Page 47 of Shared By the Pilots

When I served the other passenger his second glass of gin, I asked, “What do you two fine gentlemen do for a living?”

They looked at each other before answering.

“Commercial real estate,” the companion in the cargo pants replied.

I turned to Broussard and waited for his answer.

“A little bit of everything,” he said curtly. He had a Louisiana accent. Bordering on Cajun.

Okay. Now to get him to open up some more.

“A renaissance man,” I said approvingly. “I like it. Life is too short to get pigeon-holed into one career. I work for airlines right now, but I’ve always dreamed about being a tour guide somewhere exotic. Like in the mountains, or in a beach town. I bet Cabo has great opportunities for that kind of thing. Have you ever done anything touristy in Cabo?”

“Not really.”

“What about Cancun? Is this your first flight to that side of Mexico?”

“It’s my first time,” his companion said.

“Got any plans?”

He started to respond, then clamped his mouth shut at a look from Broussard. “Nothing planned. Just business.”

Another glare from Broussard.

“I mean, not business,” the companion said. “We’re playing golf. I think of golf asworkbecause sometimes we discuss business while we play, but that’s not really the main point of it.”

“It’s going to be a beautiful day in Cancun to chase the white ball around,” I said warmly. “Which course are you hitting? I have a friend who always books a tee time at the Playa Mujeres Golf Club.”

The man in the cargo pants hesitated. “We’re playing, uh.”

“We have some things to discuss,” Broussard told me. “If you’ll excuse us…”

“Sorry for talking your ears off,” I said with a smile, then returned to my spot by the cockpit.

So they were traveling for business, but Broussard didn’t want anyone to know that. Interesting. Normally, I would assume the confusion had to do with their plan for expensing the trip, or writing it off as a business expense. But paired with the mystery of the suitcases, it only raised my hackles further.

“Where do you want to eat?” Luke asked me when we walked away from the plane. “I’m thinking one of the resorts by the beach. I bet I can squeeze in a Swedish massage before the return flight.”

“That’s the thing,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. The workers were standing by the storage compartment of the plane, but they were waiting for us to leave before unloading the luggage. “The return flight is in four hours. It’s not enough time.”

Luke frowned at me. “That’splentyof time. I could spring for a ninety-minute massage if I wanted and still have time for lunch.”

“Not your massage. Golf. You can’t play a round of golf in four hours.”

“I’m very confused right now.”

“The passenger said they’re playing golf in Cancun. But there’s just not enough time. And when I pressed him about where they were going to play, he froze up.”

Luke stopped in his tracks and rounded on me. “Let me get this straight. You were interrogating our passengers?”

“I was making friendly conversation, which is quite literally part of my job.”

“Veronica…”

“I’m sorry,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “I know I sound obsessed. Let’s get you that massage. If they have a couples option, maybe I’ll join you. Especially if they have champagne.”

We waited in line at the taxi stand while Luke did some quick Googling. The Moon Palace Resort was on the south side of Cancun, just 15 minutes from the airport. We got into a taxi and headed to the resort.

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