Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

alarm, sir.”
    “Good.” Christian smiles.
    Daughter? What happened to Taylor’s daughter?
    “Glad you’re back, sir. Will that be all?”
    “We have a helicopter to collect.”
    Taylor nods. “Now? Or will the morning do?”
    “Morning, I think, Taylor.”
    “Very good, Mr. Grey. Anything else, sir?”
    Christian shakes his head and raises his bottle to him. Taylor gives him a rare smile—rarer than Christian’s, I think—and heads out presumably to his office or up to his room.
    “Christian, what happened?” Carrick demands.
    Christian launches into his story. He was flying with Ros, his number two in Charlie Tango to deal with a funding issue at WSU in Vancouver. I can barely keep up I’m so dazed. I just hold Christian’s hand and stare at his manicured fingernails, his long fingers, the creases on his knuckles, his wristwatch—an Omega with three small dials. I gaze up at his beautiful profile as he continues his tale.
    “Ros had never seen Mount St. Helens, so on the way back as a celebration, we took a quick detour. I heard the TFR was lifted a while back and I wanted to take a look. Well, it’s fortunate that we did. We were flying low, about two hundred feet AGL, when the instrument panel lit up. We had a fire in the tail—I had no choice but to cut all the electronics and land.” He shakes his head. “I set her down by Silver Lake, got Ros out, and managed to put the fire out.”
    “A fire? Both engines?” Carrick is horrified.
    “Yep.”
    “Shit! But I thought.”
    “I know,” Christian interrupts him. “It was sheer luck I was flying so low,” he murmurs. I shudder. He releases my hand and puts his arm around me.
    “Cold?” he asks me. I shake my head.
    “How did you put out the fire?” asks Kate, her Carla Bernstein instincts kicking in. Jeez, she sounds terse sometimes.
    “Extinguisher. We have to carry them—by law.” Christian answers levelly.
    His words from long ago circle my mind. “ I thank divine providence every day that it was you that came to interview me and not Katherine Kavanagh. ”
    “Why didn’t you call or use the radio?” Grace asks.
    Christian shakes his head. “With the electronics out, we had no radio. And I wasn’t going to risk turning them on because of the fire. GPS was still working on the Blackberry, so I was able to navigate to the nearest road. Took us four hours to walk there. Ros was in heels.” Christian’s mouth presses into a disapproving flat line.
    “We had no cell reception. There’s no coverage at Gifford. Ros’s battery died first. Mine dried up on the way.”
    Holy hell . I tense and Christian pulls me into his lap.
    “So how did you get back to Seattle?” Grace asks, blinking slightly at the sight of the two of us, no doubt. I flush.
    “We hitched and pooled our resources. Between us, Ros and I had six hundred dollars, and we thought we’d have to bribe someone to drive us back, but a truck driver stopped and agreed to bring us home. He refused the money and shared his lunch with us.” Christian shakes his head in dismay at the memory. “Took forever. He didn’t have a cell—weird, but true. I didn’t realize.” He stops, gazing at his family.
    “That we’d worry?” Grace scoffs. “Oh, Christian!” she scolds him. “We’ve been going out of our minds!”
    “You’ve made the news, bro.”
    Christian rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I figured that much when I arrived to this reception and the handful of photographers outside. I’m sorry, Mom—I should have asked the driver to stop so I could phone. But I was anxious to be back.” He glances at José.
    Oh, that’s why , because José is staying here . I frown at the thought. Jeez—all that worry.
    Grace shakes her head. “I’m just glad you’re back in one piece, darling.”
    I start to relax, resting my head against his chest. He smells outdoorsy, slightly sweaty, of body wash, and Christian, the most welcome scent in the world. Tears start to trickle down my face again, tears of gratitude.
    “Both engines?” Carrick says again, frowning in disbelief.
    “Go figure.” Christian shrugs and runs his hand down my back.
    “Hey,” he whispers. He puts his fingers under my chin and tilts my head back. “Stop with the crying.”
    I wipe my nose with the back of my hand in a most unladylike way. “Stop with the disappearing.” I sniff and his lips quirk up.
    “Electrical failure . . . that’s odd, surely?” Carrick says again.
    “Yes,