. Cromlech has family in both the States and in Montreal," he told the official. "She's still not sure where she intends to reside. Though she's visiting with us here first and we hope, of course, she'll decide to stay."
"So it was family who delivered her belongings in the private helicopter?" Coufax asked with one raised eyebrow.
"Actually, yes," Etienne said pleasantly. "Ms. LaRoche is a cousin as well as a colleague of mine. I am the senior partner of Stoneman Legal Services while Ms. LaRoche manages the New York offices. Ms. Cromlech's adoptive father was a distant relation. So you see, she has strong ties both here and in the States."
"Makes sense to me." Coufax slapped a couple of stamps on a handful of documents, pushed one set of copies at Marc's father and stuffed the other into his nylon briefcase. "Not a very pleasant way to get here, falling off a boat, but apparently you're a very lucky young lady. You washed up on the very island owned by your relations." He shot Marc a suspicious look.
"Well, I was supposed to meet her in Halifax the next morning," Marc inserted. "As to the other? I'm French, monsieur. I believe in miracles. And we're all too glad she survived her ordeal to question the Lord's purpose in saving her." Marc wasn't in the least religious, though he did believe, a little, in fate, but the customs official didn't know that. Marc would use any weapon he could to keep Aldara safely in the midst of his clan.
"Fine." Coufax shook his head as if washing his hands of the whole business then extended a hand to Aldara. "Welcome to Canada, Miss." He stood and shook Etienne's hand as well. "We're all set here. Good night, everyone."
His eyes followed them as they left the tiny office but he didn't make any move to follow them.
"Her trunks are in the SUV," Beau told them as they met him in the lobby. "All cleared. After looking through the books in the first one, they never even checked the ones in the second or third. It's going to be a tight squeeze heading back to the marina." The false compartment was in the bottom of her middle-sized trunk, under a slightly shorter stack of books.
"It's a short trip."
"Easy for you to say. You're driving."
The vehicle was crowded. After they waved Pauline off, Aldara ended up squeezed between Marc and his father in the front seat while Beau squished into the back along with a trunk that took up three quarters of the bench seat. Marc would have laughed but he was too busy enjoying the feel of Aldara's thigh pressed up against his. Then he was too busy trying to drive with a raging erection.
They reached the marina and made short work of loading Aldara's luggage onto the plane. The three trunks didn't quite fill the rear cargo area but a fourth would have. Still, it wasn't much for being everything she owned in the world. He knew Cromlech had treated her well while the old gargoyle was alive, but he sure hadn't left her in a great position.
"Would you like to sit up front, my dear?"
To Marc's dismay, Etienne offered Aldara the copilot's seat and she promptly accepted. So Marc was stuck in the passenger area along with his friends, though it was only separated from the pilots' section by a clear dividing wall and a door that was left open. Talk immediately turned to all the wonderful things little Erin St. Pierre had done in the week Marc had been away. At least Remy rolled his eyes behind Damien's back, so Marc didn't feel too bad for being less than enthused about his goddaughter's sleeping habits.
About ten minutes into the flight, the plane hit a small patch of turbulence. Remy had popped in a set of ear buds, Damien and Beau were discussing a new alarm system for some of the buildings at the compound and Marc was staring hopelessly at Aldara's back. Something rattled in the cargo area, so as soon as they leveled out, Marc stood to go see what it was.
There were only two rows of wide, comfortable seats with two on either side of an aisle for a total of eight possible passenger spots, so of course each gargoyle had claimed a pair of seats for his own. Marc was in the front left, directly behind his father, with Remy behind him. "Either of you want something to drink?" he asked his father and Aldara, pausing at the door to the cockpit. The small galley was between the passenger compartment and the rear cargo area, so he'd have to walk through it on his way.
"Water would be nice," Aldara replied with a smile that made Marc's stomach lurch. "Monsieur?"
"Etienne," his father admonished then shook his head. "Nothing for me."
"Got it." He made his way back toward the galley, making a drinking motion at Remy, who nodded.
"Cola," he said, his head still moving to the beat of his music. "Thanks."
"Water," Beau called as Marc moved past.
Damien added, "Ginger ale."
"Your stewardess will be back in a moment with the drink cart," Marc called over his shoulder. "Please have your tray tables in the proper position."
He stepped through the galley into the cargo area, shutting the restroom door as he passed where it was tucked just off the galley. Had that been what he'd heard rattling? It was supposed to always be closed during takeoff. There were no lights on in the cargo area, so he blinked, waiting for his vision to adjust.
He heard a soft popping sound and stared at the back corner of the compartment. Was that a man? Then a freight train slammed into his rib cage and he was hurled off his feet. The last sensations he felt before the world turned black were his wings ripping out the back of his shirt and his extremities turning to stone.