Moira gracefully rose from her seat, and tugged her battered traveling bag from the overhead compartment. Kiera gripped her own carryall and purse a little tighter as two of Moira’s musicians, Alister and Pol, flanked her from the next row.
Grady and Ronan were sitting further back. She spared them a quick glance, and saw that they were casually stretching their legs, too.
All of them were intensely loyal to Moira; why else would they have cut short their hard-earned vacations without a question when she’d asked for their assistance? If she survived this dangerous little endeavor, she’d owe them a life-debt that could never be repaid.
Their roundabout path had been exhausting. But anyone looking at their passports would see just what Moira wanted them to see: A weary band finishing the
