Chapter Eight
The flight was smooth as butter. It was as though the air pockets moved out of the way of the mighty Tresor Mohandis’s private jet.
“Pomegranate martini?”
I turned to face the stewardess. She was a six-foot-tall blonde who I’m sure was an ex-model. I couldn’t tell if she was sneering at me or if she was over-botoxed.
I’d washed up with some water from the spring and slipped back into the jeans I’d been wearing when we’d left Camelot. My shirt had been pretty ruined during the hunting debacle the previous night. I was dressed in one of Tres’s business shirts.
Engulfed was more like it. Where the garment should’ve sat on my shoulders, the caps slipped down closer to my elbows. I’d rolled up the cuffs a couple of times and they still hung to my wrists.
The stewardess had h
