9. Chapter 6 - Marley
“We have a prisoner on board?”
My eyebrows kissed my hairline as I flipped through the flight manifest in our private lounge, reviewing the list of passengers and weather conditions. Jamie’s cheeky grin shone back at me from the leather chair opposite mine, not bothering to hide his glee.
The basic room only had a couple of chairs and a flat screen television, with a galley washroom and a shower suitable for small children — not women with curves and suspiciously larger breasts — but the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the small airstrip on this side of the airport brought in the mid-afternoon sun and a beautiful view of the Manthiqueira mountain range beyond.
Our plane hadn’t arrived yet, despite it being one hour until boarding, which was unusual. Swallowing my apprehension, I leaned into the distraction of Jamie’s gossip as if it were a lifeline.
“First for everything, right?” My friend and copilot rubbed his hands together like we’d collectively won the lottery. “His handler is a real dick. I spoke with him earlier. Doesn’t want us to serve the guy any meals on the flight, says he only deserves to eat with dogs.”
His Australian accent made it sound more like “deck” than “dick” and I couldn’t stifle my giggle at the imagery.
“Do we know what he did?” Curiosity outweighed my fear. Like America, Brazil’s justice system was rife with racism and inequality. The man—Maddox Torres—could have stolen a fruit basket or murdered his mother and received the same amount of jail time, depending on his connections.
“No idea,” Jamie admitted, his forehead crinkling as he reviewed his own manifest copy. “Maybe all the commercial airlines were booked? It’s not a cheap trip.”
Aileron really was cash-grabbing wherever they could these days. The drunken flight parties, now transporting criminals—what was next?
Jamie and I wouldn’t even be flying together after this run.
Our last hurrah because two pilots on a small plane was “an irresponsible use of resources.” I smothered the jagged knife slicing through the muscle tissue of my heart with a healthy dose of denial.
We hadn’t spoken about it, and I wasn’t about to ruin the mood with the introduction of reality.
And where was our plane? The clock’s slow ticking on the wall was a significant contrast to the heartbeat in my chest, my anxiety ramping up with each beat. We weren’t going to have enough time for all the proper pre-flight checks.
My forced smile stretched the borders of my lips up into my cheeks, more manic than necessary.
“Deportation … So, he's Mexican?” After a quick fuel stop in Panama City, Mexico was our final destination.
Jamie shrugged a broad shoulder. “Guess so. I’m tempted to give him the best meal we have onboard as a good old ‘fuck you’ to Handler Dick. His name is even Ricardo. Ricardo—Richard—Dick.” He folded his arms across his chest in triumph, clearly pleased with the nickname.
“Handler Deck it is,” I agreed, no longer attempting to hide my smirk. “The best meal we have on board still tastes like cardboard, but it’s probably an improvement over prison food.”
“Cardboard smothered in Bolognese sauce,” a smooth British tenor corrected from behind me.
When I turned in my seat, an old familiar face stared back at me, the sparkle of mischief in his golden-green gaze more prominent today.
He pushed the thick black-framed glasses up his nose and shot me a devilish wink.
“A delicacy I can’t wait to eat once the protein bars I’ve smuggled in my pockets wear off. ”
The tall, trim man’s wide smile held an infectious quality, and I couldn’t help matching it as I rose to greet him.
Nicolas Seymour was a misplaced fashion runway model working for a budget airline. Even today, despite the drenching humidity, wearing the uniform that was the male version of my own, he was so damn captivating.
Flawless bronze skin starkly contrasted the standard issue white dress shirt, his tight, corded muscles outlined by every inch of fabric in the navy dress pants, and he’d softened his gorgeous halo of wild teak ringlet curls with a thin layer of hair gel.
If sex personified had a name, it would be Nikki, and he knew it. So did half the men and women in London.
“Hi, Nikki.” I stuck out my hand for a professional shake, but he defied all stiff British stereotypes by opening his arms and enveloping me in a snug embrace, trapping me between soft, earthy notes of citrusy sandalwood and warm biceps honed at the gym.
Despite my want for professional courtesy, I melted in his hold.
“Hey, Captain,” he murmured into my hair before stepping back, not a single apology written into his grin. “Nice to see you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and awkwardly smoothed down my skirt. “Nice to see you, Nik.”
He held my gaze for a beat too long, intentionally staring into my soul with colorful bedroom eyes that screamed, “Just fuck me already.” He trapped me under his undivided attention, and I couldn’t look away if I tried.
Nikki made me feel seen, even when I tried not to be. He made me feel sexy without saying a single word. If I took him into a hallway right now, eager and willing, he’d respectfully fuck my brains out and leave me begging for more. I knew that as well as I knew the Aileron Flight Manual.
My education had cost me my blood, sweat, and soul. Risking my position for one night of rapture would be the very definition of reckless. And with Nikki’s reputation, it would only be one night. I knew my friend too well for that.
Thankfully, my rescuer came in the form of my copilot, as he stood up beside me and offered his hand.
“Sorry you got called in on your time off, mate,” Jamie apologized. “Jasmine quit yesterday, and they laid off Joey and Sofia on Tuesday. They’re determined to burn this company to the ground to save a banana.”
“Quite all right.” Nikki gave a one-shouldered shrug like he hadn’t been on his first vacation in the two years I’d known him.
“My sister will still be around when we get back, and a trip to Mexico City was perfectly timed to get me away from my latest breakup.” He wriggled his eyebrows with a lightness I wished I carried.
Breakup? I hadn’t even known he was seeing someone.
I picked up our abandoned papers and lowered back into the brown leather bucket seat, waving him over to do the same. “We’re just reviewing the manifest. Take a look.”
He took the sole seat beside mine, long legs extending outward in the cramped space, and I tried to ignore his presence as we completed our pre-flight review.
He was a competent crew member unlike some on the dwindling rotation and was reliable and professional.
Nikki was the perfect addition to Jamie’s and my last flight together.
“We’ve got a convict on the flight, mate.
” At Nikki’s wide eyes, Jamie’s reckless grin grew to a lion’s maw.
“He’ll be cuffed hand and foot, so don’t worry about that.
Give him a good meal to remember us by. His handler’s a real dick by the sounds of him, so be sure to give him the five-star treatment. ”
Nikki nodded his understanding with another contagious smile, as if confident he could charm the pants off axe murderers and drug lords, and this was just another day. He and Charlie were a match made in Heaven with their level of bravado.
Where was our arrival announcement? I scanned the white boxed intercom at the top of the door frame on the other side of the room, as if it would go off if I gave it a little attention. Was I the only one nervous right now?
“The rest of the lot is a mixed bag,” Jamie added blithely. “No special requirements other than a cashed-up American bought two seats, so he wouldn’t have to sit next to anyone.” A derisive snort. “So, watch out for him. We don’t need another emergency landing to accommodate dickheads.”
Thanks to entitled men with money, that had happened twice in the last year. They seemed to possess a determination to piss off anyone within ten miles of their vicinity. Not today, thank you.
I scanned the weather reports one last time. Clear skies, calm winds—the perfect conditions for a smooth flight. But atmospheric rivers were a bitch, and blue skies could be misleading. A good pilot always had to be prepared.
“Captain West, Captain Adams.” A tinny voice echoed through the small intercom on the side wall. “Your replacement plane has arrived. Please prepare for pre-boarding procedures and proceed to Gate A7.”
I met Jamie’s confused gaze with a frown of my own. Replacement? We barely had time to do our pre-flight assessment.
Instead of relief our plane was finally here, my body hummed with a growing charge of apprehension.
We had a fuel stop in Panama City today.
Mexico City’s air traffic was a clusterfuck on a good day, let alone when we were running late.
There were too many variables in air travel that could cause problems at any time.
None of this was good.
Standing, I rocked back on the stupid low-slung heels that were a sexist, mandatory part of my uniform, and released a frustrated groan. The two men joined me, all remnants of the jovial energy now an unsettling cloud of concern.
I grabbed my luggage and our stack of papers, then walked down the narrow cinder-blocked hall alongside Jamie and Nikki, grateful our flight was in their care.
Together, we were responsible for the lives of seventeen people, and I’d be damned if we didn’t give them the best flight possible, arrogant rich men and convicts alike.
When we got to Gate A7, our small cohort of passengers sat in the waiting area chairs, eyeing us with curiosity.