Page 76 of Shared By the Pilots

I stood there numbly, praying that Luke would get what he needed. I couldn’t see him out the window from where I was standing, and Broussard was staring daggers at me, so I didn’t dare move to sneak another peek. He was already suspicious enough. Soon, his associate returned with a dustpan and a broom.

“Let’s go,” Broussard said. “The sooner we get everything loaded onto the plane, the better.”

I pushed open the door and loudly said, “Here! Let me get that for you!”

Luke was standing guard over the luggage, arms crossed. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Broussard and the other man loaded the carts up with the bags, pushed them to the plane, then loaded everything into the luggage hold. Luke and I watched nearby, lingering by the stairs in case they needed anything. As soon as they were done, Luke cleared his throat and approached.

“I wanted to apologize again for Mr. Mandalay’s behavior. I assure you this will not happen again.”

“I certainly hope it does not.” Broussard held out his palm. “I want your keys to the hatch, please.”

Luke scowled. “I don’t think that’s necessary…”

“The keys. Or I will havetwocomplaints for Bernard Langston when I return to Houston.”

I handed him my universal key. A moment later, Luke did the same thing.

“I need to finish drying off. See if you can get an earlier runway slot. I want to leave as soon as I’m back.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said.

The two of us went inside the plane. “Well?” I demanded. “Did you figure out what was in the suitcase?”

“You won’t believe it,” Luke said. “Turtles.”

I blinked. “Turtles?”

“Turtles. About the size of my outstretched palm. I only opened one of the suitcases, but there were a dozen of them packed in ice.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would they smuggle turtles? Are they worth a lot of money or something?”

“I’m a pilot, not a turtle expert,” Luke replied. “But that’s what’s going on.”

I pulled out my phone and did a quick Google search. “Oh wow. In the last ten years, 24,000 freshwater turtles were trafficked around North America. Apparently they’re endangered.”

Luke must have been Googling the same thing, because he was staring at his phone. “Baby Wood Turtles sell for $800 a pop. Apparently adults go for two or three times that much. And based on the size, those were adults in the suitcases.”

“Two grand per turtle. That’s $24,000 per suitcase.”

“Six figures per trip,” Luke said, whistling. “Who would’ve thought?”

Suddenly, we heard a noise outside the plane. The luggage hatch was opening; Broussard must have wanted to check to make sure his bags were all still there.

But when we exited the plane and went around to the other side, it wasn’t our two passengers we saw rummaging around in the cargo hold.

Luke gasped. “Veronica?”

41

Veronica

“We know,” Adam told me, grimacing. “We already found out.”

Luke nodded. “They’re smugglingturtles.”

“I’m so confused right now,” I said.

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