by Jill Shalvis
“Did you hear from Greg on the deed?”
“Too early for the attorney to call me,” Mel said slowly. “Look, take the morning off.” Sober up. “Or you’ll be dead on your feet.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“And don’t worry. We’re going to be okay.”
“I know.” But Dimi didn’t sound as if she believed it, and Mel had to admit, she didn’t, either. She drove into the airport on pins and needles, still a little off balance from her dream. Get it together, she ordered herself. Because if you don’t, he’ll be able to see it.
But it was still on her mind all the way to North Beach until she sat at her desk and brought up her e-mail, where she received yet another unpleasant shock. She had an e-mail from LeaveItAlone at an Internet server she didn’t recognize, and nothing in the subject or body of the e-mail.
LeaveItAlone?
Mel forwarded the thing to Ernest. Who sent this? she typed in her e-mail, and wasn’t surprised to get an immediate response, which meant he was in the maintenance hangar on the computer scrolling through porn sites again instead of working.
Someone who thinks you’re a pain in the ass, he answered.
Mel sighed, rolled her eyes, and read the rest of his response.
But I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, stop pissing people off.
Yeah, yeah. Leave it alone.
What the hell did that mean? She’d received plenty of ambiguous mail over the years. Each and every time she raised their fuel prices, for instance. Or when she’d had to cut back North Beach’s hours of operation from 24/7 to six AM until five PM. Or when she’d once refused a rich client service for his five jets because he’d wanted her to arrange for prostitutes for all his crew.
But none of those had been anonymous threats. So who? Bo?
No. He wouldn’t go the anonymous route, he had no need to do so.
Still, the coincidence seemed too much to ignore…
Leave it alone. Leave what alone? The airport? The questionable deed in Bo’s hands? She closed her e-mail program and put the e-mail out of her mind. She had a long charter to Tuscon and back, a flight that would keep her away from North Beach until late, and it was time to put her head there. On the way out for her preflight check, she stopped at the café, where Char was working on something that smelled like pure heaven.
“White Trash Casserole, straight from my momma’s box of favorite recipes,” Char drawled over KISS screeching on the radio. Her purple hair was piled on top of her head, precariously held there by what looked like two pencils. She wore another pair of short shorts, and today’s T-shirt said: TAKE A BITE OF ME. PLEASE.
“Lord, it’s going to be a hot one today,” Char said. “Or maybe I’m just getting hot flashes.” She fanned herself with the hem of her shirt. “Anyway, got a late start this morning, sorry. This won’t be ready in time for you but I’ve got donuts.”
If Mel was compulsively early, Charlene was compulsively late, but she loaded Mel up with a bag of the mouth-watering donuts, and all was forgiven. “You need an alarm clock,” Mel said.
“Oh, it’s not that. Al and I—”
“Stop right there if this story ends with the two of you having sex.”
“Well…” Char giggled.
Mel grabbed her bag of donuts. “I’ve got my fingers in my ears, I can’t hear you—”
“We just—”
“Lalalalalalala,” Mel sang over Char’s laugh, and went out onto the tarmac.
Three men stood next to a Piper Mirage in the early-morning sun: Danny, the customer who owned the Piper, and Bo. Danny wore his coveralls and was consulting a clipboard, his long blond hair still damp from his early surf. Their customer was in a pricey-looking suit. Bo wore cargo shorts, a sweatshirt, and clean work boots, his legs looking long and tanned. All three men, different as night and day, were laughing about something, carefree and easygoing.
Mel hadn’t felt carefree and easygoing in so long; money issues, stress…And she resented that Bo could show up here, turn her world upside down, and laugh. Damn it, he was integrating himself, making himself right at home. In her home.
LeaveItAlone…
Had he? Would he?
No, she reminded herself, even if the man made her teeth gnash together, he wouldn’t. Not his style.
He lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and met her gaze. In his she saw the ready humor and the unasked question. What now, Mel?
She’d like to show him “what now” right now. But it’d sure be easier if he didn’t look like a million bucks standing there, if he wasn’t street smart and sharp as a tack, capable of running her world without problem, maybe even better than she…
Extra grateful for the bag of donuts in her hand, she stalked to her plane and began her own preflight check. She was in a crouch, writing on her clipboard when two work boots appeared in her peripheral, topped by a set of tanned, toned legs. Bracing herself, she straightened.
Bo eyed Char’s goodie bag. “Smells good.”
“The donuts are mine.”
“Maybe I meant you.”
Unbelievably, her nipples hardened. “I smell like oil and gasoline.”
Leaning in, he sniffed exaggeratedly, his nose wriggling just beneath her ear, causing a sort of chain reaction from her nipples to ground zero between her thighs. “Mmmm,” he said. “Two of my favorite scents.”
That they were also her favorite scents would not budge her.
“Want to know another favorite scent?” he murmured.
“No.”
“An aroused woman.”
She crossed her arms and stepped back, making him laugh softly. “Yeah, sexy as hell, that scent.” He smiled, something that threw her off, then hooked his finger into the bag she clutched to her chest, peering in. “Look at that. You have extra.”
“One. You can have one.”
He nabbed a large, old-fashioned chocolate glaze, sinking strong white teeth into it and letting out a rough sound of pure pleasure that might have curled her toes, though she’d have to be under the threat of a slow, tortuous death to admit it.
“Have a safe flight,” he said around a mouthful.
Damn, just when she thought he was a complete loss to the human race, he had to go and say something nice. “I have no idea how to take you,” she said, baffled. “No idea at all.”
He shrugged a broad shoulder. “Then just take me.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop herself. “Do those lines ever really work for you?”
He just grinned, and her toes curled some more. Yeah, they worked for him, and it left Mel shaking her head at the entire female population, including herself.
Mel’s charter to Arizona went smoothly. Once she’d landed in Tucson, she called Dimi. “Everything okay?”
“As okay as it gets.”
There was a lot in Dimi’s voice, and Mel felt gray hairs kicking in. Dimi handled her stress badly. That was fact. She downward spiraled in tough times, and it wasn’t pretty. Mel wanted to prevent Dimi from falling into that pit again, but how?
Get Bo the hell out of there, that was how. “Hang in there,” Mel demanded, and hung up. While waiting for a refuel, standing in the blazing sun, she tried Sally’s cell again, and this time got an extremely unwelcome surprise instead of Sally’s voice mail: the number was no longer in service.
Mel blinked. Stared at her cell phone. Redialed.
Same thing.
She slowly shut the phone, shock crashing over her, wave after wave.
What the hell was happening to her universe?
Late that afternoon, Dimi walked through the lobby of North Beach on autopilot as she closed shop for the day, for once not enjoying the gorgeous view of the lush green hills of the Santa Ynez Mountains or the scalloped coastline, or the fact that the tarmac had three planes on it, which meant paying customers.
She was too wigged out about Bo’s return, about Sally’s vanishing act, about the deed…She
could hardly even breathe.
All this worry was bad for her. It made her hair lank, made her stomach hurt. Made her feel like she was playing catch with steak knives.
She blew out her candles, shut down her computer. The café was still hopping but that was Char’s deal, so she went into the employee break room for her things and found the lights still on.
Danny stood there, playing darts by himself. He wore board shorts, a loose tank, and no shoes. He threw his last dart, his lower lip between his teeth as he concentrated, and when the dart hit double thirteen, he turned to her and smiled, teeth flashing white, his eyes looking startlingly blue in his tanned face. “Play me.”
“Can’t.” God, couldn’t he see she felt so on edge, so tense she thought she might shatter at the slightest provocation?
“Come on, I’m on a roll,” he coaxed. “And you look like you could use a little fun.”
Fun. Yeah, she needed fun. Mindless fun, and not the platonic kind she always had with Danny, but the kind of fun she could get only with a man who didn’t know her, who couldn’t look into her eyes and see the pain, or if they did, wouldn’t comment on it.
Danny wasn’t that guy. He knew her too well, knew all her dark secrets. In fact, even now his smile faded, and he looked at her in that way he had of seeing right into her. If she turned away, he’d just pull her back around.
So she lifted her chin, stalked to the board in her pink miniskirt and polka-dotted halter top, and grabbed a set of darts. Tossing him a long, level look, she managed a smile. “What are we playing for?”
For a beat, his eyes darkened. Then he shrugged it off and smiled that easy smile, making her wonder if she was seeing things. “Name it.”
“Such power,” she teased.
“Name it,” he said again, softly now.
She would—except he couldn’t give it to her. She wanted oblivion, faceless oblivion. “Winner gets breakfast for the rest of the week,” she said. “Delivered right to their—”
“Bed?”
She laughed. “Desk.”
He turned to get his own darts, not showing his face for a long moment. “Deal,” he finally said, turning around. “You first.”
Suited her. She threw a dart, and unbelievably, missed the board entirely. This was so shocking, she just stood there staring at the dart still quivering in the wall.
Danny, knowing she was usually unbeatable, pulled her around to face him. “Okay, talk to me.”
She stared up into his familiar face and felt her throat tighten. God, she was so sick of herself. “I’m good.”
“Dimi—”
“No, really. I’m fantastic, actually.”
“You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown.”
“Fine, things are out of control, all right?” She backed away. “I’m out of control!”
“Why?”
She couldn’t explain, couldn’t tell him Bo had the deed and the world she and Mel had created might have never even existed. “It’s complicated.”
“Most things are, Deem.”
“Look, all I know is that tea isn’t working, crystals aren’t working, nothing’s working.”
He touched her jaw. “How about breathing? Have you tried that?”
He wasn’t teasing her, he was serious and she could have loved him for that alone. She gulped in air and shot him a wry glance. “I am now.”
“Good.” He kissed her cheek. “Keep doing that.” For a moment he stayed close, his tall, lean body supporting hers. “You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything.”
Not this, she couldn’t. “Danny. Don’t you ever get tired of feeling sorry for me?”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. You’re too ornery to feel sorry for.”
“Good.” She went to the line, gripping her darts with new determination. “Prepare to lose.” Backing up the words, she threw.
Double twenty.
Her game was back.
Or so he let her think for a few minutes, before he proceeded to kick it into gear and beat her by three points.
“I could use breakfast now,” he said, putting the darts away.
“It’s dinnertime.”
“So?”
She just rolled her eyes and headed to the door before he could say anything else, before he could see her tension had really only mounted…
It was her own fault. She’d gotten complacent. She’d fallen into a false sense of security, and she’d forgotten the pretense. She was good at forgetting. She’d spent most of her childhood forgetting about her father’s wandering ways, her mother’s drugs…
What if it all fell apart again, her entire world? If she lost this job, what would happen to her? She had no talent for anything other than sleeping with men, and even there she hadn’t been all that successful or she’d have a diamond ring and a minivan by now.
Nibbling on a nail, she made her way through Sunshine Café, which was still suitably filled. A handful of women sat at one table. They’d flown in on a private jet owned by the husband of one of the women. Dressed in designer gear, they looked like a million bucks, all with expensive bags at their feet, most likely filled with the afternoon’s shopping spoils. They probably had perfect lives, beautiful homes, complete with minivans.
At another table sat a couple. The man was in his sixties and now retired, but he had been a Hollywood movie star for years, and had developed an expensive plane habit that North Beach was all too happy to satisfy. The woman dripped bling.
It was the third table to catch her interest: five men, ranging from twentysomething into their forties, rowdy and noisy, all toasting themselves over one deal or another.
Maybe they’d gone to the track and had won big. Maybe they were in town for a convention. Dimi didn’t know, but all that really mattered was that they stopped talking as she walked past them and up to Char’s counter.
She could almost hear the collective male sigh and smiled inwardly as she waved at Al. “A beer,” she said, needing a drink bad and wishing they had the hard stuff. “Make it two,” she decided.
“Hey, Sexy. Is this seat taken?”
Dimi looked up into a tall, dark, and gorgeous stranger’s face—one of the rowdy men behind her—and because he was the youngest and the best looking, she smiled. “Only by you,” she purred, thinking there, she’d just found herself exactly what she needed: her mindless oblivion.
Chapter 6
That night Mel tried to call Dimi, but couldn’t reach her. Sitting in her small beach bungalow, Mel hung up the phone and stared out at the churning ocean, hating that she knew Dimi was out somewhere, trying to lose herself.
Finally she turned to her laptop and checked her e-mail, gingerly, braced for another message from LeaveItAlone, but nothing.
She didn’t know what she’d expected, but answers would have been nice. Was it Sally, asking her to leave it alone?
And if that was true, why hadn’t Sally just come out and asked Mel herself? Surely she knew Mel would have done anything for her, if asked.
Unable to think anymore, she climbed into bed and slept surprisingly hard, dreaming even harder. Again a pair of green eyes followed her into dreamland, laughing sea green eyes in a strong, tanned face, with an Aussie voice and a smile that could melt a woman’s panties right off at fifty paces.
She woke up to the sun stabbing her in the face and decided she hated green eyes and sexy smiles, no matter who they belonged to. Still in bed, her gaze locked on the picture on her dresser: Sally in the cockpit of the Hawker, her head tossed back in laughter, as it so often had been.
God, Mel missed her. Still.
There was also a pic of Mel and Dimi at age sixteen, the day Mel had gotten her pilot’s license. They were high-fiving each other, with Mel proudly displaying the license in her free hand.
The best day of her life because of Sally.
Climbing out of bed, Mel moved to her bedroom window, devoid of window coverings because she loved the unencumbered view of th
e craggy sandstone outcroppings of the Santa Ynez Mountains rising so close to the water. The terrain was rugged. Lots of mornings she got up before dawn to climb. It was great exercise and she loved the dramatic view from the top of the sheer rock faces and massive boulders and overhangs.
But this morning she just let herself stand there watching the day, soothed by the sounds of the sea before she hit the shower and drove into work.
North Beach Airport’s day typically began at six A.M. The linemen came in, Char opened the café, the doors on the outside hangars rose, all in preparation for the morning flights. They usually had three to five planes come in to fuel up before nine o’clock. Some of those remained on the tarmac while their rich patrons went into Santa Barbara for their business. Some were towed into the maintenance hangar for work needed, and others simply used the airport as a fuel stop and moved on.
But as they typically did every morning before their day began, the staff and crew gathered at the counter of the Sunshine Café, mooching coffee from Charlene, standing around for the early-morning gossip session.
Mel, who was usually first into the airport, stood in the middle of it now, sucking down caffeine, humming to an old Ratt song, which was coming from the ever-faithful boom box. Dimi was nowhere in sight, as usual. The woman was going to be late to her own funeral.
Ritchie was the front lineman today, and Kellan the rear, both inhaling donuts along with Danny and Ernest. Ritchie was talking, using his hands, his big gestures matching the grin on his face. “…And then I said, if you won’t dress like a Victoria’s Secret model, then don’t expect me to act like a soap opera guy—”
Kellan laughed. “Oh, yeah, I bet that got you laid.”
“Hey, I was just being honest.” Ritchie looked at the others. “It’s best to be honest. Right?”
The ones with a penis vehemently shook their heads.
Mel sighed. “More donuts,” she said to Char. “We need more donuts.”
“Got ’em.” Charlene came forward to plop down a tray, and it was like feeding piranhas, hands moved that fast. Mel managed to fight her way in and get a cinnamon twist, and had just taken a heavenly bite when Al nudged her. “So what’s up with that Bo guy?”
