“Sally,” he said. “I’m looking for Sally.”
“She’s-”
“Not here. I know. Thanks.”
“Yeah.” She studied him a moment, then pulled out her keys, started toward the door.
“Char’s right,” he said. “You’re stressed.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s in your walk.”
“And how is that?”
“Well, you move like you have a poker shoved up your-”
She turned back, her mouth tight. “I do not.”
He just smiled.
A frustrated growl escaped her. “I’m not stressed. I love it here and I walk just fine.”
How the woman managed to work all day and still smell good was beyond him, but she did, and that being a turn-on as well, he wiggled his nose trying to get another sniff.
“And to answer your earlier question,” she huffed. “Flying is what I do. It’s who I am. It’s everything to me. I’d have thought you’d understand that.”
“Yes, but I do it good enough that I’m not strapped for cash on a daily basis.”
“I’m not that hard up. Just in a slump, is all.”
“Darling, you’re in more than a slump. This place needs an overhaul. And Anderson Air needs more passenger conveniences, more attention to the little details-”
“My bare-bones service is what makes me the cheapest choice.”
“People with Lear jets don’t want cheap, mate.” He chucked her beneath the chin just for the excuse of touching her and decided not to worry about what that meant. “There’s more to this business than flying.” He shifted closer, which had the predictable benefit of annoying her, then used the opportunity to inhale as deeply as he could without pressing his damn face into her neck. “You need help.”
“If you’re offering, I already said no thanks.”
“Actually, you never said thanks at all.”
She choked out a laugh. The sound had a hint of desperation in it, and he got the feeling she was on the very edge. He tugged on a strand of her wayward, gorgeous hair. “Maybe you need some of Al’s stress relief, Bo style.”
“Go away, Bo.”
“Yeah, I’ll go, but I’ll be back.”
And she’d have to deal with that.
Unfortunately, they both would.
Chapter 5
The next day Mel woke up from a disturbingly erotic dream about Bo, of all people. She sat straight up, panting at the image that had implanted itself in her brain, that of him slowly pulling off her clothing one piece at a time, kissing each inch he revealed.
She had to laugh at herself in the light of day, because-wow, Bo? So not going to happen.
Her cell rang. “Did you hear from Sally yet?” Dimi asked.
Mel fell back onto the bed.
Long silence. “How ’bout the deed?” Dimi finally asked, slurring her words.
“Hey, have you been up all night?”
“Sleeping’s overrated.”
No doubt she’d stayed out all night trying to party away the stress. It wasn’t the first time, but for Mel, the worry never ceased. “Dimi-”
“Did you hear from Greg on the deed?”
“Too early for the attorney to call me,” Mel said slowly. “Look, take the morning off.” Sober up. “Or you’ll be dead on your feet.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“And don’t worry. We’re going to be okay.”
“I know.” But Dimi didn’t sound as if she believed it, and Mel had to admit, she didn’t, either. She drove into the airport on pins and needles, still a little off balance from her dream. Get it together, she ordered herself. Because if you don’t, he’ll be able to see it.
But it was still on her mind all the way to North Beach until she sat at her desk and brought up her e-mail, where she received yet another unpleasant shock. She had an e-mail from LeaveItAlone at an Internet server she didn’t recognize, and nothing in the subject or body of the e-mail.
LeaveItAlone?
Mel forwarded the thing to Ernest. Who sent this? she typed in her e-mail, and wasn’t surprised to get an immediate response, which meant he was in the maintenance hangar on the computer scrolling through porn sites again instead of working.
Someone who thinks you’re a pain in the ass, he answered.
Mel sighed, rolled her eyes, and read the rest of his response.
But I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, stop pissing people off.
Yeah, yeah. Leave it alone.
What the hell did that mean? She’d received plenty of ambiguous mail over the years. Each and every time she raised their fuel prices, for instance. Or when she’d had to cut back North Beach’s hours of operation from 24/7 to six AM until five PM. Or when she’d once refused a rich client service for his five jets because he’d wanted her to arrange for prostitutes for all his crew.
But none of those had been anonymous threats. So who? Bo?
No. He wouldn’t go the anonymous route, he had no need to do so.
Still, the coincidence seemed too much to ignore…
Leave it alone. Leave what alone? The airport? The questionable deed in Bo’s hands? She closed her e-mail program and put the e-mail out of her mind. She had a long charter to Tuscon and back, a flight that would keep her away from North Beach until late, and it was time to put her head there. On the way out for her preflight check, she stopped at the cafe, where Char was working on something that smelled like pure heaven.
“White Trash Casserole, straight from my momma’s box of favorite recipes,” Char drawled over KISS screeching on the radio. Her purple hair was piled on top of her head, precariously held there by what looked like two pencils. She wore another pair of short shorts, and today’s T-shirt said: TAKE A BITE OF ME. PLEASE.
“Lord, it’s going to be a hot one today,” Char said. “Or maybe I’m just getting hot flashes.” She fanned herself with the hem of her shirt. “Anyway, got a late start this morning, sorry. This won’t be ready in time for you but I’ve got donuts.”
If Mel was compulsively early, Charlene was compulsively late, but she loaded Mel up with a bag of the mouth-watering donuts, and all was forgiven. “You need an alarm clock,” Mel said.
“Oh, it’s not that. Al and I-”
“Stop right there if this story ends with the two of you having sex.”
“Well…” Char giggled.
Mel grabbed her bag of donuts. “I’ve got my fingers in my ears, I can’t hear you-”
“We just-”
“Lalalalalalala,” Mel sang over Char’s laugh, and went out onto the tarmac.
Three men stood next to a Piper Mirage in the early-morning sun: Danny, the customer who owned the Piper, and Bo. Danny wore his coveralls and was consulting a clipboard, his long blond hair still damp from his early surf. Their customer was in a pricey-looking suit. Bo wore cargo shorts, a sweatshirt, and clean work boots, his legs looking long and tanned. All three men, different as night and day, were laughing about something, carefree and easygoing.
