weather Web site. He made a note of the storms forecast for that evening, but the skies were presently clear.
He had made the flight to Houston Hobby many times. Nevertheless, he reviewed the information he needed for the flight portion of the trip as well as for the airport. He had Garmin in the cockpit. The Airport Facilities Directory for each state, plus FBO data, were downloaded onto his iPad, which he could access from the cockpit. But as a safety precaution he always printed out and carried with him information pertaining to takeoff, the destination airport, and an alternate airport. Lastly, he called ATC and filed a flight plan.
Outside, he went through the preflight check of his airplane, even knowing that Gall already had. He got under the wings to drain gasoline from five different locations, checking the glass tube to be sure no water had collected in the fuel tanks. It was a time-consuming chore, but he’d known a guy who’d failed to do it. He’d crashed and died.
Satisfied that his plane was ready, he signaled Gall with a thumbs-up. “Good to go if they are.” He went into the restroom, where he splashed cold water on his face and washed down three aspirin tablets with the dregs of his coffee, which hadn’t been as hot as Gall had boasted but was double the recommended strength. And, as advised, he put in eye drops guaranteed to get the red out. All the same, he put on his sunglasses.
When he emerged from the building, his three passengers were waiting for him on the tarmac, standing shoulder to shoulder.
It was easy to pick out the patient. The man was tall and dignified, but had the yellowish-gray complexion of someone suffering from cancer and its harsh chemical treatments. He was dressed in casual slacks and a sport jacket, both of which looked several sizes too large. A baseball cap covered his bald head.
In the middle of the trio was an attractive woman, slightly younger than the man, but well into her sixties. Something about her…
Dent’s footsteps faltered, then he came to a dead standstill. His eyes swung back to the man and tried to picture a healthy version of him.
There could be no mistake because beside him stood his wife, Olivia, looking as well put together as Dent remembered her. She was a pretty woman who took the time and trouble to stay that way. She was still trim, although her weight was distributed differently now, a little more around the middle. Her hair was lighter. The skin around her mouth and beneath her chin was looser than it had been nearly two decades ago. But her haughty expression was the same.
Dent stared at them for several moments, then swiveled his head around. Gall was lurking in the doorway of his office, obviously watching to see how this scene would play out. Under Dent’s glare, he scuttled back into the office and closed the door. Dent had some choice words for him, but they could wait.
He came back around and regarded the Lystons with contempt. “Is this a joke? If so, I fail to see the humor.”
Olivia turned her head and spoke to the younger woman standing on the other side of her. “I told you this was a dreadful mistake.”
The younger woman took two steps toward him. “It’s no joke, Mr. Carter. We need to get to Houston.”
“There’s a superhighway that runs between here and there.”
“Daddy can’t travel that far by car.”
“
She removed the large, dark sunglasses that had been covering easily a third of her face. “I’m Bellamy. Remember?”
Yeah, of course he remembered, but this was
Her bony frame had since been padded in the right places. Her complexion was now unblemished, her teeth straight. She was dressed casually but expensively, and there were no split ends in the dark, glossy ponytail that was draped over one shoulder. Altogether a nice package.
But you couldn’t melt an ice cube on her ass.
She emanated the same snooty attitude as her parents. Directed especially toward Denton Carter. Olivia was looking at him as though he hadn’t showered that morning. The old man was either too sick or too indifferent even to speak. As for Bellamy, she had an imperious manner that rubbed him the wrong way, and they’d only exchanged a few words.
He wasn’t going to take their shit. Not a second time.
“There’s a commercial airport southeast of downtown,” he said, addressing Bellamy. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? Big shiny airplanes? They fly them several times a day to and from Houston.”
She responded to his sarcasm with a smile that was equally caustic. “Yes, well, thank you for the suggestion. But it’s an ordeal for Daddy to go through airport security and all that that entails. I was told”—she glanced beyond him toward the hangar, where Gall was playing hide-and-seek—“I was told you have an airplane for charter. I’ve agreed to your terms and paid in advance for your services.”
Dammit, he needed that payment.
Two and a half grand was pocket change to the Lystons. To him it meant electricity, groceries, and a loan payment on his airplane. He could have kicked himself for not charging more. He could kick Gall even harder for not telling him who his paying passengers were. Setting him up to be blindsided like this, what was the old fart thinking?
For that matter, what were the Lystons thinking? Why had they selected him out of all the charter options, including private jet service, which they could well afford? He doubted they wanted to form a friendship circle.
He sure as hell wanted nothing to do with them.
But, unfortunately, what Gall had said about gift horses applied here. If they could stand his company, he could stand theirs. Houston was a short flight.
Dent turned to Howard Lyston, forcing him to acknowledge his existence. “What time is your appointment?”
“Two o’clock.”
“I’ll have you there with time to spare.”
“Good,” Bellamy said. “If there’s nothing else, could we please get underway?”
Her condescension was all too familiar, and it made Dent feel like grinding his teeth. Instead, he smiled and indicated the steps leading into the cabin of his airplane. “After you.”
The flight was smooth. The only difficulty they encountered was getting Howard Lyston into and out of the airplane. Not only was he so weak he could barely muster the strength to move, it was apparent to Dent that he was in pain. When he settled into the backseat of the limousine that was waiting for them when they arrived, he seemed pathetically relieved to have gotten that far. Olivia slid in beside him, solicitous and protective, just as she’d always been.
Bellamy held back with Dent, shouting to make herself heard above the noise of airplane engines and a stiff Gulf wind. “Invariably the staff and doctors are running behind schedule, so I can’t predict how long we’ll be.”
The opaque sunglasses were back in place, but the lower part of her face was taut and tense, which, Dent supposed, could be attributed to concern for her father. Or maybe she had the same low regard for him that her parents did. God only knew what she’d heard said about him over the past eighteen years.
“I’m on your clock, so I’ll be here whenever you get back.” He gave her one of his business cards. “My cell number is on there. If you give me a heads-up when you leave the hospital, I’ll have the plane ready to go by the time you get here, so we can take off immediately.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated for a moment, then opened the deep shoulder bag she was carrying, dug out a hardcover book, and extended it to him. “Have you read this?”
He took the book from her. “
“A.k.a. Bellamy Lyston Price. Did you know I’d written a novel?”
“No.” And he wanted to add,
But he withheld that because she was looking up at him, her head tilted at an inquisitive angle. He couldn’t see through the lenses of her glasses into her eyes, but he got the feeling she was carefully gauging his answer. “No,” he repeated. “I didn’t know you’d become a writer. Price, you said?”
“My married name.”
“So why T. J. whatever?”
