by Madelon Smid
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Madelon Smid
Fatal Flight
Copyright
Dedication
Other Books by Madelon Smid
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“You consider going to Max
behind my back being upfront?”
“Max came to me. I was interested. After crunching the numbers, researching your top-notch standing on the circuit, and talking with my father, I thought this was a great PR opportunity for our corporation. I didn’t know you were against the idea. My experience is that as soon as someone knows what I’m worth they want something from me.”
“And you assumed I was sticking my hand in the pot.” She stopped at the entrance to the big tent, where oceans of food were served all day. “Okay, I see where you were coming from. Pax?” She offered her hand.
She took quiet satisfaction in the fact he looked like she’d turned him on his head. Good, keep him off balance, and he couldn’t do the same to her. He took her hand, his long fingers clasping it, warm and dry, just the lightest of squeezes. He’d never used his size and strength to intimidate, she realized. He was a true alpha male, for only the strongest, fastest, and smartest protected the vulnerable. A weaker male took advantage of them.
Praise for Madelon Smid
“[CLIMBING HIGH is] an amazing story, carefully crafted for her suspense, intrigue, romance, action, adventure, erotica. Rich language and details bring the characters to life. I love language and marked many notable phrases to ponder.”
~Reviewer, Audio Books
~*~
“A detailed contemporary military thriller, complete with a hot and lusty romance, this story [HIGH GROUND] has something for everyone and I highly recommend this book to lovers of all genres. Great escapist reading!”
~Dianne Greenlay, author of the award-winning Quintspinner Series
~*~
“This action thriller [REACHING HIGH] will hook you, mercilessly drag you in, and will expose to you the emotional damage our military, law enforcement, medical, and firefighting professionals too often face alone.”
~CJ Beuhler, author we ARE still here
Fatal Flight
by
Madelon Smid
Sisters in Peril Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Fatal Flight
COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Madelon Smid
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2018
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1882-0
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1883-7
Sisters in Peril Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Smidly, my pilot,
with gratitude for flying me through many hours
of adventure and discovery.
Our times aloft
provide me with lasting memories
of the thrill and joy of flying with you.
Other Books by Madelon Smid
The Daring Heights Series
Climbing High
High Ground
High Seas
Reaching High
High Risk
Sky High
Prologue
“Please find my granddaughter and bring her home.”
Adam Hamilton sat forward in his chair and studied the delicate woman in front of him. Had she lost her mind? “Gita, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your hearing or my mind,” she snapped. “Erik fathered a girl child when he was out gallivanting around the countryside some twenty-five years ago, and you can find her for me.”
Adam didn’t have any trouble believing Gita’s dilettante son had impregnated a girl and walked away from her. He did wonder why the hell his godmother was assigning him the task of searching for an unknown granddaughter. It was way out of his skill set.
“Surely, a private investigator…” He stopped talking as Brigitta waved her hand in the air.
She rose, still trim and agile at seventy-two, and aimed for the walnut drink tray at one side of the large study. “I need someone I can trust, who understands how important this is, and puts everything he has into locating the girl and bringing her home.” She crossed the stretch of Aubusson carpet between them and thrust a double scotch into his hand.
Adam dropped his cane beside his chair and steadied the drink, before it sloshed over the sides of the heavy crystal glass. Setting it on the side table near his chair, he considered the two inches of peat-colored liquor. Draining the stimulant in one go might dull the incessant pain eating at his hip and thigh. But dealing with his beloved godmother and this newest whim required his total attention. She had the hidden power of a slipstream, and he had never outmaneuvered her.
He couldn’t blame her request on early senility. Brigitta O’Shaughnessy had a mind as focused and efficient as the huge foundation she ran. She’d inherited a fortune from her parents, one of the original San Francisco families, and another from her husband, Michael, when he’d died eight years ago.
Adam had been stateside at the time, on leave, as a lieutenant in the Air Force, stationed at Nellis Air Force base in southern Nevada for the year. He’d just become one of the Thunderbirds, an elite position, a goal he’d set five years earlier and finally obtained. He’d returned to San Francisco for the funeral, for Gita, and because Michael had been a profound influence in his life.
Twenty-two years old, he’d been much younger than Erik, the thirty-eight-year-old heir to the O’Shaughnessy fortune. Their families were close, his parents naming the O’Shaughnessys Adam’s godparents. What he knew of their son, he’d heard second hand from his parents, who spoke out of concern for their friends. Michael and Gita were not able to manage or reach their son, as he raced along a dangerous path from scamp to wild teen, college dropout, and finally, thrill seeker.
“I know Erik never came home after his father died.” Adam hoped he kept any judgement from his voice.
“Not even for the funeral. He knew he could skip his responsibilities, if he could avoid a discussion with me. He would never look me in the face.”
Adam looked into that face now, seeing the steel hidden by the sweet smile, the strength despite the delicate body. What was behind this crazy idea of sending him in search of a woman she didn’t even know? “Why would you want me? I can barely stumble across the room, let alone mount a search that might take months and cover thousands of miles. Do
you know if she’s even in the States? Erik traveled all over the world.”
“The mother lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico, when he was involved with her. I found a copy of the birth certificate when I was going through Erik’s papers.”
“Why now?” he asked.
“I just found out I had a granddaughter. You know Erik and I were estranged for several years before he died. When his father passed away, I hoped Erik would assume his rightful position as head of the company, though I knew I’d have to nursemaid him every step of the way. He refused, wouldn’t give up his extreme sports. The boy was an adrenaline junky and lived for the near-death experience. One too many times, he sheared the edge off death.”
Erik had died paragliding off the cliffs at Big Sur early last year. A downdraft had driven him into the jagged rocks below, killing him. The loss of her only son had devastated Brigitta. Adam had been fighting his own battle against death, after barely surviving the crash of the F18 he’d been testing for Hamilton Aeronautics. He’d been in the hospital and hadn’t been able to attend the funeral, or comfort Brigitta, a second mother since his had died.
“I don’t think I’m the right man for the job,” he said levering himself out of the chair.
“Adam, I don’t ask this lightly.” Brigitta leveled her big guns at him. “I think you’re the perfect man. I trust you and know she can too.”
“I’m still on sick leave, scheduled for daily physiotherapy. I can’t traipse all over the country.”
“Pshaw, best thing for you. You need something that pulls you out of yourself. Besides, by the time you do the research, track down the leads, and find her, you will be ready. A little action will be just what you need,” she insisted.
Adam sank back into the chair and dropped his head in his hands.
“Honestly, Gita, I don’t know if I’m up for it.” He was exhausted and depressed. The thought he might never fly again seldom loosened its frightening hooks from his mind. What good could he do?
Her light-blue eyes took on a sheen, but she kept her chin up, her gaze level. “Adam, I think of you as my other son, and I love you dearly. But this girl is my flesh and blood. I need her. Will you find her for me?”
“I’ll do the research.” He couldn’t hold out against the slight tremble in her lips, the loneliness in her eyes. “After that, we’ll see.”
And so, Adam Patrick Hamilton, the Fourth began a search that would change his life.
Chapter One
Ashley “Sky” Stravinski bumped her head, swore, and glared at the man who’d just scared her heart into light speed.
“What the banana!” She rubbed the painful spot on the back of her head, where it had connected with the flap on the wing she’d been examining.
“Sorry about that. Are you all right?” The gentleman extended a hand, offering her assistance.
She ignored it, rose on her own, and wiped her grimy fingers on her backside.
“I apologize for startling you. I’m looking for Ashley Stravinski.”
He was too tall and too good looking, with a smile too charming and clothes too expensive. Everything in Ashley rebelled against him.
“She’s not here.”
“I understand she owns this flight school and is one of the instructors. Will she be in later?”
“Can’t say.” She ducked under the wing again, hiding the flush she felt heating her face. She didn’t lie well.
He squatted down beside her, a pleasing cologne teasing her nostrils, his large frame dwarfing hers. “Can you point me in the direction of someone who knows?”
She could see the smooth perfection of his skin, the tiny flecks of navy in his luminous gray eyes. He was too close. Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh, and the hairs on the back of her neck stiffened. She felt threatened, over stimulated, and confused by her response. She pushed at his arm, scooted past him, and took several quick steps across the hangar. It was only then she realized he had rested his weight on a cane, as he crouched, and she’d almost knocked him over. She forced back a tug of compassion, as she watched him fight for balance then struggle upward. The sheen of perspiration above his lips and his sudden pallor were sure signs of pain. Well dammit, he’d made her bump her head, and that had hurt, so they were even. She stalked toward the office at one side of the hangar.
Instead of leaving, he limped along behind her. She flicked a quick look over her shoulder. His lips pressed together in a tight line, his eyes were mere slits. The guy might dress like a dandy, but steel-hard determination drove him on.
She ducked into the office and cursed again, this time under her breath, when she saw Pops had taken off. She couldn’t avoid dealing with this man.
He stood in the doorway, keen gray eyes studying her. “Ashley, don’t be alarmed. I’ve no intention of hurting you. In fact, what I say will benefit you.”
He limped further inside. She circled the desk, slapped her bottom in the chair, and thrust it under the battered oak surface as far as it would go. She didn’t give a damn if he thought she was hiding. Well, yes, she did. She pushed the chair out again, stretched her long legs sideways, and settled her hands on her stomach, staring into space. “You don’t look like the sweepstakes guy. I don’t play the lottery, and my insurance check usually comes in the mail.” She gave him a long stare back. “And my name is Sky.”
He limped further into the small office and settled on the wooden chair in front of the desk. “There’s an Ashley and a Stravinski in there somewhere.”
“What makes you so certain? And who wants to know?”
“Your eyes. That light-blue is rare and unmistakable. I’ve seen them before.” He leaned forward, extending his hand, curling his long fingers over those holding his cane, when she didn’t reciprocate. “My name is Adam Hamilton, and I’m here on behalf of your grandmother.”
“I don’t have a grandmother.”
“You do. Your father’s mother lives in San Francisco. She requested I find you and ask you to meet with her.”
“Pops’ mom died six years ago. My mom’s mother died before she did. You’ve got the wrong girl, bub.”
“Your father was Erik O’Shaughnessy, the son of one of the oldest families in San Francisco. He died last year. In going through his papers, your grandmother discovered a copy of your birth certificate, naming him father. As soon as she learned she had a granddaughter, she asked me to locate you.”
Ashley’s hands gripped the desk, white knuckled. Sweat oozed out of every pore on her body. “You’re wrong. My father is Maxwell Stravinski. You’ve made a mistake. Please leave.”
He studied her shaking hands, his gaze settling on her quivering lips. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t know. Can I get you a glass of water, call someone for you?”
Real concern shone from his gray eyes, softened the chiseled outline of his lips. She watched him move closer and knew she would scream if he touched her.
“Just leave.” She hissed, thinking she might barf in the garbage can. She tightened her lips and sucked air in through her nostrils, refusing him the satisfaction of seeing her so discomfited.
Apparently, he decided retreat was the best strategy. “I’ll come back at a better time,” he offered, rising and limping closer. He lay a business card on the cluttered surface of the desk. “If you want more information, you can reach me at one of these numbers.” With a last grim look, he limped out. Sunlight outlined his body, as he paused in the doorway, forming a long shadow that crept across the floor, reaching for Sky. Gooseflesh pebbled her sweating flesh. She shivered.
His irregular footsteps and the thump of his cane crossed the concrete floor of the hangar, then she only heard the gasping sound of her own breathing.
“What the banana…” She flopped back in her chair. “Who the banana?” Grabbing her phone out of her coverall pocket, she hit speed dial for Pops, the one man with the answers.
“Sky. I’m having coffee with the guys. Why are you calling?”
“I need you back here, now.” Stripping her life bare over the phone wasn’t an option.
“Honey, you okay?” His voice filled with concern.
“I’m in one piece, but I’m not okay. Are you coming?”
If this Adam Hamilton guy was right, and an awful niggling feeling in her gut told her he was, then Pops and her mother had lied all her life. The idea gave her the feeling of being in an out of control spin three thousand feet in the air. She paced the office while she waited, frightened, her stomach churning, expecting any second she’d feel the impact of a crash.
Ten minutes later, Pops’ car drove up outside the office, and his hurried footsteps clipped across the cement floor. She thought she’d gotten her seething emotions under control, but the second she saw him, they erupted.
“Pops,” she charged, “who the hell am I?”
“You’re Sky Stravinski, one of the best aerobatic pilots in the country, a top notch flying instructor, part owner of Stravinski flight school, and my much-loved daughter.”
“I’m not asking for a resume.” Grimly, she rested her hip on the front of the desk and crossed her arms. “There was a guy here who said I was some long-lost granddaughter of a lady who’s searching for me. Her son’s name was Erik O’Shaughnessy, and this officious biscuit said O’Shaughnessy was my father. We need to straighten this out, because I don’t want him coming back and hounding me. He’s obviously got the wrong woman.” Sounding like a child asking for reassurance, she looked at Pops. The hunted look in his eyes did not calm her fears.
He tugged his ear, harrumphed, walked behind the desk, and settled in the chair, all delaying tactics she recognized from years of living with the guy.
“Pops, what’s going on?” Swiveling, she fixed him with a steady look.
He shuffled papers, picked up a pen, and tapped it, all before meeting her glare. “Erik Shaughnessy is your biological father,” he admitted, bracing himself as if expecting an attack. “Your mother was pregnant with you when I married her. I loved her on sight, just as I loved you when you were born. For all intents and purposes, I am your father. I sure think of myself that way.”