Page 57 of Shared By the Pilots

I hadn’t been able to get Veronica out of my head these past few months. Every time I flew in and out of Houston, I hoped to get just a glimpse of the gorgeous woman. And when I did see her, even for small snippets of time while she walked from the terminal to a private plane, I perked up for the rest of the day.

I had itbadfor this woman. Which was an even bigger reason not to get involved than Bernard Langston himself. Doing something headstrong was a bad idea by itself, but doing it for a woman made it ten times worse.

The familiar sound of a motorbike rumbled up to the bar and stopped. The man I had been dealing with for the past year walked inside, went straight to the bar, and ordered three shots of tequila. He downed one of them without hesitation, then brought the remaining two over to my table. He didn’t sit.

I didn’t need any encouragement to take the shot this time. In fact, I slammed the glass down, grabbed the second one, and finished it, too. I waited to see if my contact would get angry at this, but he seemed to find it funny.

“What’s with the delivery?” he asked, pointing at the lunch box.

“It’s how it was given to me.”

He grunted, then picked it up.

“That’s the last one,” I said, letting the tequila give me courage. “I’m done after this. I’m walkin’ away.”

He snorted. “We both know that’s not true. You won’t walk away from this.”

When he was gone, I ordered two more beers. I wouldn’t be able to fly, but I didn’t much care right then. I would call the airport and have someone move my plane, then I’d find a hotel. I’d made worse decisions before.

And I’m not done making them tonight.

I called Veronica and said, “I’m in. I’ll help you.”

32

Veronica

Taylor and I met again at the diner to go over some of the finer details of the plan. Although it was dangerous, it was relatively straightforward. The biggest hangup was waiting until Broussard flew again.

“Hi, Rita!” I said when I was at the private terminal one day. “I’ve got a favor to ask. And it’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable with it.”

She frowned from behind her check-in desk. “Why, sure, Veronica. Anything.”

I leaned on the desk and lowered my voice. “I heard a rumor a celebrity is going to be flying on Excelsior in the next few weeks.”

Rita’s eyes widened. “Who?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Veronica! Come on!”

I made a show of looking conflicted. “Well. I guess it won’t hurt anything. It’s Ryan Gosling.”

Rita squealed so loudly I began regretting the plan.

“Be cool, Rita!” I said. “It’s just a rumor. But I wanted to see if you knew when he would be flying. I know the passenger information isn’t given to the flight attendants until the day of the flight, but…”

She was already pulling up the calendar and scrolling through it. “Let’s see. Monday, no. Tuesday, no…”

I came around the side of the desk, and she didn’t stop me. I scanned the list of names as she scrolled, looking for Alan Broussard instead of Ryan Gosling.

“I don’t see him listed,” Rita said with a note of disappointment.

“Thanks for checking!” I said. “Maybe next week.”

I checked again a week later. Ryan Gosling didn’t have any flights scheduled—and neither did Broussard. That was strange; it had been three weeks since he had madeanyflights. Had my anonymous tip scared him off? Was he lying low until there wasn’t much attention on him anymore?

I don’t want him to just stop. I want him to get caught and pay for any crimes he’s committed.

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