Flight Risk

by Cara C. Putman

  Addy Jo hurried from her room. “Sorry, Aunt Savvy. I was in my room.”

  “It’s fine.” She waved her key in the air. “I let myself in.” Savannah pushed aside her fatigue and smiled as she held up the food. “I brought supper.”

  Addy stepped forward and her shoulders relaxed. “You came.”

  As the door closed behind her, Savannah pulled her niece into a hug. “Of course I did. I always will.”

  As many times as needed. Addy took a shuddering breath, and Savannah made a mental note to respond faster next time. Addy needed to know one adult in her life was there for her . . . any time and all the time.

  Savannah glanced around the room. “Where’s your mom?”

  Addy Jo stepped back and wrinkled her nose as she placed her hands on her hips. “Where do you think?”

  Savannah groaned. “Really? After this morning?”

  “It’s getting bad, Aunt Savvy. She can’t seem to stop drinking anymore.”

  “The mom is here.” Stasi’s words were tart as she pushed up from the couch in the flickering light of the television. “You didn’t need to come. We are fine.” She tried to make her words punchy, but they fell flat.

  The couch had seen better days, but the slipcovers they’d found at IKEA hid the worst of the wear. In fact, the small space could qualify as a showroom for the Swedish company. It had been the best Savannah could afford, and it worked. At least Addy Jo never complained. The girl survived with a serious air and occasional smile when Savannah could get her to forget the challenges with her mother.

  “Well, I brought supper.” She turned to Addy. “Grab a few plates and some cups of water.” Her stomach grumbled, and she tipped her head to the side. “Guess you’d better hurry.”

  A minute later Addy was back balancing cups on the plates. “Happy birthday, Aunt Savvy.”

  It was still her birthday? “Thank you.”

  The phone rang, and Stasi held her head and groaned. “Someone make it stop.”

  “We wouldn’t need to if you’d stop drinking.” Savannah bit her tongue. So much for extending grace to her sister. It had taken all of five minutes to lose her cool.

  She wished that was a record, but as Addy answered the phone, Savannah knew it would take a miracle to get through the evening well. That thought was still running through her mind when Addy exited her room, phone in hand, cheeks devoid of color.

  “Addy? Are you okay?”

  “Dad just called. He’s in the hospital.” Addy shuddered as she clutched the phone.

  Stasi shot to her feet. “I’ll go. You’re too young to see him.”

  Addy turned even paler as she focused on Savannah. “Please don’t let her go alone. Please.”

  “But that means leaving you.” Savannah glanced from mother to daughter. Which needed her more? Savannah took the phone from Addy, but all she heard was a dial tone. “Tell me what he said.”

  Stasi slipped into her room as Addy leaned into Savannah. “That he’s at the hospital and hurt. He was on the plane that crashed.”

  The information sank into Savannah. “Okay. He survived the crash, so that’s good. And he could call you, so that’s better. Which hospital is he at?”

  “Arlington.” Addy wiped under her eyes and then straightened. “Please don’t let Mom go on her own. She can’t drive, but she’ll do it anyway.”

  “I can drive. I’ll be fine.” Savannah turned to see Stasi posing in her doorway. “How do I look?” She wore clean jeans and a white oxford that even looked ironed. The buttons were misaligned, but other than the crooked collar it would be hard to tell she’d been passed out on the couch most of the day. Until one stepped close enough to see her bloodshot eyes and the tight lines around her mouth. “I’m going to the hospital.”

  Addy was right. There was no way Savannah could let Stasi go on her own. “I’ll drive.”

  Fifteen minutes later Stasi stared sullenly out the passenger window of Savannah’s late-model Mazda SUV. The hospital wasn’t far away in the Arlington suburb. Still, when she reached it, it took a few minutes to find parking in the garage. The cold kept frosting her window, and Savannah cranked the defroster. The silence felt as stiff as her body in the cold air. “There must be several crash victims here.”

  Stasi shrugged. “I only care about one.”

  “Why care about him?”

  “Other than the fact his child support is keeping us in that overpriced apartment you put us in?”

  “If it’s so bad, move.” She really should keep quiet, since Stasi was the one person she couldn’t win an argument with.

  If she got the chance, though, she’d give Dustin a piece of her mind.

  Piloting spoiled, uber-rich athletes to the other side of the world for out-of-control parties on his off time? Her blood boiled at the idea. If she had her way, he’d never get near Addy again. If he thought those kinds of weekends were okay, what else was?

  She shuddered at the thought.

  After finally finding parking, they hurried toward the hospital entrance, where several satellite trucks hovered beneath white Christmas lights outside the front doors. The brick and stone building stood eight stories tall, and photojournalists were set up outside the door under the large silver letters that read Virginia Hospital Center. They crowded around a man in dress pants and FBI windbreaker. Savannah and Stasi slipped into the hospital behind him. Savannah stopped when they entered the lobby. Clusters of people and large Christmas trees decorated with various themes were scattered around the space.

  Stasi looked lost as she slowly pirouetted. “What now?”

  “I’m not sure. Give me a minute.” She hadn’t expected so many people at this time of day. Visiting hours had to end soon. How many victims had been brought here?

  A young woman, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, approached them. She wore a pair of khakis and a Red Cross polo with a name tag that read Cecilia. “Are you here to check on someone from the crash?”

  “Yes.” Savannah cleared her throat. “Dustin Tate.”

  The woman checked her iPad. “Are you family?”

  “I am.” Stasi stepped closer.

  “Your relationship?”

  “His wife.” Stasi said the words without hesitation or shifting gaze.

  Savannah startled while trying to keep her mouth from gaping.

  Cecilia stared at Stasi for a minute. “What is your name?”

  “Stasi Daniels. I kept my maiden name, since that was easier than messing with all the paperwork. Do you know how many documents have to be changed?” She made a waving motion like she couldn’t be bothered.

  She certainly wasn’t concerned with the truth. Stasi pressed a hand to her chest. “I’ve been so worried. Could you tell me where he is?”

  “I’ll check with the nursing staff.” Cecilia gestured toward a series of vending machines that stood against a far wall. “Why don’t you get something to drink while I see what can be done.”

  Stasi shook her head, copper curls springing wildly around her face. “I want to wait right here.” She pressed a hand to her stomach and made a squeamish expression. “I can’t imagine eating.”

  Savannah glanced around the lobby and noted a couple of empty chairs tucked next to a sign advertising a Christmas bazaar that had been held earlier in the week. “Let’s sit there.” As soon as Stasi eased down, Savannah joined her, then wrapped an arm around her. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Maybe.

  “You can stop the act.” Stasi pushed Savannah away. “I don’t see how he can be all right. How often do people survive plane accidents?”

  “The news coverage showed survivors. And he was well enough to call Addy.”

  “He would have called me next.” She huffed.

  So like Stasi to make it all about her. Savannah turned away and focused on the fact that at least for now, it was a miracle anyone had survived.

  Clusters of people watched the televisions hanging from the ceiling in different spo
ts around the lobby. Each was tuned to a different news network, broadcasting images of the crash and various talking heads. Floodlights had been placed along the edge of the Potomac and on the Fourteenth Street Bridge. The lights illuminated the bare outline of the plane through the swirl of snow flurries. It looked like floats of some sort encircled the fuselage to keep it from sinking farther into the murky waters. Even so, the investigation into the crash would be wet, dangerous, and could take weeks.

  Planes taking off in the background surprised Savannah.

  “They haven’t closed the airport.”

  “No.” Cecilia walked up with a sad twitch of her red lips. “It reopened about an hour ago. Guess the powers that be decided Flight 2840 wasn’t a risk to other planes. The bridge, though, remains closed as engineers test its structural integrity.”

  “Hmm.” Savannah watched as another plane skimmed over the lights on the bridge. “I think I’ll fly out of Dulles for the foreseeable future.”

  “You won’t be the only one.” The volunteer turned to Stasi, who slid her chair closer to Savannah’s. Guess they were back to being sad. “You can see your husband in fifteen minutes. A nurse will come get you when he’s ready.”

  “Would it be better if we waited on whichever floor he’s on?” Savannah didn’t like the idea of a nurse having to find them.

  “You are welcome to, though I’ve heard it’s crowded.”

  “I want to be closer, don’t you, Stasi?” Especially as the doors opened and a reporter with her photographer entered the lobby.

  Cecilia bristled and took a step away. “They’ve been told they can’t come in.” She gestured across the lobby to a hallway that extended to the right. “Take that hallway to the bank of elevators, then proceed to the fifth-floor lobby. I’ll let them know you’re on the way.”

  As she and Stasi stood, a man entered, skirting around the reporter and photographer. He was wearing rumpled clothes that looked like he’d slept in them, but Savannah had no doubt it was that reporter Jett Glover. He walked their direction, so she urged Stasi to move. “Let’s get upstairs.”

  In the hall, a more antiseptic smell assaulted them. Savannah wished she could hold her breath. Instead she inhaled through her mouth as Stasi pressed the elevator’s up button. Footsteps behind them had Savannah looking over her shoulder.

  When her gaze collided with Jett’s blue one, she grimaced.

  Had he recognized her?

  It felt like it took hours for one of the elevators to open. Before they could enter, an orderly pushed an older woman in a wheelchair from the elevator. The reporter lingered on the edges of the lobby. What or who was he looking for?

  She had a terrible thought.

  Had he somehow got word Dustin was here?

  As soon as the wheelchair was clear, Stasi slipped into the elevator, Savannah a half step behind. The doors closed and Savannah exhaled. It was silly, but she felt the urgency to get away.

  * * *

  Jett turned from the elevators back to the lobby and Chase, who had followed him like a puppy. “You take the Red Cross volunteer, and I’ll try the information desk. Between the two of us, we should be able to find out something about which crash survivors are here.” At least he hoped they’d find someone who would cooperate. He was banking on Chase’s eager young face to work some magic on a volunteer who’d look at him and see her grandson.

  “Yes, sir.” Chase gave him a mock salute and then trotted toward the young Red Cross worker.

  Guess that left him the other volunteer. Jett’s own efforts to coax information from the silver-haired matron at the information desk were met by a firm commitment to HIPAA.

  “I don’t care if you’re the president himself.” She gave him a look over her glasses that said she was on to him. “Though you’re a sight better-looking than he is, you’ll get no information about the patients without asking about a specific one.”

  Jett wished for a venti black coffee. He couldn’t pull out his phone and start running down the passenger list the paper had acquired, but he could ask about a specific name. “What about Logan Donnelly?”

  The woman clicked at her keyboard, one slow key at a time. “No.”

  All right. One word was better than nothing. “How about Dustin Tate?”

  More hunt-and-peck typing. “Yes.”

  “What room?”

  “Nothing doing, young man. You can smile at me all you want. I won’t be charmed.” Something about her tone made him think of Ms. Novotony, his stern third-grade teacher, who had driven long division into his head one repeated step at a time.

  “I believe you.” He gave her his best Cary Grant grin and turned toward the elevators. Was that Savannah Daniels? The doors slid closed almost before he could be sure, but there was a self-confidence in her bearing that set her apart somehow.

  Savannah Daniels might be forty, but she didn’t look it. In fact, he’d been tempted to call her for non-work reasons since their short interview. He was intrigued about how the woman he’d researched matched the woman he’d interacted with in a display of fire and ice. She’d exhibited a core strength that made him want to know more in a way not reserved for interview subjects. He wanted to know what made her tick.

  He noted the floor her elevator stopped on.

  It had been a long day, and it wasn’t going to end anytime soon. He’d tried unsuccessfully to reach his mystery caller a couple of times. He rubbed the back of his neck as he wished for even twenty minutes to catch a power nap. He hadn’t always embraced the need for sleep, but man, he was beginning to understand how important it was for his brain. It would take some kind of serious sleep to clear his thoughts.

  Chase hurried up to him. “She didn’t tell me much of anything.”

  “Yeah, I had similar luck.”

  “Now what?”

  “We go upstairs.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Jett pushed off the wall and walked to the elevator. It was taking a long time to get a list of the fatalities. Supposedly they were holding it until families were notified, but that shouldn’t take more than twenty-four hours, unless it was hard to identify some of the victims.

  Okay, so the story demanded he cool his heels here. He’d see what he could learn.

  Chase punched the elevator’s up button. “You okay, Jett?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “You seem on edge.”

  “Let’s just say hospitals aren’t my favorite.” Hadn’t been since his dad died. He would never forget his mother crying and driving as she followed the ambulance. Then waiting at the hospital for hours for news he’d known would be bad. Even at twelve, he’d understood no one could survive what his father had done.

  It didn’t make it any easier. Just made it real.

  He leaned against the wall while he waited for the elevator. If he closed his eyes maybe he could trick his mind into believing he was anywhere but here.

  Unfortunately, his eyes weren’t his only sense that could identify his location.

  The elevator was taking forever.

  He pivoted and looked back at the lobby. Chase watched him curiously but didn’t say anything else.

  When the doors finally opened, Jett’s attention zinged to a security guard wearing a baseball hat, who stepped out of the bay. Jett walked into the elevator, Chase beside him.

  “Which floor, boss?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Stasi glanced around the fifth-floor waiting room, then turned toward a vending machine. “I’m going to grab coffee. Want anything?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Can I have a couple dollars to get something?” Stasi waggled her fingers from an open palm. “Please?”

  Savannah bit back a retort. “There’s always an angle.”

  “So said Bing Crosby in White Christmas.” Stasi looked like she’d stand there all night with her hand out, so Savannah dug into her billfold as always. “Thanks, sis.”

  Savann
ah sank onto a vacant seat in a corner of the room close to the hallway as the “Sisters” song from the movie played through her head. Had more perfect lyrics ever been penned to capture the complications of sisters’ relationships? Please don’t let the nurse take too long.

  Her patience for Stasi was about to break. There was too much Savannah needed to do, from protecting Addy to catching up on work. She couldn’t divert energy to ignoring Stasi. Her phone dinged and she pulled it out to see a text from her mom.

  Happy birthday, sweetheart.

  Thanks.

  Do anything fun?

  Had lunch with the girls at Il Porto.

  You love that place.

  I do.

  The flashing ellipsis indicated her mom was still texting. You safe?

  Yes, it’s just a tragic crash.

  But the Fourteenth Street Bridge? That’s close.

  It is. But I wasn’t on it. Unfortunately, others hadn’t been so lucky.

  Will you come home for Christmas?

  I don’t know yet. Maybe she should invite them here. Can you and Dad come here?

  There was a pause, and Savannah had to resist retracting the invitation.

  I’ll talk to him. Well, love you. Tell your sister hi when you see her.

  Sure, Mom.

  Her mom refused to give up the naive hope that someday the two would be bosom friends again, like they had been decades ago as preteens. Maybe Mom’s distance facilitated her belief in that fantasy, but it wasn’t going to happen except in the dreams of a mother.

  Stasi sauntered up. “The coffee’s not much other than warm.”

  “Can I have my change?”

  Stasi thrust a single at her, then took a sip. “Who was that?”

  “Mom wishing me a happy birthday.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.” Savannah forced herself to ignore the ire those words generated. “Why pretend to be married to Dustin?”

  “For tonight at least, he can’t deny me. If it gets us in to see him, then all the better.”

  “You shouldn’t lie about things like that.”