by Donna Raider
Leah leaned over Mika, letting her breast touch the blonde. She looked out the window at the fluffy white clouds below them. The clouds were beginning to fade to black as they flew toward the darker part of the United States. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the time changes Americans seemed to favor.
“The church sent us the tickets.” Mika smiled down at her as she fastened her seatbelt. “We have to use them. It would be rude not to. Not to mention unexplainable.” Mika eyed the empty seat beside her. “At least we have plenty of room.”
“I don’t like being strapped down either,” Leah hissed under her breath.
“Really?” Mika raised a knowing eyebrow. “And all this time I thought you liked it,” she teased.
“I do like that,” Leah said, blushing, “just not on an airplane.”
“We could join the mile-high club.” Mika grinned mischievously, her dimples deepening enchantingly.
“Just what is the mile-high club?” Leah’s eyes surveyed Mika questioningly.
Mika put her lips to Leah’s ear and whispered. Leah jolted, sitting even straighter in her seat. Mika’s words had gone straight to her core. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she huffed arrogantly.
“That’s what I hear.” Mika shrugged, grinning at her haughtiness. “Want to watch a movie?”
“How long is this flight?” she huffed, recalling it had taken them forever to get from New York to Santa Fe.
“Four hours,” Mika answered as she looked through the movies available. “We should get home around two in the morning.”
Leah pulled out her laptop. Stiles had emailed her the new script. She would study it. Glancing at Mika to see if she was watching her, Leah logged onto the plane’s WIFI and typed “Mile High Club” into the search engine. She began reading stories posted by flyers who’d had sex on an airplane flying a mile above the earth. She couldn’t believe the fools would post their experiences on the Internet for the world to see. Of course, she noted, most of the encounters had been mindless, one-time interactions, something with which she had been familiar in another life, but now found utterly distasteful.
She pushed the thoughts of making love to her wife in an airplane from her mind. After all, they had made love so far above Earth, it hadn’t even been visible. She clenched herself as she thought of her angel.
She nodded, her head resting on Mika’s shoulder. Mika raised the arms that separated the three seats and unfastened the seatbelts. “You can stretch out and put your head in my lap, if you want to sleep,” she said softly as she spread a blanket across Leah.
“I would feel much better if you would hold me.” Leah moved her soft, warm lips against Mika’s ear. She was very aware of the effect she was having on her wife.
Mika shifted so Leah was sitting on her lap, with her legs stretched out across the seats beside them. Leah’s head was resting on her breast. Leah inhaled deeply, taking in the clean, feminine scent of her accompanied by the faint touch of the perfume Leah loved so much.
A bell dinged somewhere as the lights were turned out in the cabin. Leah slipped her hand behind Mika’s head and drew her lips down to hers. Their lips caressed each other’s as their tongues engaged in their familiar dance of arousal.
“I don’t think—” The priest tried to slow the desire for Leah that was spreading rampantly through her powerful body.
“Don’t think, darling,” Leah murmured into her ear. “Just figure out how without getting us arrested.”
Slowly, Mika slid her leg underneath Leah, stretching it out over the seats. She moved her other leg to join the one on the seat. Keeping the blanket over them, she slid her free hand under Leah’s blouse. She inhaled deeply when she discovered Leah wore no bra. Mika’s hand slid slowly under her skirt, confirming her suspicions that Leah wore no panties. Leah’s breasts were taut. Her nipples were hard and erect. Mika caressed her breast, eliciting a soft moan from her. She smothered Leah’s sounds of arousal with her lips. “Shush,” she hissed softly.
Leah easily unfastened Mika’s slacks and found she wanted this as much as the witch. Mika had boarded the plane in full commando mode. Moving slowly, careful not to draw attention to them, Leah straddled her as Mika slid her hand between Leah’s legs. It was her turn to silence Mika’s deep moans of pleasure.
Slow, restricted lovemaking was not their style, but it was better than nothing. Mika held her still as she moved to please her. Leah gasped, biting into Mika’s shoulder. Mika smothered a cry in her hair as she forced Leah tighter against her.
“Oh, Mika,” she whispered, “whatever you’re doing to me, it’s wonderful.” She moaned, burying her face in Mika’s neck to keep from crying out her name. “Deeper, darling.” She muffled her screams, biting deeper into Mika’s shoulder as the priest obeyed her.
The youngest flight attendant made her walk through. She stood in front of Row D, her back turned to its occupants, until the rhythmic movements beneath the blanket ceased. Their secret was safe with her.
##
There had been much discussion among the flight attendants about the gorgeous couple on Row D. The flight manifest listed them as Mrs. and Mrs. M. K. Cross. “I would bet a month’s pay she’s Leah Redman,” the older stewardess whispered to her fellow workers.
“No way,” the steward snorted. “She wouldn’t fly coach. Leah Redman would always fly first class. Hell, she probably has her own private plane.”
“I heard she’s married to a priest,” the woman insisted. “She is a priest.”
“Get out of here,” the steward huffed. “A woman like her would burn the hands off a priest.” He giggled at his own wittiness.
The youngest of the flight attendants noticed the woman awakening. After the movement under the blanket had stopped, the woman had gone to sleep, her head on the priest’s chest. The captain came on the intercom, welcoming everyone to New York, the city that never sleeps. “Please make certain your seatbelts are fastened.” His voice was pleasant. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes. Please make sure all your carry-on items are securely under your seat or in the overhead bins.”
The youngest flight attendant moved to the gorgeous woman. “Please autograph this,” she whispered.
Leah smiled and took the flight magazine. It was open to a full-page ad of her promoting Marked for Murder. Her wife whispered something in her ear. Taking a felt-tipped pen from her purse, Leah looked at the flight attendant’s nametag. “Dear Amy, thank you for one of the most enjoyable flights I’ve ever experienced. This was a first for me.” She signed it “Mile-High Member, Leah Redman.” She placed a date under her name. She closed the magazine and handed it back to Amy. “Please wait until we disembark before reading this,” Leah requested. Her beautiful smile was almost devilish.
##
Watcher had worked all night Wednesday night. He and his crew had cleaned the luncheon ballroom and left it sparkling. They carried the tubs of dishes and serving pieces back to the catering facility and into the large area where several dishwashers and washing machines waited. With the crew’s help, Watcher loaded every item into the machines and started them.
He gave each of his crewmembers a hundred-dollar bill. They had more than earned it. He told them to take tomorrow off but be back early Friday morning. He was getting the reputation of being a hard-ass, but a straight shooter.
After his crew left, he meticulously did all the paperwork and billing for the luncheon. The washing machines had finished their cycles, so he shelved all the dishes and serving pieces. Then he smoothed and folded the red tablecloths and napkins. At six a.m., he returned to his room. He fed and walked Jax, then showered and dressed.
He had found an exceptional boarding place for Jax. He would leave him there when he flew to Dallas. He had become very fond of the dog and had decided to keep him. He would be back for him in a couple of weeks. Watcher had never had anything in his life that he had cared enough about to share his life.
“Good morning, boss lady.�
�� He grinned at Irene as he gave her his usual morning greeting.
“You’re just incredible.” She laughed as she walked around her desk and gave him a genuine, thankful hug. “What did I ever do without you?”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I have been worried sick that I wouldn’t have enough servers to cater the Vatican reception,” she admitted. “I thought it would take you and your crew until Friday to get everything cleaned up from the luncheon. I didn’t have the heart to ask you to work the reception, too.”
Watcher knew God always answered his prayers. “My crew and I would be honored to help you tomorrow.” He bowed low, smiling more to himself than her. “I gave them today off, but they will be here first thing in the morning.”
“I… I… thank you,” she almost whispered. As she turned, he noticed dark marks around her neck as if someone had strangled her. Although her white shirt was buttoned to the top button, he could still see glimpses when she turned her head.
Following her back to her office, he closed the door. He caught her by the arm and gently turned her around. She stood silently, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt. “Who did this?” he asked angrily.
“It doesn’t matter.” She smiled weakly. “What matters is that you can help me tomorrow. Thank you so much.”
“Did your husband do this?” His eyes flashed as they locked with hers.
“Yes.” She bowed her head in shame.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He tilted her chin up with his forefinger and leaned in to kiss her softly, gently. “Nothing,” he growled.
“What happened?” His eyes narrowed and a scowl creased his handsome forehead.
“I asked him to help me tomorrow and he got angry.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “He said he was too important to be waiting tables. He had an invitation to the reception as a guest, not as a worker.”
Watcher stared in disbelief. She supported the man and he wouldn’t help her when she needed it? “What kind of husband is he?” Watcher whispered hoarsely.
“The very worst kind.” She shook her head, as if clearing away bad dreams. “Enough about him. We have work to do.”
##
Security on the reception was heavier than Watcher had ever seen. He surveyed the large crowd of dignitaries, officials, politicians, and clergy. He tried to discern Irene’s husband, but couldn’t decide who he was.
The reception was a tremendous success.
Long-time employees told him Irene’s husband beat her up on a regular basis, sometimes sending her to the hospital.
Those with only reception invitations were left to enjoy the heavy hors d’oeuvres and wine. The elite were ushered into the dining hall for dinner in honor of the Vatican visitors.
Watcher instructed his crew to let him serve the four Vatican clergies. The crewmembers were relieved, most of them unsure of the proper protocol for serving cardinals and archbishops.
Watcher served the oysters Rockefeller and smiled as the men slurped the delicacy from its shell. He placed the bisque tomato soup on his tray and carried it to the four. He had already laced it with his own brand of flavoring.
By the time the Vatican four had fallen face forward into their soup, Watcher had shed his white coat and bowtie and was walking down the alley toward his car. From out of the shadows, a rough hand clutched his arm. “I know what you’re up to.” A tall, square-jawed man slung him against the wall.
“I don’t…” Watcher searched for words to convince the man to get out of his way.
“I know you’re trying to get into my wife’s pants,” the man growled.
“You must be Irene’s husband.” Watcher ducked under his swing and stepped away from him.
“I see you know whose pants I am talking about,” the man rumbled. “There’s only room there for one of us,” he grunted as he pulled back his fist.
The man never knew what hit him. Watcher’s hand sliced across his throat, knocking him down and crushing his windpipe. “Help, help,” Watcher started screaming as he saw police approaching.
“He was running down the alley. I stopped him.” Watcher slipped the empty bottle of monkshood into the man’s pocket as he pretended to help the police stand him up. Arnold was gasping for air as his windpipe swelled close.
“Get him to the precinct,” a sergeant barked. “You,” he pointed to Watcher, “catch a ride in another patrol car. We’ll need your statement.”
Watcher nodded and followed the small group from the alley. As the officers shoved Arnold into their car, he slipped into his rental car with stolen license plates.
The scene in front of the reception hall was total chaos. Ambulances were all over the place and police were locking down all exits. Everyone inside the function areas was considered a suspect. As the police car turned the corner, headed for the station, Watcher turned the other direction, headed for the Albuquerque airport. He had dropped Jax off at the kennels early that morning. He pulled into a roadside park and switched the license plates. He threw the stolen ones down a portable toilet. Since the toilet service only pumped out the liquid from the reservoirs once a week, he was certain the heavy metal plates would sink to the bottom. It would be years, if ever, before the plates were found.
##
Watcher leaned his head back against the seat, anxious for the plane to lift off the ground and spirit him away from New Mexico.
“Sir.” A young flight attendant’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Could you come with me, please?”
His heart skipped a beat as he followed her toward the front of the plane. Was there a BOLO out with his description? He knew he should have changed his looks prior to leaving Albuquerque. He hoped the flight attendant couldn’t hear how hard his heart was beating.
“Sir, would you mind switching seats with Mrs. Feldstein?” the flight attendant requested. “Her seat is in front of the escape hatch and she doesn’t think she can open it.”
A cute little Jewish woman grinned up at Watcher. “I will be happy to.” He smiled back. “Here, let me help you with your things.”
Watcher slept all the way to Dallas. He rented a car and drove to Houston. He checked into the hotel and inquired at the front desk about a package that was supposed to be waiting for him.
“Yes, sir,” the desk clerk said with a smile. “Arrived yesterday.”
He ordered room service, double-locked the door to his room, and watched TV as he ate. He would be glad to get back to New York, where people knew how to cook decent food.
“Apparently, Santa Fe rancher Ed Arnold has poisoned four of the Catholic Church’s top-ranking members of the Roman Catholic Curia.” The news anchor shook her head as if in disbelief that anyone could poison a member of the Catholic clergy. “This brings the total number of high-ranking clergies that have died in the past two months to five.”
The newswoman continued, giving the names and titles of the four traitors Watcher had recently killed.
“In breaking news,” an anchorman said, joining the woman on TV, “the killer has apparently died while in police custody. The medical examiner reports that the man’s larynx had been crushed. The injury happened as officers tried to subdue the assassin in an alleyway behind the reception hall.”
“An empty bottle of the poison that was used to murder the four Vatican visitors was found in the man’s pocket,” the newswoman added.
“Looks like John Q. Public won’t have to shoulder the cost of an expensive trial,” the reporter concluded.
Good, they are laying all the blame at Arnold’s feet, Watcher thought. He moved into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He needed a look that he had never used. This would be his most difficult assignment.
After studying his face for some time, he pulled out his razor and began to shave his head. He shaved the back and sides. He carefully shaped a short mullet. He shaved his beard, leaving his mustache, thick and full. He looked at the str
anger in the mirror. Even he didn’t recognize himself.
Slipping on a white dress shirt, Watcher took a photo of himself then set up the small color printer he had purchased to make his own passports and driver’s license. He sent the photo from his phone to his laptop, where he laid out his new identification documents, including a press pass identifying him as a reporter for the Associated Press. He pushed print. Voilà, Roque Galante is born, he thought. As an afterthought, he searched through the many pictures of himself on his cell phone. He selected the one where he was completely bald and had stuffed his cheeks with gauze to give himself a fat-cheeked look. He had never used this picture. He had always saved it for the time he would need to look very different from anything else. He made IDs and a passport showing himself as Federal Air Marshal Lincoln Crockett. It never hurt to look like an American law enforcement agent when in a foreign country.
A familiar voice on the TV caught his attention. “I can’t believe my husband could do such a thing.” Irene Arnold dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “He has been very despondent and depressed lately, but was delighted when he received an invitation to attend the reception.”
“Was he upset with the Catholic Church?” the newswoman asked.
“He was upset that he didn’t get invited to the luncheon.” Irene sniffled. “He thought he was being snubbed.”
The newswoman launched into a big discussion of the significance of the reception and luncheon.
Apparently, no suspicion is cast on Irene, Watcher thought. I am thankful for that.
##
Watcher settled back for the six-and-a-half-hour flight to Lima. He ran dozens of scenarios through his mind, trying to come up with a foolproof way to kill the three priests in Lima. He was still on a high over his good fortune to encounter Ed Arnold in the alleyway behind the reception hall. The kills had gone much easier than he had anticipated, thanks to Arnold.