“I don’t see a Bodine,” Stella said.
“He’s the cosmetic surgeon from the Oak Street Surgical Clinic. He’s key on this trip.”
Stella drew the woman aside and lowered her voice. “Look, I had seven passengers on my list including Dan Whitlock. My plane, as it’s configured, takes a maximum of eight including me, the pilot. Your boss was made aware of this when I was contracted. I made it clear. So how can there be an extra passenger if the RAKAM Group didn’t know Dan Whitlock was going to get sick and bail? We wouldn’t have gotten them all on board if he didn’t.”
Amanda blanched. Her brow furrowed. Quietly, urgently, she said, “I sent you the list. I’m sure Dr. Steven Bodine was on it. Wait . . .” She riffled through the pages attached to her clipboard. “Here—here is my list.”
Stella’s and Amanda’s lists did not match up.
In Stella’s peripheral vision she saw Jackie Blunt watching them intently, clearly trying to eavesdrop on their discussion. Amanda flicked a glance toward Jackie, then angled her body to block her line of sight. She drew Stella closer. The wind snapped at a flag up near the hotel shuttle van, and the halyard began to clunk against the pole. The wind sock stiffened. Urgency crackled through Stella. She glanced toward the bank of dark weather moving closer over the mountains from the north.
“There must have been some misunderstanding,” Amanda whispered. “Look, I’m really sorry. This is my first PR gig with this company via the temp agency I’m signed with. I . . . I’m a little nervous. To get it all right, you know? It’s potentially a great contract if they decide to take me on longer term.” She swallowed. Gusts of wind loosened strands from her hair spray–stiffened topknot.
Stella’s feelings toward the woman softened slightly. “It’s just as well Dan Whitlock is not coming,” she said. “We can work with this. But if Dr. Bodine is not here within the next five minutes for the security briefing, he doesn’t fly. Okay? My charter. My plane. My rules. Safety first. Like you, I also want a long-term contract out of this, and for all I know, this is a test of both your and my professionalism. Part of the audition.”
“Right. Right, of course. I’ll phone him again.” A tremor of nerves hitched Amanda’s voice as she reached into her jacket pocket for her cell. Clearly she badly wanted her contract with the RAKAM Group.
Stella returned to her cockpit. Jackie’s dark and penetrating gaze followed her, deepening Stella’s sense that the woman recognized her from somewhere.
Stella loosened the primer knob near the base of the door and climbed up into the seat. Ahead, beyond the single prop blade, the lake stretched in a narrowing V between the mountains. She checked the oil cap—locked. Fuel gauge, wobble pump gauge—all looked good.
She pumped the primer knob, set it in the locked position, and turned on the master switch. She then worked a lever on the console gently up and down before flicking a small starter switch. The engine made a sound like a whining car struggling to start. She hit the mags, and the Beaver engine coughed into noisy, uncertain life. She adjusted the mixture until the engine settled into a more rhythmic, throaty, and comforting growl and the single prop whirled into a blur. She felt adrenaline rise like a nice buzz in her veins. This was her element, where she felt safe. Her plane. Flying.
Her preference was to wait for five to six hundred rpm before she considered her plane nicely warmed up.
Stella got out, but as she was about to commence her briefing, a convertible roared into the parking bay. Everyone swiveled to stare up toward the road as a low, silver Jaguar screeched to a halt behind the hotel van.
A man alighted from the Jaguar. Tall. Healthy head of sandy-brown hair ruffling in the wind that was picking up far too fast for Stella’s comfort. Irritation snapped at her. She checked her watch again and glanced at the wind sock. Dry autumn leaves skittered in a wave across the dock. The man reached into the back seat of his convertible, yanked out a backpack, hoisted it over one shoulder, and came striding heavily down the gangway, his hiking boots thumping against the planks, his gait long and confident, a boyish smile across his tanned, middle-aged face. A Peter Pan, she thought. With a surgeon’s God complex.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Amanda muttered as the surgeon loped toward her.
“Amanda? You must be Amanda,” he said loudly.
Amanda reached forward to shake his hand. “So good to finally meet you in person, Steven.” Relief was palpable in the woman’s voice. But out of the corner of her eye, Stella saw Monica McNeill stiffen sharply at the surgeon’s arrival.
Intrigued, Stella turned to look. Monica’s face had paled. The woman glanced at her husband, who was opening his mouth to say something. But he shut it and frowned fiercely at Monica. Katie filmed the whole interaction while Jackie and Bart fiddled with their cell phones. Deborah seemed to shrink away from the bright, bold light cast by Dr. Steven Bodine’s shining presence. The plane engine growled. Stella wanted to get moving.
“Everyone!” Amanda raised her voice. “This is the last member to round out our party. Dr. Steven Bodine, who heads up the Oak Street Surgical Clinic, and who is looking to expand the clinic’s cosmetic travel business.”
“Stella Daguerre.” She held her hand out for his bag. “I’m your captain on this trip.”
The doctor’s eyes met hers. Stella felt a momentary challenge from the alpha male. His smile faded ever so slightly as he relinquished his hold on his brand-new backpack.
As she loaded his bag, she heard Dr. Steven Bodine say, “Monica? My God, what a surprise. It . . . it’s been an age.”
“Steven,” Monica said tonelessly. “This is my husband, Nathan.”
“We’ve met,” Nathan said brusquely as he gripped Steven’s hand. “At that fund-raiser, wasn’t it? The one your clinic organized for the children’s foundation. The minister of health was there.”
“I guess it was.” A glance at Monica. “Gosh. Spaced that event. It was a long time ago.” Steven thrust his hands into his pockets, shifted his weight. “What brings you guys to this junket? Food?”
“Potential catering contract,” Nathan said swiftly. Monica cleared her throat and looked away.
“And we still don’t know exactly where we’re going, do we?” Steven turned to Stella as she was securing the baggage door. “Stella?” He raised his voice over the engine as he addressed her. “Can you tell us where you are taking us all now—where this secret destination is?”
Oh, the Shining Gladiator, saving the group—leading the way. Beating his chest in the face of Mr. McNeill and his wife.
She dusted her hands on her pants. “That remains a surprise the RAKAM Group has asked me to keep.” Stella raised her own voice. “Okay, everyone, listen up.”
The group gathered close. “The cabin is climate controlled to ensure your comfort. Each seat is equipped with a harness.” She held one up to demonstrate. “There are advanced noise-canceling headsets hanging near each seat with which to enjoy music, as well as two-way communications with me.” She ran through the rest of the safety briefing.
“In the unlikely event the aircraft goes down in water, the most confusing challenge can be to orient yourselves underwater, and to find the exit while upside down. So when you take your seats, do take a moment to locate the exit in relation to your right knee.” She tapped her right thigh.