Under a Firefly Moon

by Donna Kauffman

  He nodded to the fountain and the woman standing on the other side. “Really?” he asked, and they both laughed. “Yes, I’d love to share them with you.” He didn’t bother to add that she’d be the first one to ever see them collectively, from his viewpoint. “I think it’s safe for you to sit up. Even if she could see you, which she can’t, you’ll have the camera blocking your face.”

  Chey slowly slid up about halfway, but enough to aim the camera through the water spouts. “She must be waiting for him. Valet would have brought her car around by now.”

  Just then a sleek, silver limo pulled into the circular drive and stopped right in front of Vivi. “Is that a . . . ?” She quickly held up the camera and zoomed in. “It is! That’s a Rolls Royce.” She snapped a few frames as a driver in a sharp black suit, complete with driver’s cap, got out and stepped around to open one of the rear doors, curbside. Chey swore. “She’s getting in!”

  Oh boy.

  “We have to follow them,” she said, sliding back down again as the limo pulled away from the curb and started around the circle, coming right toward them. The vehicle shifted to the right and eased out of the loop, heading toward the traffic light. “The windows are tinted,” she said. “I can’t get a picture of who is inside.”

  Wyatt slipped the camera from her fingers, then expertly pointed and zoomed in on the retreating vehicle, snapping the license plate.

  “Will that do any good since it’s a limo?”

  He shrugged. “Had to be leased or rented by someone.” Wyatt circled around the fountain and got into line, three back from the Rolls, just as the light turned green. He tried to keep some distance from the Rolls. Tailing a professional driver wasn’t the same as tailing Vivi in her ’56 Chevy. He’d driven in far dicier situations using significantly inferior modes of transportation, so it was silly to be nervous, but this was Vivi.

  “Why meet at a hotel only to go somewhere else?” Chey asked. “I want to feel like I’m being an overreacting jerk who should be minding her own business, I do. But I have to say, my gut is liking this whole setup less and less the longer it goes on. I don’t care how fancy his car is.”

  Wyatt wanted to believe this was all a harmless arrangement, too. But it did seem rather convoluted for what was, ostensibly, a business meeting. The downside about the price tag on the ride Vivi was currently in was that money often meant power, and as he was very well aware, power wasn’t always used for the forces of good. In fact, in his experience, the opposite was far more prevalent. He kept that bit of info to himself.

  The Rolls turned west, and Wyatt slowed to increase the distance between them as the other cars continued on straight; then he followed suit.

  “This leads out to the interstate.” She turned to Wyatt. “Okay, now I’m officially worried. Where is he taking her? I mean, this is supposed to be a lunch meeting.”

  The Rolls turned again, and Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. It was moving in the opposite direction of the highway now. He was forced to slow way down, as the traffic had thinned out significantly, and the road the Rolls had turned on was one lane and flat. He saw the sign next to the road the same instant Chey gasped. Valley View Airfield.

  “Oh, hell no,” she said fiercely. “She is not getting on a plane. I think this meeting has officially come to an end.”

  Wyatt was on the same page there and sped up.

  “Best case is this is all innocent and he is some guy from her past, they took one look at each other, and are running off to Vegas or something and we spoil a romantic interlude and look like idiots, then do penance for days.” She caught Wyatt’s glance. “Okay. Weeks.”

  Wyatt didn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario. He’d seen a lot more of the world than Chey had. “Why don’t you text her. She knows you were worried about this. Maybe joke that you’re asking if she needs a bailout call. Say something about the umbrella. Just see what she says. Maybe that will give us a gauge on things.”

  He continued to close the distance, but they had entered a series of roundabouts with tall statuary and foliage decorating the centers of each one, blocking his view. He temporarily lost the Rolls, but when he saw a sign for the private airstrip, he took a gamble and turned, just in time to see the Rolls turn off in the distance at the end of the road, along a row of private hangars.

  “She’s not answering,” Chey said, then swore. “My text just bounced back. So she never even got it.”

  “Cell tower signal might be blocked here to keep from interfering with air traffic control.”

  She looked at him. “How are you so calm?”

  “Experience,” he said simply. “Don’t worry, Chey. He’ll have parked that Rolls in front of whatever hangar his plane is in, or was in, assuming it’s out on the tarmac. We’ll have time, so she knows—and he knows—she has company.”

  A crack of lightning split the sky. “Oh, come on,” Chey said, flinching at the big boom of thunder that followed.

  “No, that’s a good thing,” Wyatt said. “They won’t take off during an electrical storm.”

  “Oh,” Chey said, brightening, “good.”

  He finally made it through the last roundabout and turned in along the hangars. No Rolls in sight anywhere.

  “Where is it?”

  “Probably in one of the hangars.” Several had garage style doors on the end facing them.

  He whipped the Jeep into a space in front of the small double-wide trailer that served as the private terminal building. “The strip is small enough that there can’t be more than one or two planes out there fueled and ready.” He cut the engine and didn’t even bother telling her to stay in the vehicle. “Stay behind me, okay?”

  She surprised him by nodding, but he knew she wouldn’t stay there if she thought Vivi was in any danger.

  They went through the terminal without talking to the sole gate agent, who trotted after them, calling for them to stop. Even at a private hangar, there were security protocols, but now Wyatt’s spidey-senses were tingling, too. They could claim ignorance later and hopefully avoid any serious consequences.

  They burst through the rear door to the tarmac just as the Rolls driver was handing Vivi out of the backseat. They had apparently driven through the hangar and right out to the plane. Valet-to-airplane service.

  “Vivi!” Chey shouted, trying to be heard over the sound of the small jet engine and the wind that had kicked up. The rain hadn’t started yet, but it was imminent.

  Wyatt was surprised they were boarding, given the lightning flickering in the clouds. He reminded himself about the power dynamic that came with wealth, but air traffic controllers were hard to buy off.

  Vivi had tied a scarf around her hair and was holding her hands over her ears to keep it on and, presumably, to block out the whining sound of the engines. She didn’t turn around.

  They were still a good twenty yards away when Wyatt very clearly heard the cocking of a gun and the shout of “Stop! Federal agent!” right behind them.

  He grabbed Chey’s arm and spun them to a stop, turning to face the uniformed woman who had her gun aimed right at them. They both lifted their arms, hands up. “We’re afraid the woman boarding that plane is in danger,” Wyatt said, figuring they were in for a penny now. Might as well go for the full pound. “With the red floral scarf.”

  Their federal agent didn’t appear to have a partner, and Wyatt was thinking she was going to focus on them and not Vivi, but she pulled a radio unit from her belt with her free hand and barked into it to order the flight held until further notice. A moment later, the engines wound down, leaving only the sound of the prevailing wind.

  “For heaven’s sake, what on earth?”

  Wyatt dipped his chin and shook his head. Because he knew the owner of that voice, and Vivi didn’t sound like a woman grateful for a last-second intervention.

  Vivi walked right past them and said to the agent, “I know both of them, Miss—” She looked at the name tag on the woman’s blazer. “Age
nt Jarman.” She eyed Chey and Wyatt both. “I can’t say that I know why they’ve lost their ever-lovin’ minds, but I can vouch that the only danger here is the full dressing down they’re about to get from me.”

  Wyatt caught the agent trying to tamp down the urge to smile. “I’ll have to ask you all to return to the terminal to answer a few questions.”

  “But—” Vivi began.

  “Ma’am, your flight has been grounded until further notice.” She glanced skyward. “Not that you were going to get liftoff anyway.”

  “What about the driver and whoever else is in that limo,” Chey asked, speaking for the first time.

  The agent holstered her gun, and Wyatt and Chey lowered their arms. “I don’t need to speak to them. I know who they are. Just you three. Come,” she said, motioning them to proceed to the trailer terminal.

  Wyatt looked over his shoulder, hoping the gentleman, or whoever was in the car, would get out so Wyatt could at least get a good look. He was also mildly annoyed that whatever his identity, he was apparently unconcerned that Vivi was being led away by a federal agent. Some white knight you are, buddy.

  “I appreciated you swimming halfway across Firefly Lake, I truly did,” Vivi told Wyatt as they were escorted into a small, spare office, and the agent closed the door behind them. “But trust me, if and when I need a helping hand, or my boat pulled to shore, I’ll be the first to let you know.”

  “We were afraid you couldn’t let us know,” Chey said.

  “Are you saying he’s done this before?” Agent Jarman asked, sounding newly concerned. She motioned for them to sit in the thinly padded metal chairs crowded in front of a laminate wood desk; then she took a seat behind it.

  “No,” Vivi assured her. “Well, yes, but I asked him to. Well, not him exactly. I asked—”

  “Agent Jarman,” Chey began, calmly and with a steady smile. “This has all been a horrible misunderstanding. My friend here had a date that didn’t go well recently, and so today we were a bit concerned and—”

  “I assure you I am perfectly capable of choosing whom I spend my time with,” Vivi said, affronted all over again. “If you recall, I had dispatched Mr. Hammond long before your arrival. I merely lost my paddles.”

  “Dispatched?” Jarman repeated, looking concerned bordering on alarmed now. “What do you mean, dispatched.”

  “She ended the date early. He swam to shore,” Chey explained. “Nothing happened. Everyone was fine.” She turned back to Vivi. “I was just worried. I had this gut feeling and they’re rarely wrong. We just wanted to see who it was, make sure you were okay. We weren’t going to interfere—but an airport, Vivi? I mean, this was a business meeting. We thought you were going to Turtle Springs; then you come all the way out here, and we thought, okay, upscale meeting means upscale restaurant. Then you got to a hotel—a hotel—and then you get picked up in a Rolls Royce, which proceeds to take you to an airport? Who needs an airplane for a business meeting? And where is he right now? He just watched you get hauled off by a law enforcement agent and he’s not going to follow up? Make sure you’re okay?” She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. “I’m not feeling bad about my choices right now.”

  “I often use an airplane for business meetings,” came a very deep, very recognizable voice from the doorway. “And I wouldn’t dream of leaving this lovely woman to be interrogated alone.”

  Wyatt and Chey both turned, their mouths having already dropped open. “Oh my God,” Chey whispered. “You’re Grant Harper.”

  The exceedingly handsome, multiple-Oscar and Tony-winning actor nodded. “Every day.”

  Chey’s head whipped around to look at Vivi. “You know Grant Harper?”

  “I’ve worked with a number of well-known actors,” she said, still clearly miffed. “You know that.”

  “But Grant Harper?” Chey whispered. “You gave me a hard time about not mentioning Wyatt, and you never mentioned you know Grant Harper?” Chey looked back at Grant, still goggling.

  “Gee,” Vivi said dryly, “I can’t imagine why.”

  Grant stepped into the room and extended his hand. “Agent”—he paused and read her badge—“Jarman. I think we can all agree that this has been a well-intentioned, and possibly even cinematic, moment, but otherwise harmless.”

  “It’s against the law to—” Agent Jarman began, but then he took her hand in his and covered it with his other hand, and she faltered slightly.

  “If we get them to promise never to—”

  “Come to this private hangar, for any reason, or they’ll be arrested on sight,” Jarman finished, never once taking her clearly star struck gaze from Grant’s tanned face, gorgeous blue eyes, and blinding white smile.

  “I think that can be arranged,” Grant said. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  She nodded; then he let go of her hand and glanced at the three of them. “Why don’t we meet in my hangar.” He looked to Agent Jarman. “I will make sure they are under supervision at all times; then we’ll be leaving just as soon as we’re cleared for takeoff.”

  “But—” Chey said, only to have Grant look at her and simply smile. “Right,” she said. She turned to Agent Jarman and extended her hand. “Thank you. My sincere apologies.”

  Jarman gave her hand a quick shake, then surprised them by smiling. “You just got me a one-on-one with Grant Harper, so . . .” Then she frowned. “Be safe out there.”

  Chey smiled and nodded. “Will do.”

  Wyatt and Chey followed Grant and Vivi. Wyatt thought about how people would often comment upon meeting a celebrity that the star was shorter, or paler, or somehow less impressive in person. A mere mortal. That was not the case with Grant Harper. He was taller than Wyatt by a few inches, and every bit as lean and fit. His sport coat hung perfectly across broad shoulders and the fitted jeans and cowboy boots suited his swagger, all of which came across as natural and authentic, rather than put on for show.

  Wyatt didn’t know how old Vivi was—late sixties was his guess—so Grant would be right around the same age. To say he was iconic or legendary was not overstating it. That Grant had so effortlessly maintained his dashing, movie star good looks in the way of Paul Newman or Cary Grant simply added to the dazzle.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said, escorting them through a door inside the hangar and into a surprisingly well-appointed lounge area. “Looks like Mother Nature is handing us a bit of a delay, so that will give us time to get to know one another. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Coffee, darling, if you have it,” Vivi said, taking a seat on one of the love seat–sized couches.

  “For you, anything,” he said, shooting her a grin.

  Wyatt and Chey each took a bottle of water from the side table and sat on the love seat opposite Vivi. Wyatt liked to think he was not the kind of guy to be star struck, but he suspected his expression wasn’t much different from Chey’s at the moment.

  Grant carried Vivi’s coffee over and set it and a tray of creamer and sugar on the small coffee table between them. He turned to Chey. “I’m sorry,” Grant said, as he handed Vivi’s mug of coffee to her. “I didn’t get your name.”

  Chey immediately stood, jarring the coffee table and almost sloshing Vivi’s coffee in her haste to extend her hand. “Cheyenne McCafferty,” she said. “Just Chey.”

  “Pleasure, Just Chey,” he said with a grin, and shook her hand.

  She stood there and continued to stare, then shook her head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry. I just—wasn’t expecting you to be so . . . you.”

  “And I work so hard at trying to be other people,” he said. “One of my greatest failures, I suppose.”

  Chey blanched. “I didn’t mean—”

  Wyatt took her hand and tugged her back to the couch. He’d never seen her like this and found it both endearing and highly entertaining. He stood and extended his hand. “Wyatt Reed,” he said.

  “Yes,” Grant said, then blew his mind. “Reed Planet. Impress
ive how you’ve used our modern technology to solve the seemingly never-ending old-world problems. Perhaps we could talk at some point about ways you think I might be able to help.”

  And then it was Wyatt’s turn to get tongue-tied. He’d talked to plenty of corporate bigwigs and other giants in their fields, including celebrities, athletes, people who wanted to help his cause. Maybe it was because he rarely met them in person, but he was admittedly caught off guard and not a little flattered that Grant Harper knew who he was and was offering his support.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Vivi said to them both, “have a seat and stop acting like you’ve just seen an alien spaceship.”

  Wyatt grinned and Chey had the good grace to look abashed. Wyatt shook Grant’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “And yes, I would absolutely love to take you up on that offer. Thank you.”

  They reseated themselves on the love seat across from Vivi, and Grant settled next to her, a bottle of spring water in his hand.

  “So,” Chey said, clearing her throat and sitting forward, getting her bearings back. “Did you two meet while working on a stage production together?”

  Grant looked at Vivi and grinned. She glanced at him and even her perfectly applied makeup didn’t hide the hint of pink that rose to her cheeks. “We met more years ago than our vanity allows us to admit,” he said in that well-known baritone Wyatt had heard coming at him from movie screens all his life. Grant took Vivi’s beringed hand between his, then looked back to the two of them and said simply, “She was the one who got away.” He looked at her. “My deepest regret is being too young and foolish to know what was staring me right in the face.” He glanced back at them. “I’m glad to see the two of you aren’t making the same mistake.”

  Wyatt was pretty sure his momentary slack expression was a mirror image of Chey’s. She looked at Vivi. “You told him? About—?”

  Vivi lifted her shoulder in an elegant shrug. “There are some people between whom there are no secrets, and nothing is off the table.” She leaned forward, set down her coffee mug, and sent them a knowing smile. “I assure you he takes discretion very seriously. Your story is safe with him.”