“Hello?”
“Weasel? Is this the real Weasel?”
“Fixer, hey. Yeah, it’s me. How the hell are you, buddy?”
“I’m a whole lot better now, Weasel, uh, Wes.”
“Hell, call me Weasel. Most everybody does anyway.”
Owen dropped into a chair and grinned. One bright spot in a crappy day. He remembered Wes clearly from their days in the Air Force. Barely five foot seven, and only a few pounds away from skinny, he was tough and wiry, with shaggy brown hair and—there was no nice way to say it—beady little eyes. Most folks would have thought his looks earned him the handle “Weasel,” but actually it came from his uncanny ability to pilot anything with wings, fixed or rotary, through the twisted terrain of the Afghan mountains, flying so low under the radar everyone expected him to become a smear of blood and oil on some rock face before his tour was up.
“What’s up, Weasel?”
“I hear you’re lookin’ for a pilot. Thought I might help you out.”
Exactly what he needed. But before he got his hopes up, he had to ask some questions. It had been four years since they’d parted company at Bagram Air Base.
“You still current?”
“Hell, yes, I’m current. Been ferrying crew to and from those deep water oil rigs out in the gulf the past couple of years. Pays not bad, but it’s boring as shit, man.”
“This might not be a whole lot better, Wease.” Owen gave him the rundown on the Casa Blanca venture. “I need someone to make nice with the rich and famous guests and take them wherever they want to go. Safely. No skimming wave tops or high-rises. Generally to Miami, the Keys, Orlando and Tampa. Even as far as Jacksonville, if there’s a football game they want to see.” Assuming I succeed in finding some air-worthy, but affordable, plane.
“At least there’d be a little variety. And those rich dudes tip good. How much you payin’?”
“How much do you want? I’m just getting started with this, Weasel, and I won’t bullshit you, I can’t afford much. We start making a profit, I’ll give you a raise first thing.”
Weasel quoted him a figure smack up against the top of his budget.
“Ahh …”
“Let me make it easier on you, Fix. How about I throw in my own chopper?”
Owen almost choked on his beer. “You’re shitting me. You own your own helicopter?”
“I do.” He dropped his voice as though someone might be listening. “It’s an MD500. Some oil exec used it to visit his mistress in Vegas.” He chuckled. “I just happened to be the one who told his wife about the floozy. She divorced him and sold it to me for less than half what it’s worth.”
“Lucky bastard.”
“Ain’t I, though?”
“How soon can you start?”
“Monday soon enough? Me and the boss, we had a disagreement over time off, so once I saw your ad, I told him to kiss my ass.”
“In that case, Monday’ll work. And Weasel? If we ever part ways, I’d expect a bit more notice.” Owen mentally reviewed his obligations for the coming week. He’d have time to swap Jack for two of his, which would free him up to be back in Florida by Saturday. He’d ask Judy to work her magic on Jack so he wouldn’t quit at the switch. “I’m setting up shop at Naples airport. Right now I only have tie-down space, but I plan on a hangar rental by Christmas.”
“Sounds good.”
“Call me at this number when you touch down.”
“Will do, Fix. See you soon, buddy.”
Weasel wasn’t the only lucky bastard. Owen popped the top on his second beer and let some of the anxiety drain out of him. The chopper wasn’t what he’d planned on, but as a starter option, there was a lot to recommend it.
His mother came into the kitchen and rubbed his shoulders. “You look tired, son. Have you been burning the candle at both ends again?”
“Middle, too. This deal with the resort down in Florida is looking up, though. I may actually be able to take some time off in 2018.”
She laughed. “Mike tells me you’ve got a new girlfriend.”
Damn! Can’t Mike keep his mouth shut about anything? “Mike should put a zipper on it.”
“He only wants what he’s got with Kelly for you, too. Tell me about her.”
“Mom, I only met her a few days ago. Her name is Miranda, and she works the excursion desk at the resort. She’ll be the one talking up Argosy and scheduling local tours and charters.”
“Mike must have seen you two together somewhere. He said you both seemed quite taken with each other.”
Really? He would break Mike’s jaw the next time he saw him. “She trains at his gym. She has a brown belt in karate.” And knows how to kick ass. “Mike talked me into helping in his women’s self-defense class one evening.” Unconsciously, he rubbed his chest. “She takes that, too.”
“Well, you know you’re always welcome to bring her home for a visit.”
“Slow down, Mom.”
“Just offering, honey. No pressure.” She mussed his hair with her fingers. “I’ve got papers to finish. Will I see you in the morning?”
“Yeah. I’ll be wheels-up by 8.”
Miranda is lugging a whole lot of baggage around. She needs to know I’ll be there for her no matter what she decides to do about it. Then maybe we can build a future together. Until then, there will be no bringing her home to meet the folks.
~~~
“Well?”
“I’m in. Start Monday.”
“Excellent. Stay in touch.”
“Will do. Thanks for the chopper.”
“No need for gratitude. I pay my employees well. You do your job, and more good things will come your way.”
“How did you find me, anyway?”
“Curiosity is not a virtue, Mr. Harris. It’s a liability. One I can’t afford in my employees. Keep that in mind.”
The line went dead.
“Alrighty, then,” Wes said, stuffing jeans and T-shirts into his duffel bag.
CHAPTER NINE
Miranda kicked off her shoes as soon as she came through the door. Why did I ever buy four-inch stilettos? They make my legs look awesome, but my feet pay the price. Good thing I’m behind a desk most of the day so I can slip them off with no one the wiser.
She opened the cage and coaxed Tinkerbelle onto her finger. “How’s my pretty bird today? Can you learn to say, ‘Owen loves you’?” She chuckled at her own foolishness. Tinkerbelle flew toward the lanai with Icarus a wingspan behind her. After she filled their food and water dishes, she went to the bedroom to change.
Owen had only been gone five days, but it felt like a month. It wasn’t simply the sex, though that was off the charts. She missed his smile and his jokes and the feeling of security he instilled in her when he was near. It was ridiculous to think she was in love with the man. She barely knew him. How could she possibly have fallen for him so quickly?
Maybe she should ask her new therapist. She’d taken Owen’s advice and called a psychologist recommended by one of the women who ran the Eucalyptus spa. Yesterday was her first appointment, and the therapist, Mary Brandt, immediately put her at ease. They spent the session getting to know each other and didn’t touch on the reason she’d come until the hour was almost up.
“I want you to be comfortable first, Miranda,” Mary had said. “Otherwise you won’t want to come back. We have plenty of time to work on what’s bothering you, and I won’t push you to go faster than you want to go. You decide how often you want to meet with me.”
That feeling of control was important. She’d made another appointment for Friday. Miranda knew a small part of the reason she finally took this step was to make Owen proud of her for facing her demons. But the biggest reason was to fly again. That part was all her. She wanted back in the cockpit, the yoke in her hands, ready for that leap into the sky. And to be able to handle the inevitable return to earth.
The accident had cut a jagged hole in her soul. Any reference to her dad or flying
brought her to the edge of that hole, filled with dread and despair. It had been too deep to explore and too wide to jump across—until Owen gave her a reason to try.
She sat at the table on the lanai with a glass of wine and the takeout salad she brought home from Junonia, Casa Blanca’s gourmet restaurant. She wasn’t big into cooking. so it was wonderful to bring home a delicious dinner from work, with a steep employee discount.
Hank stopped at her desk the next day, accompanied by Arianna, whom Miranda mentally referred to as “The Bimbo.” Miranda pretended not to know him and hoped The Bimbo didn’t remember her from that first fateful night. Arianna narrowed her eyes and gave her a haughty once-over, then dismissed her, while Hank went through his fake request about local charter flights and Miranda replied with her now memorized spiel for Argosy Charters and the imminent provision for local excursions. “The owner is expanding his fleet, and as soon as he does, we can accommodate your request, Mr. Blackley.”
“He is Viscount Blackley, not Mister Blackley,” Arianna interrupted with a sniff.
“Don’t fret, my dear. I realize titles are not held in the same esteem here as they are at home.” Hank patted her arm.
“But darling, I think they’re important. And she,” Arianna tossed her head in Miranda’s direction, “should address you properly.” The Bimbo slipped her arm through his and lifted her chin in regal disdain.
The things this job requires me to do. Miranda inhaled deeply. “My apologies, Lord Blackley. As I was saying, we will be able to provide helicopter service beginning Monday. Perhaps that would work for your trip?”
Arianna shook her head. “Ew, helicopters are so noisy and messy. They won’t be able to carry my mother, Gregor, Hank and I, plus our bags. We’re spending a few days at the Courtenays’ estate near Key West. They have their own island with an airstrip. Surely you can find more suitable transportation than a ratty old helicopter.”
I’d really like to slap the shit out of this girl. Just because you’re dating the guy, it doesn’t give you “Lady of the Manor” privileges, bitch. Miranda bit her tongue as she mentally upgraded Arianna’s title to “Bimbo Princess.” A diamond the size of a hazelnut flashed on her finger as she hung on Hank’s arm. You need to be careful out in the sun, or you might accidentally set yourself on fire, BP.
“I’ll pass your requirements on to Mr. Ziegfeld, Miss Jansen. What day did you wish to leave for the Keys?”
“I’d like to leave by Wednesday. We have a hot-air balloon ride to fit in at some point and mother and I have a full day planned at Eucalyptus on Tuesday.”
Miranda consulted her laptop. Her spreadsheet showed an opening in Zoe Bradbury’s schedule on Monday morning. “I can book your balloon ride for Monday.” She glanced between the two. “Would that be acceptable?”
Hank waited for Bimbo Princess’s approving nod. “That would be very good. Thank you.” He winked at Miranda.
“Excellent. I’ll have a car and driver out front at ten. He’ll take you to the launch area.” She blanked out the three-hour block on her spreadsheet, assigned it to the Jansens’ bill and printed an appointment card for the Bimbo Princess to keep for reference.
She spent the rest of the afternoon procuring passes to Disney and Sea World for two couples. Too bad that helicopter Owen told her about wasn’t already here. They missed making money every day they waited to start business.
Owen would be back Saturday. He’d have stuff to take care of at the airport, but they planned on dinner together after her final class in women’s self-defense at Mike’s gym. After dinner, they might finally get in that walk on the beach. Then again, maybe not … She smiled to herself.
“Good afternoon, miss. It’s nice to see someone with a smile.” Harold Jansen held his hand out.
Miranda stood and shook it, then offered him a seat next to her desk. “How may I help you, Mr. Jansen?”
“My daughter has spent the last half an hour complaining.” He sighed heavily. “She is used to getting her own way, you see.”
Miranda bit her lip. “Yes. I understand. I’m sorry we’re not up and running with Argosy Charters as soon as we would like, Mr. Jansen. The owner is due back tomorrow, and I’ll pass along your concerns. I know he is searching for another plane to add to his fleet. One that will be based here in Naples.”
“Yes, but Arianna also told me you will have a helicopter available starting Monday. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.” She ruffled through some papers and extracted the spec sheet on the helicopter. “It can easily carry four passengers, with some baggage.”
“Excellent. I would like to reserve it for Monday, then. I have to meet a business associate in Miami, and my son and accountant will accompany me.”
“I see. What time would you wish to leave?”
“Ten in the morning, I think. Will that be possible?”
“Of course, Mr. Jansen.” She slid a copy of the charter agreement across her desk. “Please read this, then sign here.” She pointed.
He signed the paper with a flourish. “I don’t need to read it. I trust Mr. Ziegfeld completely. I am only sorry he will not be my pilot for this flight.”
“I understand that Mr. Harris is a very experienced pilot, Mr. Jansen. He and Mr. Ziegfeld both flew together in Afghanistan.”
“That is comforting to know.” He stood. “Thank you so much for your assistance. Oh, and mention to Mr. Ziegfeld that I may have a lead on an airplane that might suit him. Perhaps we can have a drink together sometime this weekend.”
“I’ll let him know, sir. And thank you for using Argosy Charters.”
Miranda watched him walk across the lobby toward Rick’s Café, where he met his two-man entourage. The accountant and the bodyguard. She dialed the number Mark Rossman had given her and relayed the excursion plans for both the parents and the daughter. Clearly he wanted Owen’s charter service up and running ASAP. Somehow Owen was getting sucked deeper and deeper into this FBI operation, and that made her nervous.
She left at 5 and made her appointment with Mary right on time. This visit, she’d tell her about the accident. She was jittery but determined to get through it.
Flying again would be worth the pain.
~~~
Owen exhaled and stretched to get the kink out of his neck. A lot had happened since he’d landed at noon.
He’d finished the endless reams of paperwork required to set up a base of operations at Naples Airport as soon as he’d landed. He wanted two guaranteed tie-downs before Wes flew in.
The crew chief in the general aviation hangar had waved him over to see a Beechcraft Bonanza whose owner was interested in selling. A tidy aircraft that could handle four passengers and two crew, it appeared well maintained with updated instruments and a refurbished interior. It definitely made Owen’s list of possibilities.
“The owner is in a cash bind and looking for a quick sale,” the crew chief said. “You might be able to make a deal.”
Owen asked for the logs and looked them over. “Tell the owner I’m interested, but we have to talk price.” He gave the man his card. “Cell’s on the back. Have him call me.”
“Will do.”
He met Miranda for dinner, then, while she had her final class with Mike, he sat back in the office with the logs. Nice plane. A definite contender. Too rich for his current purse, however.
Once her class finished, he and Miranda declined Mike and Kelly’s offer to join them for dinner, and went back to her place, where they made up for all the time he’d been away.
Owen stuck his right hand behind his head and held Miranda snugged against his chest with the other. He’d like to end every day like this. Making love with Miranda was never the same but always amazing. When she’d told him she had started seeing a psychologist to work through her issues surrounding her father’s death, his heart folded over. Brave and smart, this woman had reached the top of his list. He couldn’t live without her.
The FBI bullshit kept
him awake. Miranda gave him a full report of her meeting with Mr. Jansen and the one with Hank and Arianna. Maybe Hank was right. It was kind of strange that his investors suddenly had a new partner who just happened to think they shouldn’t put more money into Owen’s company right now. And then, what do you know? Someone wants to sell just the kind of aircraft he’d been searching for. Right here in Naples, too. What a coincidence.
Too restless to sleep, he gently moved away from Miranda and pulled his shorts on to go sit on the lanai and figure out what to do. The perfect solution would be to let Jansen buy in on the plane, then nail him with the drugs and put him in prison. Argosy would wind up with another aircraft, practically for pennies.
Yeah, maybe. Too many things could go wrong with that plan. He retrieved his cell phone from the nightstand, tucked the covers around Miranda again, and headed back outside. Then, on a hunch, he switched direction and looked out the living room window. The street was quiet, and the solitary streetlight cast a warm yellow puddle two doors down. The house past that was shuttered and had a for-sale sign on the lawn. A dark sedan was parked in the driveway. Now, why would an empty house have a car in the driveway? Damn, this FBI shit was making him paranoid. He’d ask Miranda in the morning if she recognized the car.
Back on the porch, he called Mark Rossman. If he wasn’t going to get any sleep, no reason Mark couldn’t share his misery.
“Hello?” Mark had that just-awakened-but-trying-to-sound-alert voice.
“Mark. It’s Owen.”
“WTF, O? Is something wrong?” He now sounded wide awake.
“I’m not sure, but I may be under surveillance. Do you have any of your guys watching me?”
“No. But…”
“Someone else might be? Someone the Jansens hired, maybe?”
Barefoot Bay_Flight Risk Page 11
