Page 50 of Shared By the Pilots

“It has been several weeks since you joined us,” he said. “How are you liking Excelsior Air?”

“It’s wonderful,” I said truthfully.

“Do you have any specific needs on the job?” he inquired. “More flexible hours? An additional shift per week? Anything at all I can give you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I need anything.”

“That’s good.” He held up a finger. “I have something I need from you, however.”

Bernie wasn’t a naturally intimidating man; if anything, he reminded me of a retired hippie who spent most of his time hiking. But there was an intensity in his eyes now, and an edge to his soft-spoken words.

“Our airline isn’t like the commercial flights you’re used to. We don’t serve passengers by the hundred; we serve them individually, or in threes and fours. We give our passengers a level of exclusivity and service they can’t get anywhere else. That means knowing when to go the extra mile for someone who needs it… and it means knowing when to leave our customers alone.”

Shit, I thought.Does he know we followed Broussard today in Cancun? He can’t know about that. I felt a bead of sweat run down the back of my neck.

“I appreciate that you are a friendly person,” he went on. “It’s what we love to see in our employees. But there is a limit, and there is aline, and it’s important to know where that line is so one does not cross it. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“I think I do,” I replied. “Is there anything specific you want me to address?”

He held my gaze, and in that instant I was certain he knew that I had followed the two passengers into Cancun. He was going to fire me right here. Or maybe worse, if he was connected to drug dealers…

“One of our customers, Alan Broussard, is an introverted man,” Bernie finally said. His eyes still twinkled knowingly. “In the future, I think it would be best if you give him his drink and have no other contact with him. Of course, this applies only to Mr. Broussard; you are free to be your warm, welcoming self to all other Excelsior passengers.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’m sorry if I made him uncomfortable at all.”

The fire left Bernie’s eyes and he spread his hands. “I’m glad we had this little chat. So long as there are no more problems going forward, I think we can forget all about this.”

By the time we exited the plane, the luggage had been unloaded and was sitting in a cart over by the edge of the tarmac, where two Toyota 4Runners were parked. Broussard and his associate were chatting with the two drivers without touching the bags.

I followed Bernie to the terminal entrance, where Luke was waiting with a blank expression. As we went inside, I stole one last glance at Broussard and the bags.

And then one of the bags on the cart, the one on top of the pile, jerked.

There’s something inside the bag,I realized.Or someone.

27

Luke

I had been working for Excelsior on the side for half a year. It was an easy gig. My boss didn’t micromanage me, and I had flexible hours. We exclusively flew to exotic locations like Cabo, Cancun, or Cozumel. Sometimes, when the mood struck us, we flew to cities thatdidn’tstart with the letter C. But they were still exotic, and allowed me to sip fruity drinks while listening to the calming sound of the ocean.

Eventually, when I retired from my full-time airline job, I pictured continuing to work for a company like Excelsior on the side. Flying once or twice a week to scratch that itch, and to travel to great spots for free. That was the life I wanted for myself. That was the dream.

But Veronica had gotten it into her head that something illegal was going on. And like a Golden Retriever chasing a tennis ball, she wouldn’t give up.

I understood where she was coming from, but the truth was that life wasn’t that interesting. Heck, it was downright boring—even for an airline pilot. Humans had a way of imagining things being more scandalous than they actually were, because it was better than accepting the truth.

This was something Veronica refused to admit.

“I know what I saw,” she insisted on the drive home from the airport. “The luggagemoved.”

“I can’t believe Bernie sat down and talked to you about it. The passengers must have complained to him. If he finds out wefollowedthem through Cancun…”

“Are you listening to me?” she snapped. “The bag moved for no reason!”

“Or,” I countered, “the bags weren’t stacked perfectly and one of them shifted.”

“Are you doubting what I saw?”

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