Flight Risk

by Cara C. Putman

  That was the best offer he’d get, so Jett nodded and then turned to leave.

  “I need an answer.”

  “Yes. You’ll have the finished article tonight.”

  “By five.”

  “Yes.”

  He returned to his desk and immediately pulled up the article for one more review.

  * * *

  That evening after putting the article to bed, Jett sat in his rented house, laptop open on his lap, the screen a blur of pixels. The home was spare yet filled with an eclectic mix of furniture and doilies he never would have selected. Maybe that’s why he spent so much time in the shed out back. He should go to bed. Get some sleep after a crazy long day in anticipation of the article dropping and Ted pressing him hard, but his body refused. It was wired from all the coffee and Pepsi he’d consumed during the unending hours, and now the caffeine refused to release its hold.

  The article was good.

  As good and detailed as he could make it.

  A rich professional baseball player. A hero to children all over the region and country.

  A man who isn’t what he seems.

  When someone travels outside the country, it’s to experience new places, flavors, and cultures. But when Logan Donnelly leaves the country, it’s to exploit the defenseless. It’s not enough that he does it. He takes others with him to engage in activities that are illegal here . . . and there. But as a wealthy American, he is above the law in Thailand.

  Jett sighed as he reread the opening lines, words that were emblazoned on his mind. Ted had insisted he lay it on thicker than Jett preferred.

  He set the computer to the side and grabbed a well-worn sweatshirt emblazoned with Duke’s Blue Devil mascot, a leftover from his undergrad days. It might be old, but it was comfortable and a warm layer as the temperatures dipped below average for early December. He pulled it on and headed to the oversized shed in the backyard. The neighbor’s house was swathed in Christmas lights. The glow reinforced that the calendar said he should put up Christmas decorations, but it wasn’t really his house or his style. Not when there was no one to enjoy them with.

  He unlocked the shed’s door and then flipped on the light, revealing his work area. He stepped over to the side and turned on the floor heater, then flipped on a radio. Country music from the nineties filled the space, with occasional Christmas honky-tonk thrown into the mix.

  The grit of sawdust covered the concrete floor beneath his shoes and the aromas of the various woods he worked with filled his senses. He considered the boards he’d laid out on the worktable, then ran a thumb along the rough edge of a walnut plank, noting the swirls and whorls. It would make a beautiful dining room table for the right home if he could get the pieces to come together in the mosaic he pictured in his mind. His caress slowed as he sensed a catch in the grain. Looked like he’d missed a spot when planing it.

  Someday he’d transform this into a piece of furniture his dad might have admired, even if the man had forfeited the right to see it.

  Jett picked up the plane his grandfather had used, hefting its weight in his hand. As he held the muscle-powered tool, he knew a power plane could accomplish the task much faster, but he liked the connection between his body and the slab, the whisper of the blade as it feathered down the surface. It was something he’d watched his father and grandfather practice, and when he spent time in this place, he felt a connection with them. It was ethereal, but it was there, and on nights like tonight it didn’t matter if he ever finished the table. All he wanted was a connection to something bigger than himself.

  Otherwise he felt untethered.

  He could never explain that reality to his mother without hurting her, so he stayed silent. But he also knew it was one reason he remained alone.

  Pieces of the man he was couldn’t, wouldn’t, deal with the tragedy of his youth. He slid the plane along the surface of the walnut plank in a steady stroke. He blew and watched the fresh sawdust rise into the air. It was an action his dad had made at the end of each stroke.

  Jett found peace in the long, even movements. A steadiness filled him as he repeated the motion time and again.

  Tonight it didn’t calm his thoughts.

  Chapter Three

  wednesday, december 9

  The article was horrifying.

  Worse than anything her imagination had conjured over the thirty-six hours between that reporter’s intrusion and Bella sliding the folded paper onto Savannah’s desk.

  The plane lands at Suvarnabhumi Airport outside Bangkok. It rolls to a stop outside a small, private terminal. It’s not the first time the plane has carried these passengers to Thailand. The mechanic greets the travelers by the fake names on their passports. Men known in the States as Logan Donnelly. Dustin Tate. Evan Spencer. An additional companion. The four are met by a driver who also knows them from repeated trips. He understands exactly where to take them. As the group climbs into the taxi, the mechanic moves to the plane. It will be serviced efficiently and thoroughly. The moment the men signal they are ready to leave, the plane will be prepared for immediate departure.

  With more than eight million residents, Bangkok is known for its dense neighborhoods, crowded canals, and bustling streets lined with ornate shrines and glittering storefronts. Throughout the city, traditional teak buildings clash with modern high-rises.

  These men have arrived to visit Bangkok’s darker side, and to exploit the people forced to work in the shadows of the sex industry.

  Nausea roiled as Savannah tried to absorb the horrid words.

  If even half of the article was true . . . Savannah swallowed against the rising bile.

  She didn’t want to believe the men traveled for pleasure trips, the clandestine opportunity to do what was illegal here. Yet as she continued to read, the words were stark, black and white, no shades of gray. They shimmered with truth, but was it fool’s gold?

  She tried to pray, but nothing came except the next sip of oxygen. She’d been married to one of the band. Even if it had been a lifetime ago and few would remember, she couldn’t simply ignore it. The light of her life was Dustin’s daughter. She forced another breath. She hadn’t told the reporter the full truth because she would do anything to protect her niece.

  Savannah grabbed her keys and purse before heading to her car.

  She needed to get to Addy Jo before someone else did.

  Addy was caught between a pain-addled mom who self-medicated with alcohol and a dad with a complicated past. He’d married one sister, then fathered a child with the other.

  The teenager was proof good could come from the worst situations humans created. The girl was a shining light in Savannah’s world. A spot of hope and joy in what should have been an unrelenting mess of human brokenness and sin.

  That precious young woman was about to learn that her father was front-page news.

  * * *

  Every professional baseball player has one goal at the beginning of the season: make it to the World Series. If his team doesn’t make it, October is traditionally the time of year when Major League Baseball players work on skills or kick back after another intense season.

  That’s not what Logan Donnelly was doing two years ago, nor in the off-seasons since.

  There’s a synergy and symbiotic relationship between the ballplayer and his fans. The player gives his all on the field, in Logan’s case, pitching. Little boys wear his jersey, pride sparking in their eyes. Women wonder how to catch his attention. And grown men bet on whether he will beat the other team, one at-bat at a time.

  Jett’s inbox was filling with emails from colleagues congratulating him for the award-winning exposé. Well, they didn’t say the award-winning part yet, but they would.

  He’d spent several days in Thailand retracing Logan Donnelly’s steps, a process that left Jett with the knowledge it would take another year of showers to finally feel clean. He’d known human trafficking and the sex trade existed, but he’d never walked the streets and seen th
e women and children for sale.

  Some sins soap didn’t touch.

  This investigation had overflowed with evidence of how depraved a man could be.

  His next piece needed a subject that would restore his faith in mankind, if that was even possible. That wasn’t exactly the point of investigative journalism though.

  The honest part of him admitted he was jaded. Really jaded.

  Ted Lance walked by Jett’s desk and hooked a finger. “My office.”

  The gruff bark required an immediate response.

  He hadn’t talked to Ted since the story dropped, so he hoped this would be a good meeting. Not the you’re-about-to-be-fired kind.

  The editor had been with the Source since its inception as an upstart challenger to the venerable Washington Post. Hard to believe it wasn’t that long ago that the Post had been the challenger to the New York Times, and now that role had landed squarely on the scrappy Source. The proliferation of free information and fake news on the internet was threatening to kill the advertising streams that sustained the paper. The Source needed a Pulitzer or similar recognition almost as much as he did.

  As he grabbed his tablet and stylus, Jett anticipated the speech he’d get inside Ted’s office. You’ve got two weeks. Press your advantage and do it on a shoestring budget. Get the story right, but get it faster than the competition.

  Ted leaned a hip against his battered armada of a desk as he waited for Jett. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and all he needed was a cigar snapped between his jaws to complete the image of a hardened editor who cared only about the story. He opened the lid of a wooden box and offered its contents to Jett. “Take one.”

  Jett stared at the Cuban cigars, feeling the weight of the offer. Other reporters got one when a story hit well. But not him. Not until now. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thanks, sir, but I’m not much of a smoker.” Like ever.

  Ted shook his head with a short chortle, then pulled out a cigar and tucked it into Jett’s shirt pocket. “Have one anyway. You can enjoy it on the way to the airport.”

  “Airport?”

  “I want you in Boston.”

  “Why?” He’d spent two days last month poking around Beantown talking to people who knew Donnelly.

  “You’ve got two weeks for your follow-up on the mystery traveler. And a birdie told me that Donnelly might get traded back home to one of Boston’s teams. He’s quickly becoming too hot to handle here, thanks to your piece. Chase that story down.” He pulled an envelope from a drawer. “Here’s your flight itinerary, rental car, hotel.”

  “Who am I supposed to talk to there that I can’t from here? Calls should work.”

  “Not this time. We need you there to discern what’s true and what’s rumor. Frankly, if Donnelly’s too hot to handle here, he should be too hot there. You’re the reporter. Figure it out. Just make it worth our while.”

  “Sure.” What else could he say? He opened the envelope to see he had two hours to get to the airport. Good thing he kept an overnight bag in his car. He’d plan his attack in the air.

  * * *

  Before she pulled her car out of its slot, Savannah shot her niece a text. On my way to get you. Still at school?

  It was that time of day when Addy would step onto a bus for the trip back home.

  Why?

  Thought we’d grab burgers at Five Guys. That should get Addy’s attention.

  Okay. Next came a shrug emoji. I can wait fifteen minutes.

  Savannah could make it if all the lights aligned perfectly. See you soon.

  The sky was the heavy gray that suggested a flurry of snowflakes was possible, but she needed it to hold off. At least until after evening rush hour. There was no way she’d make it if even a flake started drifting through the sky.

  She exhaled, then adjusted the rearview mirror and noticed each line etched next to her eyes. Today she felt every one of her thirty-nine years and unfulfilled dreams.

  Her Mazda SUV wanted to fly, but she eased along King Street to Bailey’s Crossroads.

  She wanted to fly too but was far from it.

  She’d imagined life married to her college sweetheart, but that had vanished into mist when her college-love-turned-husband detoured to another path and abandoned her. If the article was true, maybe that was for the best, but could she have misread him so much?

  Her career launched at a large firm where she made more in a year than her parents had in five. Then she hung out her shingle and still wondered some months if there’d be enough left to pay her personal bills. And now she’d taken on the responsibility of additional attorneys. It had felt so right as she brought them on one at a time. Now? The pressure was enough to crush her.

  Then there were the two point four adorable mini-mes that were supposed to fill the middle seat of her swagger wagon and make her life complete. Instead, she went home each day to her rescue kitten, a cute tuxedo cat she had named Rhett, before she realized he was a she. Another example of her slightly out-of-step life. Friday she’d celebrate turning forty with her girlfriends and was no closer to children than she had been at twenty.

  The Jeep in front of her slammed on its brakes. She crushed her own and skidded to the side to avoid hitting it, glancing in her rearview mirror, tensing until the van behind her stopped.

  She relaxed and her shoulders dropped.

  She’d been living life with her shoulders touching her ears. Knots tightening her back until it felt locked down. Her friends could run and push themselves with cardio. Her body could barely handle daily walks and stretching.

  When had she become an elderly woman in a youngish body?

  She glanced in the rearview mirror again as traffic inched forward.

  Father, I need to get to Addy before she hears about her dad from someone else. Teens could be cruel or thoughtless. Can you help me out of this funk? Before I reach Addy?

  Traffic took off and in minutes she was through Bailey’s Crossroads and at Justice High School. The greasy Five Guys combo sounded perfect at the end of a long day, but not until she made sure Addy was good.

  When Savannah pulled into the high school’s drive, she spotted a small cluster of students lingering around some of the metal benches with curved arms along the path to the main doors. She eased her car along the curb and waited a moment, searching the gathered teens for Addy’s small frame.

  At one bench several young men in the jock category, tall and muscular, joked and elbowed each other, proudly wearing letter jackets. They watched three girls approach another who waited on a bench alone. The girls needed more clothes to survive the beginnings of winter’s cold without getting sick. Savannah squinted to see better through the sunlight.

  Addy Jo’s long, blonde curls appeared gilded in the light. She was reading a textbook and didn’t look up as the gaggle of young women strutted toward her. There was something about the girls’ demeanor that had Savannah turning off her car and then stepping from it. Was it the swagger in their steps? The arrogance on the face of the leader?

  Whatever it was, Savannah pulled her purse onto her shoulder over her wool trench coat and hurried along the sidewalk.

  “Addy?”

  The girl didn’t hear her as she glanced up at the others, earbuds dangling from her ears. A slight frown tipped her lips, and Savannah could imagine her distrust. She wasn’t the popular, cheerleading type.

  A girl with hair the orange of Anne of Green Gables looked like she’d stepped out of an American Eagle ad with her perfect if heavy makeup and precisely ripped jeans, layered top, and denim jacket. She elbowed her friend, a pretty Latina dressed in the same ripped style, and stopped in front of Addy. “So your dad likes girls.”

  Chapter Four

  Addy kept reading as if she hadn’t heard, but Savannah noted the pink crawling up her neck.

  Savannah’s breath hitched and she wanted to run to Addy’s defense, but she felt the stares of the boys and hesitated. She didn’t second-guess anything in a courtroo
m, yet five teenage boys gave her pause? She saw baseball jerseys through their open jackets before she turned back toward Addy. The redhead’s voice rose.

  “He’s all over the web.”

  The girl next to her chimed in. “Did you know? Of course you did.”

  Addy tried to stand, but one of the girls pushed her back down and leaned into her face. “Are you a pervert too?”

  “What do you mean?” Addy winced as the back of her legs rammed into the metal bench.

  “What do you mean?” The third girl mocked her with a whiny voice, and Savannah squared her jaw and marched forward in her best don’t-mess-with-me style. “You’d have to be blind to not see the story. It’s everywhere.”

  The ginger-haired girl snickered and pressed forward until she practically stood on top of Addy. “With a dad like that, no wonder you’re such a loser.”

  “Addy.” Savannah elbowed her way around the mean-girl posse. “Let’s go.”

  When Addy turned her way, there were tears in the girl’s blue eyes, but she didn’t seem to see Savannah. Savannah leaned down and grabbed the teen’s backpack, huffing at the weight. “Come on, kiddo.”

  “We weren’t done.” The ringleader tried to assert an authority she didn’t have.

  Savannah chuckled without glee. “You are done, or I’ll report you for bullying.” She edged Addy to her feet and then guided her through the kids. “Come on, Addy.”

  Her niece walked with Savannah but looked more like a lifeless mannequin than her vibrant normal self. Savannah helped her into the small SUV where she collapsed forward. Savannah walked around the car, climbed in, and waited. For what? A sign of life? Some sign the girl was made of titanium and the words had simply bounced off?

  The lengthening silence made it clear those were fanciful dreams.