Flight Risk

by Karen Ann Dell

  “Miranda handles all of the bookings for our guests’ local excursions. Zoe’s hot-air balloon rides, the boat rentals and water sport equipment rentals and side trips to the Keys or Disney World.” Lacey smiled at Owen. “She’ll be right in the middle of things and a major force in encouraging our guests to use your charter service and local air tours.”

  Owen glanced between Lacey and Mark, a sinking feeling widening in his gut. He could imagine how few customers his new charter service would get after last night’s debacle. “Yeah. This ought to be good.”

  ~~~

  Miranda’s stomach tied itself in a tight, acid-drenched knot when Lacey Walker’s secretary asked her to come to the office. Had she messed up the paperwork—again? She’d been extra careful after that last guest had complained that he’d booked the hot-air balloon ride for Thursday, not Wednesday, as Miranda had scheduled it. She was positive the man had specified Wednesday. But the customer was always right, so … Since he and his new wife didn’t show for the Wednesday appointment and Thursday was already booked for another guest, they didn’t have time to reschedule before their return flight to Boston. They were not happy. Neither was Lacey, although she gave Miranda the benefit of the doubt and another chance instead of firing her on the spot. Her boss was nothing if not understanding and fair.

  Please, God, don’t let this be another fuck-up. Oops. Sorry, God, pardon the language. I know I have potty mouth.

  She took a deep breath, tapped lightly on Lacey’s door, and entered. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?” she asked before she even noticed there were two men seated in front of her boss’s desk. She glanced quickly at one. He didn’t look familiar. She had a good memory for faces—if not always for names—and she was sure she hadn’t met this man before.

  She looked at the other one and closed her eyes in distress. No! Oh, sweet heavenly Father, I’m sorry about the language. Truly. And I promise I’ll never have three shots of Patron in a row again. Just, please, please, make Thor a mirage!

  “Good morning, Miranda.” Mark stood and shook her hand. “My name is Mark Rossman. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She slid a glance sideways. Nope. Her prayer was not answered. The hammerless blond hunk regarded her with a matching look of impending doom. She wanted to sink through the floor. Had he already told Lacey about last night?

  “I believe you met Owen Ziegfeld yesterday evening,” Mark continued.

  Speechless, she could only nod.

  “Well, first let me apologize for the terrible inconvenience that one of my newer agents put you through.”

  Miranda narrowed her eyes at Tho—Owen. Yes. Now she knew his name. Owen Ziegfeld. The jerk. Who now tried to hide a grin, the bastard, while she prepared to be read the riot act by Lacey for last night’s escapade.

  She should have kicked him harder.

  “I’m sure the experience must have been frightening, to say the least,” Mark continued. Catching the glare Miranda sent to Owen, he hurried to add, “Don’t misunderstand. Owen is not one of my agents. I tried hard to recruit him, but he turned me down cold. The agent is Hank Blackley. He is very sorry for the discomfort he caused you, and I can only add my apologies to his. Ordinarily I would remove him from this operation, but he has made contact with a principal player, and it would be too difficult to introduce another agent into the mix at this point.”

  Owen stood and offered Miranda his chair. “Please. Have a seat, Miranda. I’m sure you’re … tired.”

  She glared at him, pointedly focusing on his solar plexus. “Thank you. You’re so kind. Especially since I’m sure you’re … sore.” She swept past him and sat facing Lacey. “Mrs. Walker, I—”

  “Don’t worry, Miranda. You are not in any trouble here. As a matter of fact, I’m hoping you might be willing to do me a huge favor.”

  The feeling of relief that washed through Miranda was so strong it made her glad to be sitting down. “Of course, ma’am. Anything.” She wanted to keep her job. Needed to keep it, or she wouldn’t have been so free with her promises.

  “I thought we lost the ma’am thing, Miranda. Lacey is fine.”

  “Yes, Lacey. What would you like me to do?”

  “First, although I don’t know all of the details, I understand that last night may have been quite traumatic for you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Lacey. Really.” No way she would let either Lacey or the two men watching her know how freaked she’d been over last night’s adventure.

  “Okay, then. Mr. Ziegfeld owns a charter jet company, and we are going to do some cross-marketing to offer our guests private jet service to Casa Blanca and also some local sightseeing trips to the Keys, Miami, Tampa, Disney … you get the idea. Places we’ve had to send guests to in limos in the past. This will be much more satisfactory to our clients. He’ll be promoting the resort in his ads, and I’m counting on you to offer his services whenever you feel a guest would be interested. You’ll have to spend some time with Owen to go over his charter rates and work out a schedule.”

  Miranda swiveled in her seat. “You own a charter jet company? And you’re a pilot?” she asked in amazement.

  “Guilty. On both counts.” Owen allowed the smile he’d been holding back to have its full effect.

  Miranda did her best to resist the blast of concentrated sexiness. “I can’t believe this.” She glanced between Mark and Lacey, then finally narrowed her eyes at Owen. “This isn’t some kind of a joke, is it?”

  “Miranda, we met less than twenty-four hours ago, so I realize that you don’t know me well. But I can promise you this. I don’t joke about flying. I own the company. I fly the planes. The rest of what you’ll hear today? Well, that joke is on me, for letting myself get tangled up in this FBI business. The sooner this mess is over with, the sooner I can get back to business as usual. Which, if you do a good job creating a demand for my company’s services, may involve hiring a few more pilots. You don’t happen to know anyone who flies, by any chance?”

  Miranda felt the blood drain from her face. Her palms got clammy. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. Owen is a pilot. And he might need more pilots. She did know someone who flew. Well, someone who used to fly. Maybe … She shook her head. This was really too much to take in at one time.

  “No? Well, I’ve never believed in serendipity, so I’m not surprised.” Owen squatted next to her chair to bring his face level with hers. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”

  Is that concern in his blue eyes? Yeah. Right. And I’m Angelina Jolie’s kid sister. I’d better get my act together before he goes back to thinking of me as some helpless female. She resisted the urge to rub her palms down her skirt. Instead, she squared her shoulders. “I’m fine. Now will someone please tell me what the heck is going on around here that requires the FBI to drug unsuspecting women?”

  Both men winced at her outburst, and Lacey raised a brow. “We’ll be joined in a second by Luke McBain, so let’s wait until he arrives so Mr. Rossman won’t have to repeat himself.”

  Luke McBain, the head of security. This must be serious business. A chill trickled down Miranda’s spine.

  As if on cue, Luke entered the office, and introductions were made.

  Mark Rossman began. “I know I don’t have to tell you all that what we’re going to discuss is not to be shared with anyone else at the resort.” He waited until he got affirmative nods from everyone. “The Bureau has recently disrupted a drug-smuggling operation out of Miami, and there are several organizations looking to fill the void our arrests have made. One of them, the Jansen Family, pays for their drugs with diamonds. A nice choice, since it is a much smaller payload than cash to transfer. Harold Jansen makes a tidy profit buying and selling gems and uses those transactions to launder drug money. We believe he is working with a supplier in Rio and wants to set up the drug-to-diamond swap somewhere in south Florida or possibly the Gulf of Mexico, using Casa Blanca as the jumping-off point, wh
ile members of the family are here on ‘vacation.’

  “Since they hired one of Owen’s jets to fly down here, I lucked out on the serendipity scale. Owen and I served together in the Air Force several years ago,” he added in explanation. “So I asked him to set up a recording device in the passenger cabin—hoping to capture some information. Mr. and Mrs. Jansen, their son and daughter, a bodyguard and their accountant made the trip yesterday. While there were some hints about the operation, nothing solid was recorded during the flight.” Mark shot an apologetic glance toward Miranda. “Hank was supposed to strike up an acquaintance with the daughter, Arianna, and use the drug patch to produce enough of an effect on her that he could step up and become her knight in shining armor, so to speak. Needless to say, the plan did not go as expected—at least in the beginning.”

  Miranda rewarded Mark with a sardonic expression that indicated her opinion on that subject more clearly than words.

  “Hank Blackley is a new agent whom we felt would be well-suited to this mission. He wanted to be here to apologize in person, however, he was successful in attracting Arianna’s attention last night and is joining her and her family today to water ski and snorkel off the coast. We didn’t feel we could pass up this opportunity for Hank to embed himself more deeply with them, so he couldn’t be here for this meeting. He sends his sincerest regrets, Miranda, and hopes you will forgive him.”

  Miranda nodded her acceptance, while sending a scathing glance toward Owen to indicate that acceptance did not include his behavior. His smile disappeared.

  “Since you handle all of the excursions for our guests,” Lacey said, “you’ll be in a perfect position to forward information about whatever the family members choose to do on their ‘vacation.’” Lacey added air quotes around the last word.

  Mark added, “We’d like as much advance notice as possible so we can insert our people in plenty of time.” He drew a folded paper from his inside jacket pocket. “Here is the name of a fake boat charter company you should use to book any trips they want to make. Owen will be your go-to guy for flight tours.” He checked his watch. “We’ve already kept you here too long, Miranda. If you’re willing to help us out, we need to get you back to your desk. We expect the Jansens to book a boat for their skiing outing soon.”

  Lacey stood. “Miranda, there are no strings attached to this. If you don’t feel comfortable, we’ll have someone else take over your position for the length of the Jansens’ stay. You’ll still be paid your usual salary, and your position will be waiting for you when they leave.”

  “It doesn’t sound difficult, since it’s what I do every day, anyway,” Miranda said. “I have no problem—as long as it doesn’t involve being drugged again.” She shot Owen another withering glance.

  “I’d like to point out that I wasn’t the one who drugged you, Miranda.” Owen’s eyes held a spark of annoyance, although his delivery was calm. “Since my attempts to help were not appreciated, you can be sure I won’t be involved in this deal, other than to provide flying tours should the Jansens request one. As for setting up schedules for the charter flights along the eastern seaboard, I’m sure we can work those out quickly, and I’ll be out of your hair before lunch.”

  Ouch. Now she felt bad that she’d appeared so ungrateful. After all, what would she have done if he’d merely walked away and let her slither off that bar stool into a heap on the floor? Really, Hank, the idiot newbie, should be the one on the receiving end of her wrath.

  “Okay, Miranda, you can go back to the lobby. I think it would be better if you and Owen worked out the details out of the public eye. We don’t want the Jansens to connect the two of you more than is necessary,” Mark said. “I’d like to go over a few more details with Luke and Lacey, but Owen, you’re free to go. Miranda, there’s a phone number on that paper I gave you. Please use it to pass along any information on trips planned by the Jansens.”

  Miranda nodded and stood. Owen followed her out. He handed her his business card. With rigid politeness he said, “Call when you want to schedule our session.” He headed for the lobby.

  Miranda grabbed his sleeve as he brushed past her. “Owen, I’m sorry. I’ve given you such a hard time when you were only trying to help me. My attitude was completely unfair. I let my temper get the best of me, so it’s my turn to apologize. If Mark wants us to meet more privately, let me make you dinner at my place. and we can get this scheduling business taken care of over some shrimp scampi and a bottle of white wine.”

  The stiffness in Owen’s posture dissipated slightly at her apology. “I appreciate the offer, but it isn’t necessary.”

  “I’d feel better, though. I’m not nearly as annoying when I’m sober and not hung over. Dinner is the least I could do to repay you for your rescue. Would six o’clock be okay?”

  Still hesitant, Owen studied her for a few seconds before he accepted. “Six would be fine, Miranda. See you this evening, then.”

  He hit her with his Thor smile, and she felt her knees weaken, this time without the benefit of drugs. She motioned him along and waited a few minutes after he went through the door to the lobby before she followed, her pause partly to comply with Mark Rossman’s instructions … and partly to get her heart rate back to normal.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Owen headed straight through the lobby and out the front doors. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Mark was already on site to tidy up Hank’s blunders and recruit Lacey Walker to help him thwart the Jansen family’s plans.

  Even as a squadron leader in the Air Force, Mark had always kept his eye on the ball and never let his team down. Owen was lucky to be his wingman and proud of their record in the air over Iraq and Afghanistan. When Mark didn’t re-up, Owen had no idea it was because the Bureau had recruited him to run ops stateside. A few months later, he’d been offered a slot as a drone jockey and gladly accepted the position that kept him back in the good old U. S. of A., attacking the enemy long-distance. His family had heaved a collective sigh of relief with one less son out of harm’s way. That had left only Jesse in active duty as a Navy SEAL, which was more than enough stress for his parents to deal with.

  Owen halted that line of thought before he replayed the tragedy that made him hang up his flight suit at the next opportunity. Surprisingly, he and Jesse had both turned in their uniforms within a few months of each other. Jesse’s physical injuries ensured that he’d not be in the teams any longer, so his departure wasn’t voluntary. Owen’s scars were the non-visible kind but every bit as painful.

  Enough of that. He decided to drive over to Mike’s fitness center and work out a while. He’d missed Mike and Kelly this morning. Maybe they would be able to have lunch with him afterward.

  His thoughts circled back to the spitfire named Miranda. At least Mike Rossman had relieved him of the burden of explaining last night’s festivities to her. She hadn’t seemed very forgiving during the meeting, but afterward in the hall outside of Lacey’s office, her attitude changed abruptly. Grateful as he was for it, Owen wondered what had brought on the sudden change. Maybe now that she knew he owned a corporate jet service and flew his own planes, she wouldn’t think of him as some kind of slimeball looking to take advantage of a helpless female.

  The drive across the causeway and into Naples took less than twenty minutes. Owen parked in front of the new fitness center and grabbed his gym bag from the trunk.

  He found Kelly in the back office writing checks. “Hey, lady, does Mike have you doing his work as well as your own?”

  She pushed her chair back and came around the desk to give him a hug. “Hi, handsome, how’s our jet jockey? We expected to see you for dinner last night, and when you didn’t show or call, Mike was sure you’d hooked up with a new lucky lady.”

  “Something like that,” he evaded while returning her hug. “You and Mike are making a go of the new center, I see. Pretty good turnout for this time of day.” He nodded through the window into the main room, where fifteen or so clients
were using equipment.

  “It’s coming along nicely,” Kelly agreed. “We’re trying to hire a few more instructors for the evening shift. That’s when we’re the busiest. Most folks come in right after work—or early in the morning.”

  “Yeah, when I came home you and Mike were already gone, and it was barely daylight. Where is that overdeveloped brother of mine, anyway?”

  “He’s teaching a women’s self-defense class right now. It’s become one of our most popular ones. He won’t be done for another hour, at least. Those ladies hate to let him go,” Kelly said, grinning.

  “Good thing you got to him first, Kel. He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him since you two tied the knot.”

  Kelly sighed. “I’m the lucky one, to have married into the nicest family ever. Now I can start bugging you to settle down.”

  Wanting to dodge that subject, Owen held up his bag. “Think I’ll spend some time working out the kinks myself. Have you got a spare locker I can use?”

  Kelly went to a pegboard on the wall and took a key down. “Here you go, Owen.” She tossed it over her shoulder. and Owen caught it singlehandedly. “If you can stand the wait, things quiet down around here by one-thirty. Want to get some lunch then?”

  “You read my mind, Kel.”

  Sweat-slicked and breathing hard, Owen had managed to hit all of the machines, ending with twenty-five pull-ups before the classroom Mike used emptied. Ladies of all shapes and sizes, the youngest in their twenties and the oldest possible candidates for Medicare, chatted amiably as they passed on the way to the women’s locker room. More than one made a comment about taking the course solely because of the instructor. He caught a few surreptitious glances in his own direction as the group went by.

  I need to spend more time at the gym. I keep forgetting about the benefits of seeing hot women in workout gear. Getting Argosy Charters up and running had taken most of his time and energy for the past two years. His dedication was beginning to pay off, but definitely at the expense of his social life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on an actual , and even the occasional one-night stand was a rarity. Those thoughts had his mind zeroing in on Miss Miranda Leighton. He absently rubbed the bruise between his ribcage and his navel. That little lady had some moves when it came to self-protection.