by S. L. Menear
“The feds and local law enforcement haven’t found the assault team and escaped prisoners.”
“What’s being done to keep you safe?”
I glanced out the window. “Feds are watching my condo. They want me to stay put, but I hate this. I feel like a prisoner in my own home.”
“I doubt the kidnappers will make a move on you with so many police looking for them. They may have given up for now and left the country. When’s your next flight with the airline?”
“I’m on standby call. I hope I’ll get sent somewhere far away until things calm down.” I sighed. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, lass. Let me know if you get assigned a flight. If you end up in Europe, I’ll try to meet you on the overnight.”
“That would put a smile on my face. I’ll text you the moment I know where I’m going.”
We rambled on with small talk. It was reassuring to hear his voice. When we hung up, I felt better and reflected on my airline pilot career.
Four months ago, at twenty-six, I upgraded from copilot to be the first female captain at elite Luxury International Airlines. Unlike other commercial airlines, their Boeing 767 jumbo jets were outfitted with posh interiors and stocked with gourmet foods and drinks. Showers enhanced four of the twelve elegant lavatories.
Although 767s were designed to hold 181 to 409 passengers, Luxury International’s 767s held only 100 passengers and had a spacious lounge mid-cabin. On their ultra-class airliners, the wide overstuffed leather seats fully reclined. Ten flight attendants provided extravagant service.
Working would help distract me from worrying about Nicolai and missing Ross, but Ross called often, and we planned to reunite at least once a month. Neither of us wanted the romance to end, even though an ocean and busy careers separated us. I fell asleep fantasizing about my handsome Highlander.
Good thing I loved being an airline pilot. When my phone woke me from a sound sleep at six in the morning, I was reminded of the U.S. Navy’s slogan, “It’s not a job. It’s an adventure.” That described my occupation too.
“Crew scheduling calling for Captain Starr,” the harried male voice said.
“That’s me. What’s up?”
“We need you to fly a charter with celebrities from LAX to the Dubai International Film Festival. Captain Martin and Captain Whitmore car-pooled this morning. A garbage truck hit their car, breaking Martin’s foot and Whitmore’s arm. We’ve already used up our other reserve captains for sick calls. Can you help us out, Sam?”
“Sure, how many days?” I jumped out of bed and pulled out my suitcase.
“Two weeks. You’ll stay overnight in Los Angeles, then fly to Hawaii, Hong Kong, Delhi, Aqaba, and Dubai with activities planned for each.”
“Isn’t Aqaba at the southern tip of Jordan?” I asked, interrupting.
“Yep, I hopped a flight there last year and took a tour of Petra. Why do you ask?”
“It would be more efficient to go to Dubai first and then on to Aqaba.”
“Right, but the celebs need to visit Petra before they attend the film festival in Dubai. After three days in Dubai, the return trip will go through Paris and New York. All in all, a fun-filled adventure with movie stars. A relief pilot will join your crew in Hawaii. Please get here ASAP!”
“Okay, I’ll be on the airplane in thirty minutes. Bye.” I punched the phone off and leaped into the shower.
Packing was a breeze. I could get a fast turnaround on laundry service at every foreign stop.
As I left my parking garage, I stopped next to the FBI car. “I’m leaving on a two-week trip around the world. I’ll check in with your office when I get back.”
“We’ll follow you to the airport and escort you to the airplane.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Fifty minutes later, I was on the takeoff roll at Palm Beach International Airport. Living fifteen minutes from my home base was a bonus.
After I leveled off at cruise altitude, I turned to my copilot. “Hey, Lance, I want an autographed copy of your upcoming novella about our explosive flight a few months ago. It’s bound to be a best seller.”
“Consider it done. Are you still dating that Special Air Service captain?”
“Yes, I saw Ross about two weeks ago. How’s your love life now that you’re a hero airline pilot?”
Lance’s sense of humor and Texas drawl always entertained me.
“My dance card’s full, but I’ll always make room for you. That long-distance thing with your Scottish bad boy can’t last. Long dry spells between over-the-pond rendezvous has to be tough. At the very least, let me take up the slack between visits.” He grinned and winked. “It’ll be our secret, scout’s honor.”
“Uh huh, like anything ever stays secret in our little airline. I just smile at a coworker, and it’s on everyone’s radar in a millisecond. If half the rumors about me were true, I’d be the most sexually satisfied woman on the planet.”
“You could be if you gave me a shot.”
“Right, it’s a shame you suffer from such a lack of confidence.” I laughed.
Lance was tall with plenty of swagger—handsome and seductive. I wasn’t about to let myself fall prey to a testosterone-induced brain fog that could cloud my better judgment.
I smiled at Lance. “You’re a fun guy, but I do have to work here.”
“Oh come on, I can keep a secret. If I’m lying, you can kick my sorry ass into next week with your tae kwon do black belt.”
“If you lie to me, I’ll kick your ass into the great beyond. Then I’ll spit on your grave.”
Lance grinned. “So, you’re thinking about giving me a shot.”
“Geez, what a one-track mind. I’m talking about putting you in the ground, and you’re still thinking about sex. Unbelievable.” I laughed. “Reminds me of when our 767 was in flames as we stood in the pouring rain, and you suggested we engage in a night of adrenaline-charged sex at the hotel.”
“Why not? We’re both single. We could have fun together. Think about it.”
Instead, I thought about Ross during the long flight, but couldn’t keep the kidnappers out of my head. They couldn’t possibly know where I’ll be for the next two weeks, could they?
A beautiful blonde met Lance outside of baggage claim at LAX. Good for him.
While I waited for the crew bus, I scanned the area for potential kidnappers.
The next morning at eleven o’clock, I greeted our passengers from the cockpit doorway. All three celebrities arrived with large entourages, including hairdressers, makeup artists, personal assistants, wardrobe coordinators, and others in the movie industry.
First to board was a short stocky photographer loaded down with camera bags. “Oh my, a woman pilot! Still don’t see many females up front, even in this day and age. Uh, I mean, uh, you can fly me anytime, sweetheart. Wait, I didn’t mean that in a sexual way…unless you wanted me to. Geez, this political correctness crap is going to get me killed. God bless Amelia Earhart!” He saluted and rushed into the cabin.
A petite curvy blonde was next. I recognized her as actress Carlene Jensen. She flaunted a Texas accent and a snarky attitude.
“Ooh, a female pilot! You go, girl. Right on! Where’s your copilot?”
I stepped aside and pointed at Lance.
“Oh, yummy!” Carlene stepped around me. “What’s your name and where’re you from, handsome?”
“Lance Bowie from Fort Worth, ma’am,” he said in his deep drawl.
“Dibs on the Texan hottie!” Carlene shouted at everyone.
“What part of Texas are you from, Miss Jensen?” Lance asked.
“Darlin’, you’re looking at the former Ladies’ Pistol Champion from Austin, and please, call me Carlene. We’ll get to know each other real good in Hawaii.” She winked and sashayed down the aisle in her five-inch stilettos.
The women in Carlene’s entourage flashed Lance big smiles as they followed her. His face lit up with a grin as big as his home sta
te.
I waited until the ladies were out of earshot and glared at Lance. “Gird your loins, cowboy. I expect you to behave like a professional.”
“No problem, Sam. I’ll give the women smooth flights and keep ’em happy on the layovers.” He winked and grinned.
He was in hog heaven, and all I could envision was the slaughterhouse waiting for us in Chief Pilot Rowlin’s office back in Palm Beach.
A tall lanky actor cruised through the entry door and stopped cold when he saw me. “Damn, woman, what you doin’ in that pilot uniform? You messin’ wit me? This ain’t funny. Everybody knows Rod Rogan has a crazy fear of flying, girl.”
I sighed and pointed at Lance. “Relax, Mr. Rogan, we’ll keep you safe.”
Rod’s personal assistant poked him. “Fool, that’s the chick what landed the bomb-damaged jumbo jet in June. She’s badass. We good, brother.”
“Right, I knew that. Just kidding, sweet lady. When we get to Hawaii, come to my suite and we’ll party.” He waved sheepishly and headed for the cabin.
A muscular British actor with a buzz cut sauntered in. Jack Stone looked like he believed he was the hero he played in action roles.
“Hey, baby, join me for drinks in my suite when we get to Honolulu.” He winked and clicked his tongue as he strode past.
More women flirted with Lance during boarding. He flirted back, of course.
I waited until the women were well past us and turned to Lance again. “Don’t mess with those high-maintenance females and their hair-trigger egos. They’ll devour you and burn your entrails. It won’t be pretty. Trust me.”
“You’d better bunk in my room and protect me from those evil vixens. After all, you’re responsible for your crew, Captain.” He winked and slid into the right seat.
“I’d rather deal with an engine fire on takeoff than play chaperone for this group.” I called the senior flight attendant to the cockpit. “Tawnee, see to it your cabin crew maintains their usual high professional standards.”
“Did you check out Jack Stone? OMG, what a hottie! He asked me out for our Honolulu layover. I love his sexy English accent.”
“Uh, Tawnee, did you hear what I said about professional behavior?”
“Absolutely, our usual high standards. Got it.” She giggled and skipped into the cabin.
I shook my head and looked at Lance as I slid into the left seat.
He snorted with laughter. “This is one time I’m glad I’m not the supreme aircraft commander. Good luck, Sam, you’re gonna need it.”
He adjusted his seat and called for our clearance. Then he sang, “You Give Love a Bad Name,” as we waited for the passenger service agent to close out the flight.
Lance was enjoying my angst way too much. Ah, but payback can be a bitch. I had plenty of time to plot my revenge during our multi-day flight schedule.
I pulled out my new iPhone and texted Ross, explaining I’d be jetting around the world for fourteen days and hoped he could meet me in Paris. The passenger service agent gave us the final count and closed the door. I switched off my cell and slipped it into my flight bag.
It wasn’t long before we taxied out to the runway, blasted off for Honolulu, and landed several hours later.
Landon, a junior flight attendant, sat next to me on the crew bus and whispered, “Jack Stone initiated Carlene’s hairdresser into the Mile High Club in one of the aft lavs. Later, he cornered Inga, the new flight attendant from Sweden, and bragged about his roles as a super hero. His fourth double Scotch finally sent him to dreamland.”
“What about the rest of the passengers?”
“Half of the people in the celebs’ entourages drank themselves into temporary comas. Rod Rogan and his personal assistant battled each other in a video game until Rod’s Xanax put him to sleep.”
“Any problems with the feisty little actress?”
“You mean Carlene Jensen? She got a little drunk and entertained the passengers with a one-hour comedy routine. Hilarious. Then she sang “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Her voice is divine…. Nothing too crazy happened, but you should keep your guard up around Jack Stone. What a player!”
Keeping my crew out of trouble overnight could prove difficult. We were booked at the same Waikiki hotel as our passengers.
Lance was next door, and I pretended not to notice the connecting door. The flight attendants’ rooms were on my floor—more temptation for Lance. No wonder he ate so many energy bars. I assumed the celebs were on the upper floors in the lavish suites.
I took a quick shower and slipped on a floral sundress. My waist-length hair took about ten minutes to dry with the blow dryer installed in the bathroom. I decided to go with straight hair rather than crank up the curling iron.
My electric-blue stiletto sandals matched my dress, and the four-inch heels jacked up my five-foot-nine frame to an impressive height. I’d tower over most of the Hawaiian women.
Loud knocking interrupted the finishing touches on my makeup. When I opened the door, a tipsy celeb walked in.
“Hey, Blondie, where’s your dreamy copilot?” Carlene Jensen asked with slurred speech.
“Lance isn’t in my room. Why don’t you go down to the front desk and call him?”
“Why on Earth isn’t he with you? You’re not one of those carpet munchers, are you?”
“I have a boyfriend, but he’s not Lance. How much have you had to drink?”
Carlene sashayed past me, peeked in my bathroom, and grabbed the phone. She demanded to be connected to Lance Bowie’s room.
Her voice turned sugary. “Hello, handsome, ready for our big date?” She listened and answered, “I’m in the captain’s room. Where’re you?” She hung up the phone and opened the connecting door.
Lance’s inner door was open. He swaggered in with a wolfish grin. “We’ll leave these open for later. Ready to go, Sam? Better keep an eye on your copilot. No telling what this lovely lady has planned.” He winked.
Carlene grabbed his arm in a possessive stance.
I couldn’t miss the challenging look on his smug face. “Uh, well, maybe I’ll tag along until after dinner. Let’s go.”
I grabbed my key card and handbag, then slammed the inner door and locked it.
Lance pretended not to notice. He helped Carlene navigate down the hall to the elevator. I followed behind, watching her weave and bump against him. She squeezed his left butt cheek and giggled like a school girl.
The British actor was in the elevator looking ready for action. He focused on me. Oh boy, it was going to be a long night.
Carlene shoved me into Jack. “There you go, Jack, your date for the luau. Have fun.”
Jack put his arm around me and locked eyes with Lance.
When we stepped out of the elevator, my cell played the tune for “Loch Lomond.”
I turned to Jack. “I have to answer this—my boyfriend. He’s a captain in the British Special Forces.”
I noted a taken-aback look in his eyes. Score one for a real action hero.
“Ross, it’s good to hear your voice. Did you get my text?”
“Aye, lass.” His baritone brogue always made my heart race. “I’ll meet you in Paris if I’m not out on a mission. Military assignments are impossible to predict. Where are you now?”
“Hawaii, flying to Hong Kong tomorrow night. Then stops in Delhi and Aqaba before we backtrack to Dubai for the three-day film festival. After that, I’ll be in your arms in Paris for twenty glorious hours.”
“I hope so. Be careful and call me before you leave for Paris. I miss you, lass.”
“I miss you more. Give Zeus a hug for me and stay safe.”
“Your mother’s staying with Duncan and cuddles that colt every chance she gets.”
“How’s the romance going?”
“Duncan’s quite smitten. They look happy together. I must go. Bye, lass.”
I turned and found Jack standing behind me.
He took my arm and guided me to the waiting limo. “So, w
ho’s Zeus? That doesn’t sound like a Scottish name.”
“Zeus is a baby stallion. My mother’s boyfriend is looking after the colt for me in Scotland until he’s old enough to travel overseas. His sire saved my life a week before he was born, but that’s a long story.”
When I slid onto the back seat of the Hummer stretch limo, I noticed Carlene was sliding a hand along Lance’s inner thigh.
Jack seemed miffed I wasn’t fawning over him like that. I didn’t want to offend him by explaining I preferred real men to those who played them in movies. When I spotted our ten flight attendants rushing to climb into the limo, I moved forward so they could crowd around Jack. Problem solved.
When we arrived at the luau site, my cabin crew kept Jack occupied while I blended into the crowd and made my escape. I froze when I thought I saw one of the men who attacked me in Florida standing by a palm tree. I felt a hand on my arm and turned.
“Hey, you’re the pilot chick. I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform. Come and sit with me and Rod.” Rod’s personal assistant led me to a long front-row table on the beach in front of the luau stage.
I glanced back, but the suspect was gone. Rod Rogan lounged on an overstuffed cushion facing center stage. Nodding at me, he patted a cushion on the sand beside him. His assistant sat across from us.
“Hey, you that pilot babe what flew us here. Damn, girl, you look hot in a dress! I brought some blow.” Rod glanced around furtively. “Want a snort?”
“No thanks, my boss would fire me in a New-York minute. Zero tolerance, you understand.”
“Yeah, it’s like The Man is always stepping in and spoiling our fun. Have a glass of Cristal. It’s my favorite bubbly.”
I accepted a glass of Champagne as Jack sauntered up with all ten of our flight attendants.
Good luck avoiding the inevitable cat fights. Maybe I should give crew scheduling a heads-up in case we need a few replacements.
Carlene and Lance took the empty seats next to Rod.
Lance glanced at me. “Primo seats for the show. Well done, Commander!” He grinned and saluted.