Page 61 of Shared By the Pilots

Veronica

“I was certain it was something illegal.”

We were at a dive bar in Cabo, the kind only locals visited. We were the whitest two people there, by awidemargin. But Taylor had a certain swagger to his step that made it seem like we belonged, and he and the bartender were laughing within minutes. Now we were eating tacos at a table in the corner while getting properly drunk.

“It’s still illegal,” Taylor said. “Smuggling expensive tequila into the States to avoid taxes, then selling it for a huge profit.”

“That’s white collar crime. I thought somethinglegitimatelyawful was going on. Something heinous.”

“It actually explains everything,” Taylor mused. He took another shot of tequila, added the empty glass to a cluster of six others on the table, and bit into a slice of lime. “The bottles are heavy, which is why they had to be loaded by two men. The delicate way they handled the suitcases. I guess the dry ice you saw was to keep it cold? I don’t know jack about liquor transportation.”

“It explains why my anonymous tips didn’t lead anywhere,” I said, nursing my beer. I had already had two shots of tequila, and a third would be trouble. “Smuggling a few bottles of tequila into the country is small potatoes. Just some lost tax revenue.”

“Compared to human trafficking or drugs,” Taylor agreed, “liquor is downright quaint. Look on the bright side: this is a good outcome. Nothing nefarious is happening under your nose. You can go back to your regular life without any guilt.”

My regular life. I wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore. I had spent over a month obsessing over this. I had no trouble admitting I was wrong… but something still didn’t feel right about all of this.

“The one thing I can’t stop thinking about is that moving suitcase,” I said. “The one I saw on the runway. And the one you saw.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I didn’t see what I thought I saw.”

“You might be having second thoughts, but I’m not. I know what I saw.”

Taylor leaned back in his chair. “How sure are you?”

“I’m one hundred percent positive.”

He stared at me for a long moment, blue eyes as hard as ice. Then he sighed and downed the rest of his glass of beer. “That’s good enough for me. We can check again tomorrow, see what we see.”

“Maybe they move liquor sometimes,” I suggested. “And only traffic people every third or fourth flight.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “All right, we’re going back to the original plan. Tomorrow, we’ll hang out in my plane after they land. We’ll watch them leave with the suitcases, and then return with their goods. Then, before they take off, we’ll find a way to check the bags on the jet. Nobody hangs out around the aircraft after the bags are loaded?”

“Nope,” I said. “They load them, then disappear for a while.”

Taylor nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. I’ll go close out the tab.”

“One more for the road?” I asked. “Maybe see if they have that good tequila that’s being transported?”

Taylor winked at me. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

I admired the way he looked as he walked to the bar and leaned on the counter. Faded blue jeans and work boots. An old T-shirt that clung to his muscles like a second skin. The wavy sun-bleached hair that I wanted to run my fingers into.

Why won’t he ask me out?If anyone was going to be the third person to do it, thus completing my agreement with Dex, I wanted it to be Taylor. In fact, I wanted him to ask me outperiod. Even if there wasn’t any agreement.

Yet he had given me flirty smiles without ever making a real move.

I quickly looked away as he turned around and came back to the table. “They didn’t have that tequila. But that’s all right. I have a better idea.”

We walked through the streets of Cabo, on the outskirts of the touristy areas down by the water. It was a calm night, and the sound of music drifted from a few bars that were within earshot. Every so often, the wind would shift and bring with it the salty smells of the ocean.

Even though we were walking through a shady part of Cabo, I never felt in danger. Taylor walked with the confidence of someone who had gotten into scraps before and didn’t mind if another one came his way. That confidence must have been obvious, because nobody bothered us as we walked through the city.

Eventually we came to the souvenir shop with the tequileria in the back. It was closed at this hour, but that didn’t deter Taylor from walking around the side alley where we had been earlier today. He climbed up on the same crate and gazed through the window.

“What are we doing?” I asked. “Do you think there’s evidence inside?”

“You’re lookout,” he said, ignoring my question. “Whistle if anyone comes by.”

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