High Flying

by Kaylin McFarren

  “Welcome to Lynnie’s.” Her voice was chipper and light, a surprise considering she was working at a dive in the middle of the desert. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

  Skylar surveyed the laminated menu, debating on what to order. She was craving a beer, maybe even something stronger, but she had promised herself to stay sober. One drink could lead to two then three or more, and before she knew it, she’d be bitching about everything under the sun. Ethan Edwards in particular.

  “Coffee. Black. And a tuna melt with fries.” She handed the menu back to the waitress then relaxed in her seat. Diner food was her comfort. Like going home and having your mom cook up your favorite meal. Skylar never had that kind of mom, so little restaurants and old diners selling greasy fries and burgers that dripped down your chin were the closest thing to coming home. At least the home she had always dreamed about living in.

  As she waited for her meal to arrive, she scanned two rows of unevenly-hung black and white photos on the adjacent wall, while an unfamiliar singer crooned Alone Again on the corner jukebox for the second time in a row. She closed her eyes and the horrific scene she had left kept replaying in her mind. Volkov pointing his weapon. Dylan’s gun in her hand. Volkov turning to shoot. Her gun exploding. His body crumpling to the ground. She killed a man! Christ, what the hell had she done?

  Skylar’s eyes flew open. She knew very little about Dylan, but she was pretty sure she saw “you just ended our lives” written all over his face. He took a picture of the body, for whatever reason, and then rolled it up in a plastic tarp. He and Ethan struggled to get the body into the trunk, but he wouldn’t let Skylar help. From what they could figure, Volkov could have been seen leaving the hospital. And if he was seen, Ethan could be linked to him as well. Alvarez had sent him to get Skylar, so she would be tied into all of this too. Volkov’s absence would be noticed before long, if not already, and an investigation would ensue. If the body was found, too many questions would be asked and the paths to Ethan, Skylar and Dylan would be short. Which explained why the only two men in her life had set off to burn a body. No wonder Dylan was so pissed off.

  The waitress stepped behind the bar, busying herself with condiment bottles and talking to the short-order cook in the kitchen’s pass-through window. He stole a look at Skylar before turning back to his grill. He was jockeying burgers, lifting fries, wrapping sandwiches and bagging take-out, all quite a feat, indicating that other people would be showing up soon for their orders.

  Before long, Skylar’s meal arrived, and she devoured every morsel, short of licking the plate. She shifted her attention to the dark window beside her and caught her distorted reflection in the glass, looking as worn as she felt. The bell chimed as the diner door opened again, and three interesting looking characters walked in. They slid onto stools at the far end of the bar, adding interest to the quiet, mundane setting. All of them wore dark suits and serious expressions, as if they had just left a funeral. They huddled together in quiet conversation, giving Skylar time to come up with their story. With casinos owners spreading their wealth on real estate holdings, it wouldn’t be long before this diner was demolished and turned into a hotel. Perhaps they had come here to discuss their plans and investments or their next big money-making deal. Yet besides looking well dressed and perfectly groomed, they were a strange trio, indeed.

  The tall middle-aged man in the corner was a rugged stoic type, oozing with grit and aristocratic confidence. The man next to him had slicked back hair and his features were chiseled, masculine and firm. His brow was low and slashed with two dark eyebrows above slightly slanted brown eyes, giving him an elusive, debonair flare. The third member of their group was perhaps the most intriguing. He was Hispanic, like the second man, but his dark brown eyes were mysterious. He seemed to be the silent type and had a habit of lowering his chin and looking down when others were talking, either out of respect or silent obedience.

  The middle man whispered something, and the tall guy laughed. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with her,” he said. “That slut spread her legs for the man who killed her husband. And both of his brothers too.”

  “Hey…when the lights are off, they all suck the same.”

  Both men snickered, but the quiet man simply nodded.

  Crude. Obviously, class didn’t come with the size of their wallets or the price tags on their suits.

  As if sensing Skylar’s interest, the aristocratic one turned toward her, making direct eye contact. His expression was unreadable and unnerving. Thank God his cell phone rang, snagging his attention. The other two stopped their conversation and waited patiently. However, when his call ended, he turned back toward Skylar and continued watching her like a hungry wolf.

  The waitress returned with a scowl on her face. She stood next to his bar stool and thumped her pot of coffee on the bar. “It’s not polite to stare,” she snapped.

  The tall man stroked his clean-shaven face, eyeing her up and down. “What’s wrong, Charlotte?” he asked. “You jealous or something?”

  She rested a hand on her hip and leaned toward him. “And what if I am, Jess? What are you going to do about it?”

  Did the waitress say Jess? As in Jessop Haines? Skylar must have misheard. Yet there was something about his voice and his facial expressions that struck a chord in her mind—as off key as it seemed. She couldn’t imagine her grandfather in a place like this, flirting with women he’d consider beneath him.

  A look of disbelief filled his face. He shook his head slowly before a smile of sheer happiness broke out. Then the waitress closed the gap between them, crushing their lips together, as his hand slipped to the back of her neck. The kiss lasted a few more seconds before Charlotte breathlessly broke away.

  “So, I guess we’re still on for that date?” he said, loud enough for the entire diner to hear. The waitress nodded fervently and turned to go back to her job. But then Jess reached out and grabbed her around the middle, pulling her back to him. “Glad to hear it, Flo. I have to leave now to take care of some business, but I suggest you get some rest tonight. I’ll be doing some business with you tomorrow.” He released his hold and swatted her ass as she walked away, amused at the fiery look she gave him.

  The slick Hispanic character in the seat next to him gave a loud snort, appearing to be mildly amused. He extended his hand to Jess and they shook, closing some kind of deal. Then he pulled out cigarette paper and tobacco and went to work, creating his own brand of smoke. He sealed the roll-up with his tongue, stuck it in his mouth, and struck a match. After blowing a stream to the side, he stood up and sauntered past Skylar, heading toward the john.

  The silent character, who had been sitting next to him, pulled a metal tin out of his coat pocket and dipped into it, shoving a big wad into his cheek. Then he climbed off his bar stool and breezed by, reeking of wintergreen chew. “I’ll be waiting outside in your chariot,” he called back to Charlotte’s friend.

  Out of all three members in the curious group, Jess was the last to leave. After wiping his hand on his coat sleeve, he dropped some change on the counter. Then he headed toward the door and stopped. He leaned down over Skylar’s table and said, “If looks could kill, you’d be a murderer.”

  She brushed crumbs from her hands and smirked. “That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.” She deepened her glare, daring him to say more. Instead, he adjusted his tie and snorted a laugh before joining his friends outside.

  What a creep. If this man was truly her grandfather, something changed him in a big way, and not just his looks. Money might have had a lot to do with it, but Skylar suspected it was age. Her doctor told her it softens people like him—makes them more bearable and kind. Yet some things never change. Like a mean streak that never goes away. One wrong word, and you could be picking yourself up off the floor. And by the look in Jess’s eyes, the anger was simmering there, just waiting for the chance to erupt.

  Skylar glanced at the waitress across the room, scribb
ling more orders on her pad. She couldn’t imagine what would possess an attractive woman like her to take up with the likes of him. Then it dawned on her that this world was filled with all kinds of people willing to settle for any kind of affection, rather than none.

  Picking up her coffee cup, Skylar finished off her last swallow and tried to imagine what Dylan and Ethan were doing at that exact moment. She hoped they were on their way back to get her. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew that Dylan could have walked away, leaving her to fend for herself. However, not Dylan Haines. He was the kinda guy who would never say no, even when it wasn’t in their best interest. She found herself wondering, if given time, would Dylan find his end by some other means—something epic, gallant and chivalrous? Or was his self-destructive destiny impossible to change?

  She glanced at her watch and considered calling him. Then headlights swept past the window. When the car parked, and the headlights went out, she could see that it was Dylan behind the wheel. Only he wasn’t driving his car. It was a white generic compact, something a grandmother might drive. He must have visited a dealership on the outskirts of town and traded in his prized possession, after disposing of Volkov and dropping off Ethan, of course. Probably not a bad idea, but it still made her sad knowing the value he had placed on his spotless Chevy.

  The lights and engine turned off and a door slammed shut. Skylar held her breath for several beats, expecting Dylan to open the diner door. But there was no further sound. She finally gave in and peered through the window. Dylan was silhouetted behind the car, just leaning up against the rear, staring up at the heavens.

  Skylar sat back, chewing her thumbnail. Both relief and nerves twisted in her stomach over Dylan’s return. The last few days had been loaded with heart-stopping drama, and she wasn’t sure how either of them were going to survive. Yet every minute they spent together was priceless—stolen moments she would never forget.

  She paid her bill and walked outside, but Dylan didn’t react to her arrival. His eyes were trained on the stars. He smelled like smoke and whiskey, and his eyes looked tired and red. After a few heartbeats of staring, Skylar joined him, leaning back against the car. They stayed like that for a while, not looking at each other.

  She didn’t know how to begin, and Dylan was pretending like she wasn’t even there. Anger hadn’t worked so great for either of them. Neither had poignant regret.

  She nudged her shoulder against Dylan’s, waiting until he turned and looked at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Big mistake bringing me home, huh?”

  He sighed. “I’m going to lose Lily for good…when all this comes out.” He looked down, kicking at the gravel with his shoe. “Tonight, I told her that you had car trouble, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep lying to her.”

  “I get it. I messed up big time. I shouldn’t have shot that guy.”

  Dylan snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure Volkov will agree with that.”

  She tilted her head. “Will? I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

  “We dug a hole and had the gas ready to go. When we returned to the car to collect Volkov’s body, the plastic tarp was there, but he wasn’t.”

  Skylar’s breath caught. “What? That’s impossible! I killed him. I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, you definitely shot him. However, I’m guessing he came to and wondered off. We searched everywhere but didn’t see hide nor hair of him.”

  “How do you know he’s still alive?”

  “Footprints and tire tracks. Someone must have picked him up, which means Ethan doesn’t know the first thing about checking a pulse. Volkov will probably hideout until he recuperates then there’s a really good chance he’ll come looking for us.”

  Skylar pretended she wasn’t mortified. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve both had better days.” She offered a sad smile. “By the way, there’s been a lot of talk about Alvarez and The Chaplain. Something is definitely going down between the two of them. If you’re not careful, Dylan, you might be caught in the middle of something.”

  “Yeah, I sorta knew about that. Money makes people do all kinds of crazy shit. So I bet you wish you never ran into me now…”

  What could she say? She would never regret meeting her father and spending time with him, but destroying his life and hers was a whole different matter. And there was still the situation with Barillas. If she hadn’t shot Volkov, she might have been one step closer to knowing the identity of The Chaplain. But then Ethan would be dead and so would she, for refusing to work with Alvarez.

  “Dylan, if you don’t mind, I need to use your phone again.”

  He hesitated. “Who are you calling now?”

  “Trust me. I have an idea.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and dialed Barillas’ number. When he answered, she said, “It’s me, Sky Brennen. Meet me in the slot room at Gordy’s Café tomorrow morning at 8 A.M. sharp.”

  “On Interstate 580?”

  “That’s right. I used to go there when I was a kid. As part of our agreement, I’m gonna have a name for you by Friday…just like I promised.”

  “By Friday?” He sounded dubious. After their recent conversation, he didn’t trust her to do what he requested. No, not requested. It was more like a direct order. One that would have cost Dylan his freedom and hers as well, if she didn’t comply.

  “That’s right. But all wires, bugs and hidden cameras need to be removed immediately from Dylan’s house,” she said. “Also, Lily Haines will remain innocent and Dylan will be free of all charges in regard to this drug-smuggling case. If you agree to those terms, then you’ve got a name and my full cooperation, Barillas.”

  “I can’t make promises like that. The D.A. will get hold of this case and—”

  “Well, then you need to keep that from happening. At least, as far as Dylan is concerned. If it comes out that he was involved, I want you to make sure everyone believes he was working undercover for you.”

  “And why would I do that?’

  “Because you need me…that’s why.”

  Barillas almost growled. “All right, fine. I’ll meet you at Gordy’s. But you better be on time. I don’t wait around for anyone.”

  “I’ll be there. And one more thing. I need to know everything about Juan Alvarez.”

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “Because he’s interested in knowing me.”

  He paused and then let loose a flurry of questions. “In what way? What do you know about him? Has he been in contact with you? Do you have any idea who that man is?” His voice grew louder. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Skylar chuckled before answering, “More than you’ll ever know.”

  12

  Treachery

  “Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle that fits them all.”

  — ANONYMOUS

  Skylar walked into Gordy’s Café and told the waitress she was meeting a mastermind criminal in the back room. The waitress showed no reaction—no look of surprise or even a sliver of mild amusement. She simply motioned her head toward to the adjacent doorway and stepped aside, allowing her new customer space to pass by.

  Much to Skylar’s surprise, Barillas had arrived early. She stood in the doorway, silently watching him, while he worked himself into a minor rage, waving his gun in the air.

  “I’m telling you, Diaz, if Haines had contacted us when The Chaplain’s men first approached him, we could have saved a lot of time and at least six lives.”

  “Put your gun away,” his partner said. “We’ve already got one homicide on our hands. Let’s not add to that.”

  Skylar walked into the room, brushing her palms together. “Hello, gentlemen,” she said.

  Barillas slipped his gun back into his shoulder holster. “Well, look who bothered to show up. I just want you to explain why I should believe anything you say…because according to our guys, you haven’t given us a single reason.” Indignant, he stared at her, waiting for a response.

 
; Diaz turned a chair around and straddled it. “Let’s get down business, shall we? Thanks to the hidden camera in the apartment hallway, diagnostics determined that The Chaplain is five ten, slender built and left handed. He had a bible tucked under his arm and wore a black fedora and dark glasses, so we didn’t get a good look at his face. The camera was moved, which eliminated the possibly of seeing him enter and leave the apartment. So Edwards remains to be our only key witness. But he claims he was blindfolded the whole time. I’m not so sure about that, however, I’m convinced he doesn’t know anything about the contract on Schuler. And just so you know, Skylar, he’s the dead distributor we were hoping to question.”

  She picked the closest chair and plopped down on it across from him. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, Inspector. Ethan told me The Chaplain never showed up.”

  “How can he be so sure?” Barillas asked.

  “He said it’s common knowledge. The Chaplain wouldn’t expose himself like that.”

  Diaz looked unconvinced. “Well, maybe we should pick him up and find out what else he knows. He seems to be sharing an awful lot with you.”

  “He has no reason to hide anything,” Skylar told them. “He’s just caught in the middle. For some reason, everyone thinks he knows more than he does.”

  Barillas lowered himself onto the edge of the table next to them. “I know you believe otherwise, Diaz, but I don’t know what this young lady can do that we can’t. The best solution is to bring in both of them. Haines and Edwards. At least their plane would be out of commission.”

  “But you wouldn’t be any closer to finding The Chaplain,” Skylar said. “And what about that other guy? Alvarez?”

  “What about him?” Barillas looked like he was going to lose it.

  “Word has it he’s short on pilots and interested in hiring more.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Barillas glared. Doubt filled his eyes.

  “Does it really matter?”

  “As a matter of fact, it does. If your source is reliable, they could be valuable to us.” Barillas was challenging her to spill everything she knew.