Flight Risk

by Karen Ann Dell

  “Your turn. What did you do before you started your own airline?”

  “Worked for Uncle Sam.” He concentrated on his grouper.

  “No. Don’t tell me you worked for one of those acronym organizations? The CIA, DEA, ICE?”

  “Nothing that scary. I was in the Air Force. A pilot,” he confessed before she asked.

  “Oh. Deployed in the Middle East, I guess, huh?”

  He nodded. “Afghanistan.”

  “That must have been awful.”

  “It was. The only thing I’m grateful to the Air Force for was teaching me to fly.” He’d skip the part about piloting drones instead of jets during his second tour. “See? I told you we wouldn’t get through dinner without talking about flying.”

  “You win. How soon will you be able to start the local tours? I’m sure I’ll get lots of questions about that.” She sipped her wine.

  “Mostly that will depend on how soon I can hire another pilot. I’ll be tied up here with all the boring paperwork out at the airport, and someone will have to take over my flights.” He signaled to the waiter for a second Dos Equis and pointed to her glass.

  “No. One’s enough for me tonight, thanks.”

  He continued with the logistics of this new venture, since she seemed interested above and beyond the necessity of explaining to the guests that they would not be ready to fly local shuttle service any time soon. “I’m only able to afford one aircraft for down here, so I’ll look for one that covers the most bases. Finding one at the right price will be tough.”

  His cell phone chirped with Hank’s ringtone. The screen read “911. Need to meet asap.”

  “Crap. There goes our walk on the beach.” Among other things. He checked his watch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Hank needs to talk to me. He says it’s urgent. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t ignore it.”

  “Of course not. I understand.” She bit her bottom lip. “If it doesn’t take too long, you, uh, could come by after. Maybe it won’t be too late for a walk on the beach.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?” Because after I’m finished strangling Hank, I’d love to end my day with you.

  “Not at all. You’re leaving tomorrow. Who knows when you’ll be back? Call and give me a heads-up if you can make it.”

  “In that case, let’s get the heck out of here.” He signaled for their check. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short. You probably wanted dessert …”

  Her gaze sent a message. “No worries. I’ll have something later.”

  Owen slapped his credit card on the bill and texted Hank while the waiter ran it. “15 min. Where?”

  “Pleasure Pointe, by boat ramp.”

  At least he’d be headed in the right direction. Once he dropped Miranda home, he’d be only a few minutes away. He ignored the speed limit and zipped into her driveway in short order.

  “Thanks for dinner, Captain.” Miranda leaned over and kissed him.

  He slipped his hand around to cup her head and deepen the kiss. “Hold that thought, love.” He could feel her pulse beating a tattoo under his thumb. “I’ll be back.”

  Five minutes later, Owen slid to a stop and killed his headlights. The sun had burned down to embers on the western horizon, and stars pierced the deep indigo sky. He followed the signs to the boat ramp. No sign of Hank. If that SOB changed his mind, I’ll—

  “O, over here.”

  He turned in the direction of the sound but still didn’t see Hank. “Where the hell are—”

  “Quiet, Owen. Were you followed?”

  What the hell? He finally saw a glimmer of light from behind the tackle shop at the end of the ramp. He walked closer, careful not to make any noise. “Of course I wasn’t followed. Why would anyone be tailing me?”

  “Because I believe Harold Jansen has his men keeping an eye on you. He thinks this deal you’re doing with Casa Blanca is going to cost you more money than you can finance, what with new planes, pilots, hangar fees and advertising. On the other hand, if he buys in on one or more of the planes to help you out, he figures he’ll get access to it whenever he wants to take a little trip to Miami or the Keys. Before he offers you anything, he has to make sure you’re clean. You know, simply a small-time businessman looking to go big and getting in over his head.”

  “Well, he’s barking up the wrong control tower, Hank. AJ hooked me up with a few venture capitalists who are willing to invest in Argosy. In fact, they already have. They financed the Citation I bought last summer, and it’s already making us money. I sent the specs about this deal to them last week. I’m sure they’ll come up with the cash I need.”

  Hank looked doubtful. “Okay, if you say so. Jansen is no newcomer to this arena. He’s got connections we had no idea of. But he needs to get his transportation nailed down soon, or he’ll lose out on landing the big cartels. Don’t be surprised if he seeks you out to make a deal, Owen.” Hank put his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Listen, old chap, I know Mark Rossman promised you no involvement and no risk, but he’d love for you to take the deal so we can find out where his connections are going to take place. Jansen has a whole laboratory and packaging plant in Rio making Oxycontin by the boatload—as long as he can come up with the cash to pay for it and the distribution up north. We know he’s going to use diamonds, but we have to catch him with the goods before we can nail him.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that. I told Mark from the get-go I wasn’t interested in anything more than flying Jansen’s family down here and back. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Hank held his hands up in surrender. “Right. I understand. Didn’t want you to get blindsided if Jansen just happened to run into you somewhere.”

  Hank wasn’t so bad after all. “Thanks for the heads-up, pal. You watch your step with these assholes, you hear?”

  “No problem, O. The daughter is finding my company very enjoyable, and her pillowtalk has provided us with a wealth of information. My cover is tight, and Arianna is over the moon about being seen with the son of a lord. For the nouveau riche, titles are worth their weight in gold—or diamonds in this instance.”

  Owen shook his head. “Better you than me, pal. And thanks again for the warning.”

  He walked back to his car, keeping his gait unhurried and casual. The thought of being watched put an itch between his shoulder blades. He still didn’t trust Hank’s information completely. If he got most of it from Jansen’s daughter, it might not be reliable. He’d be in the air by 7 tomorrow morning, so he doubted Jansen would have a chance to talk to him about anything. He wasn’t due to take the family back to the Hamptons for another two weeks.

  Shoving all that nonsense to the back of his mind, he checked his watch, then called Miranda.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Miranda, this is your captain speaking. I’m five minutes out and looking for a place to land. Any ideas?”

  Her soft chuckle tightened his pants. “Why, yes, Captain, I believe I have an empty berth ready and waiting. You’re cleared to land anytime.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Owen spent most of the flight back to Philly with a silly grin on his face, glad that neither of his married brothers could see him. One look, and they’d know he’d fallen. Hard. Then all the merciless teasing he’d dished out when they’d found the loves of their lives would be returned a hundredfold.

  Last night he and Miranda set a new record in his book. She met him at the door in nothing but a short silk robe, leapt into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his hips. He was naked and inside her in less than five minutes. Orgasmic in less than ten.

  No doubt the stresses of the day had something to do with the speed of their mutual ascent into nirvana. The woman was hotter than a stick of dynamite that had been left out in the sun too long. She was lithe and limber, toned and tight, feisty one moment, then flirtatious the next. Her skin was like satin, her hair like silk, her lips soft and plump—both sets. He’d never met anyone quite like her. T
hey’d slept and made love again, more slowly this time, then slept again, spooned together.

  He slipped from under the covers as stealthily as possible and jumped in the shower. When he dressed, he saw the bed empty and followed the smell of freshly brewed coffee to find her making pancakes in a Hello Kitty nightshirt.

  “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he murmured, nuzzling the soft spot behind her ear.

  She turned to him, her doe eyes sparkling with mischief. “These are for me. Did you want some?”

  He pulled her in for a quick kiss that turned long and sultry. He couldn’t seem to get enough.

  “Mmm. I’ll take that as a yes, Captain.” She poured him a mug of coffee and grinned as she handed it to him. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “Minx.”

  “Go ahead and start without me,” she said, pouring more batter on the griddle. “I know you’ll have to leave in a few minutes. I have hours yet before work.”

  He devoured a stack of the light, fluffy rounds and gulped his coffee. When she set a plate in front of her chair, he pulled her onto his lap. “I’ll be in Philly before noon, then in New York by three at the latest. I’ll call you when I get in.”

  She heaved a happy sigh. “I’ll wait by the phone.”

  “You’ll be at work. You sit by the phone all day.”

  She grinned. “I know, but today I’ll be waiting for your call.” Her eyes turned tender, and she kissed him softly. “Fly safe, Captain.” She slid off as he stood up.

  “No worries. Have a good day.” One last kiss goodbye, and he tore himself away.

  He was anxious to get to New York and talk to his investors. Hank’s warning was probably nothing but hearsay from the Jansen daughter, but it still made him nervous. Getting the go-ahead from the venture firm would settle his mind and his nerves.

  Landing at JFK was its usual nightmare, but New York was the mecca for half the world, so there was no point in grousing about it. It took longer to get from the General Aviation terminal to downtown Manhattan than it did to fly from Philadelphia to JFK. Owen itched to be back in the air.

  AJ had set up the meeting with his investors in the conference room at the high-rise tower where he worked—when he wasn’t pitching for the Bucks. An interesting combination of jobs. Owen’s only sister, Sky, had met and married this financial wizard while she worked for the Barefoot Bay Bucks minor league baseball team. Now they split their time between Mimosa Key and Cambridge, Mass. where AJ’s mother lived.

  He took the elevator and managed to get to his destination a few minutes early. He called Casa Blanca and asked for the excursions desk. The soft voice that made his heart beat fast answered. “Casa Blanca Excursions, this is Miranda. How may I assist you today?”

  “I’d like to charter a plane to fly my family back to Washington, D.C. Can you arrange that?”

  “Certainly, sir. We have arrangements with Anonymous Air for that service. They aren’t too expensive, because they strap your luggage to the wings to save space. When will you want to depart?”

  “Okay, smarty pants. I hoped to hear your spiel about Argosy Air.”

  “You think I can’t recognize your voice, flyboy? Give me some credit. How was the trip?”

  “Smooth and uneventful. Getting from JFK to downtown was more of a struggle. I hate New York subways.”

  “I thought a big corporate executive like you would take a limo in.”

  If only. He was much more frugal than that quick flight to Atlanta yesterday led her to believe. He’d get a ration of shit about that from his CFO, but he’d make it up soon enough. “I’m trying to appear fiscally responsible to my investors, who no doubt took a limo from whatever pricey hotel they’re staying in. My meeting will start in a couple of minutes, but I just wanted …” to hear your voice … “to check in. How’s your day gone?”

  “Wonderfully. I’ve had quite a few people stop at the desk to ask about your charters. The brochures you left with us are all gone, so bring more with you when you come back.” There was a pause. “Or mail them, if you won’t be back soon.”

  Did he imagine a touch of longing in her voice? He hoped so. “I have a couple of shuttle flights between NYC, Philly and D.C. for the next few days, and a few planes to check out, but I should be back in Naples by the middle of next week.” He heard her sigh and smiled. “Do you miss me, honey?”

  “A little,” she said flippantly. “I need someone to practice those escape maneuvers Mike taught us. Maybe I’ll ask Hank to help me out.”

  “Stay away from Hank,” he said sharply.

  “Wow, is that jealousy I hear?”

  “No.” Maybe a little. Fear, more likely, though he hated to admit it. That chat with Hank made him nervous. “He’s walking a tightrope with the Jansens’ daughter, so I suggest you keep your distance.”

  “He did stop by the desk today to ask how soon we’d start charters to Miami and the Keys. I thought he’d already know the time frame for them.”

  “He does. He’s just making it look good for his cover.”

  “Oh, of course. I should have thought of that.”

  Owen saw two of his investors get off the elevator. The third man with them was a stranger. “Listen, honey, I’ve got to go. Take care.”

  “You, too. I miss you, flyboy.” She hung up before he could return the sentiment.

  “Owen, good to see you again.” Curtis Scofield shook his hand. His partner, Robert Benjamin, shook hands and introduced the third man as James Fairchild. They completed the handshake circle, then took seats around the conference table.

  Owen leaped right in. “I know how valuable your time is, gentlemen, so if I may, let’s get right to it. Have you read all of the documents I sent you?”

  Curtis took point. “We have, Owen. We’re impressed with your enthusiasm to grow your company.”

  “Well, I have to reach a certain level of operations to ensure a steady cash flow. I think this cross-promotion with the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa will increase the top-end clientele and help spread the word in corporate boardrooms and fancy country clubs all over the Northeast.”

  “We agree with your strategy on that point, Owen. We’re just not sure the addition of local area flights is a good idea right now.” Robert Benjamin opened a folder and slid it across the table to Owen. “You can see the output to get that kind of service up and running is quite large.” He glanced at the third man, who took over with a serious frown.

  “After going over the numbers, we’ve concluded that you’ll have to wait on that part of this operation until we see what kind of demand you get.”

  Owen glanced at the sheet of paper, then slapped the folder closed. “You can’t expect to find out demand if there’s no service. I convinced you all to purchase the Citation last summer, and it continues to bring in more than enough money to cover the expenses necessary to operate it.”

  “Yes,” Curtis agreed, “but you already had business clients who were interested in longer-range charters than the quick hops between D.C. and New York. That was a no-brainer, Owen. This,” he tapped the folder with an index finger, “is not nearly as sure a thing.”

  “We’re not saying we won’t consider another aircraft in the future, but we do feel it’s too risky at the present time.” Mr. Fairchild folded his hands on the table.

  His stony expression said it all. They weren’t going to front him the money to buy another plane. He realized there was no point in arguing but could barely keep his hostility at this new member of his investment team out of his voice. “Well, thanks for your time, gentlemen. I could have saved a great deal of time and my company’s money with a phone call from Philadelphia. I’ll see you at the quarterly meeting in March.” He pushed away from the table.

  “I’m sorry you feel we’ve denied you without cause, Owen,” Curtis said, standing as well. “We’ve said yes to a great many of your requests—”

  “Which have made you a great deal of money.”

  “Tru
e,” Robert agreed.

  “But our money doesn’t grow on trees, Mr. Ziegfeld. We have an obligation to our shareholders to maintain adequate cash flow and liquidity,” added the newcomer.

  Owen nodded curtly. “Of course you do. If you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” He forced himself to shake hands with them all. Fairchild was last. and Owen could have sworn he saw a gleam of satisfaction in the other man’s gaze. He strode from the room and punched the down button at the elevator. The three men wisely stayed in the conference room and let him descend to the lobby alone.

  Now what the hell would he do? He’d saved nearly all his share of the company’s profits, which was a tidy sum, but not enough to swing a plane of the type he’d want to buy. He wouldn’t ask his family for another loan. They had helped him get his company off the ground—literally—two years ago. He’d remained living at home to pay them back as soon as possible, which had the added benefit of making his mother happy. He’d not ask them for help again. Now it was a matter of pride. They bragged about him to all of their friends. The big corporate executive who flew jets here, there, and everywhere. What a joke. He had a 5:30 shuttle flight back to Philly. He laughed at himself as he trudged down the steps to the subway.

  He wouldn’t give up, though. He’d think of something to make this deal work.

  ~~~

  He finally made it home around 8 o’clock, tired, depressed and disgusted at his own lack of resources. His parents were in the living room, his mom grading papers from her high school math class, his dad flipping through the latest AMA journal. He gave them a brief hello and headed for the kitchen.

  “I kept a plate warm for you in the oven, honey,” his mother called after him. “And there’s a message from Judy on the hall table.”

  Judy was his office manager and coordinator extraordinaire. She kept him, Jack and Alex in the right place at the right time. It was possible she used magic to do it. Seemed that way to him sometimes. He picked up the note. “Got a bite on your want ad for pilots. Wes Harris. He said you’d remember him as ‘Weasel.’” There was a phone number with a Texas area code on the bottom. He took a beer from the fridge, popped the top and dialed.