The Flyboy's Temptation. Kimberly Meter Van
“HELLO? UM, HELLO? Is there anyone here?”
James “J. T.” Carmichael banged his head against the frame of his Beechcraft turboprop charter plane and swore a blue streak as he rubbed his dome.
“Who’s asking?” he said, squinting against the blazing Southern California sun as his hangover made the pain of bumping his head that much worse. “If you’re a creditor, then I ain’t here.”
A leggy redhead wearing a pencil skirt and spindly heels peered at him through dark-rimmed glasses. “Not a creditor...Mr....”
J.T. straightened and wiped his hands on a dirty rag from his pocket, giving her the once-over just as openly.
He supposed she wasn’t lying. He didn’t know many creditors who actually showed up on a person’s doorstep to collect. And heaven help him, creditors didn’t look like her. Or at least, he hoped they didn’t.
He’d rather think that creditors hung out in darkened cubicles, didn’t shower and had complexions that reflected their junk-food diet. “J. T. Carmichael, co-owner of Blue Yonder. My brother, Teagan, is the other half. Is there something I can do for you?”
She pushed strands of fine red hair away from her china-doll face and straightened her glasses. “Mr. Carmichael, I’m in need of a charter to South America. Are you available?”
South America? That was a heckuva journey. Pricey, too.
Teagan’s voice rang in his head from last night’s argument alongside the pounding of his brain.
Teagan was in favor of calling it quits; J.T. wasn’t ready to give up on their dream.
The numbers don’t lie, J.T. We’re going to be bankrupt in two months at this rate.
Why had he thought mixing Jack and tequila was a good idea?
Because the bartender had been hot.
“Mr. Carmichael?” The redhead’s firm voice held an edge of impatience. “Are you capable of such a charter?”
Capable? Hell yes. But should he accept the job? His Spidey sense was tingling off the charts. Something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just that this hot-looking chick was coming to his small operation when she plainly could afford something nicer. Although, now that he thought about it, that seemed a little off, too.
But hadn’t Teagan groused that they’d need a miracle to keep the doors open? Hell, looked like a miracle wore fancy designer glasses and an air of mystery.
And who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
“Of course,” he answered, eyeing her warily. “But that’s a pretty expensive ride. Not to be rude or anything, but...you got the cash?”
She smiled thinly as if she’d expected his question, opened her purse and pulled a small wad of bills free. “I believe this should be sufficient to get us off the ground?”
His eyes bugged. There had to be at least five grand in her hand! “Whoa, lady—” he snatched the cash and tucked it under his arm, glancing around “—don’t go flashing that kind of money around here. Times are hard and you never know who’s watching.”
“You have a suspicious nature, Mr. Carmichael. I think that will serve my purposes quite well.”
“Yeah? And what purposes would that be?”
“My own. When can we leave?”
“Look, I need to know some details. I can’t just blindly agree to zip you off to South America just because you flashed some cash in my face.”
“No? And why not?”
Uh... “Well, because I can’t. How do I know you’re not a drug dealer? I don’t want to get caught up with the feds over some illegal shit.”
“That’s a pity,” she said. “Because there’s more where that came from if you could be trusted to do your job quietly and without question.”
He didn’t like her tone, but he had to admit she’d hooked him pretty good. “Yeah? Like how much?”
She smiled again. “Enough to make it worth your while.”
Teagan’s voice intruded in his thoughts, only this time J.T. had a feeling his brother was telling him to walk away because this job promised trouble. But that was a lot of cash. And cold hard cash was the answer to their prayers right now. He had no doubt that Blue Yonder could pull through if they could just weather this rough spot.
“When do you need to leave?”
“Now.”
It was then he realized she’d come with a small rolling bag.
“Seriously?”
“As a heart attack.” She glanced behind her before saying with a bit more urgency, “In fact, if we could be up in the air within the next ten minutes, that would be great.”
Ten minutes? He had to file a flight plan, gain clearance... Hell, he had to drain his bladder and grab his meatball sub from the fridge. He chuckled, pumping the brakes. “Let’s start with the basics. How about you tell me your name, where we’re going, like a normal chartered excursion, and then we’ll schedule your flight.”
Her green-eyed gaze narrowed with irritation. “I don’t have time for that. We need to be in the air now.”
“Well, too bad. We have protocol, rules. I can’t just go willy-nilly into the air like a drunken bird. I could lose my license.”
“Mr. Carmichael...”
But whatever she was about to say was cut off by the sudden screech of tires.
“Shit,” she muttered, her calm and precise demeanor crumbling quickly. “There’s no time to argue. Let’s go!”
A black car sped toward them, mindless of the tarmac, and J.T. got a real bad feeling. “What the hell?”
She shocked him by roughly pushing him. “We have to move, now! They are not coming this way to shake hands. Trust me—let’s go!”
The way the car was barreling toward them, J.T. had to agree with the woman. Hell, he didn’t even know her name yet, but there was no time for niceties. He grabbed her bag and tossed it into the cabin, then helped the woman in afterward.
“I hate when Teagan is right,” he muttered, quickly buckling in and securing the cabin doors. He rushed through his preflight ritual—a quick prayer and a gentle swipe at the hula girl stuck to his cockpit dash—and gunned the engine. Taxiing, he hit the throttle and quickly picked up speed, but the distinct sound of bullets being fired put a whole new spin on things.
“They’re shooting at my plane!”
“Yes, and if you don’t get it in the air, we’re going to end up in a fireball!”
“Who are you, lady?” he shouted, pushing forward on the throttle, his adrenaline running like jet fuel through his veins. “If anything happens to my plane—”
“Get us out of here alive and we’ll talk! Until then, focus on getting us out of here!”
Couldn’t argue that logic. J.T. wiped at the sweat gathering at his brow and pushed the plane to gain altitude. The sound of bullets hitting the frame was hard to ignore. He could just imagine the holes. Teagan was going to freak.
Resale value, J.T., he would no doubt yell. No one’s gonna want a shot-up plane!
After what seemed an eternity, J.T. cleared the airfield and gained enough altitude to escape the trajectory of the bullets, but now that he was sure he wasn’t going to die, he was pissed as hell!
If he’d wanted to be shot at