Emil Savard knocked on the cockpit door in an unrelenting rap, knowing he’d have to convince the pilot to open up before the burly flight attendant realized the bathroom toilet wasn’t clogged.
Why the hell hadn’t they landed? Why the hell hadn’t the pilot explained the reason they continued to circle the airport? And why the hell did the airline hire attendants more suited to bar bouncer than serving the elite?
“Mr. Savard.” The attendant clamped a hand on Emil’s shoulder with enough force to intimate he’d drag him to his seat. “For the last time, passengers are not permitted in the cockpit.”
Emil offered his profile while continuing to knock. “But I need to speak with the pilot. Immediately.”
The young man dug his meaty fingers into Emil’s shoulder and guided him away from the door, and then pushed him back into the luxurious fuselage. Though not much taller than Emil, the attendant could have been twice as broad across the chest and far narrower in the hips. An imposing figure, stretching the confines of his dark dress shirt and gold vest.
“Be. Warned.” Eyes bluer than squid blood shined beneath his heavily furrowed brow, and a wave of coal-black hair fell over his forehead. Undiluted Irish lineage, rare in the States where rich and poor alike cared little about preserving pure bloodlines. “If I find you at that door again, I won’t hesitate—”
“Go ahead. I’d do it just to watch you be fired.” Emil glanced down at the name tag on the gold vest of his uniform. “Mundy. In fact, Mundy, one more word out of you and you won’t be employed by Friday.”
The set of the attendant’s full mouth hardened. “Don’t threaten me. If you narrow my choices to losing my job because you breached the cockpit or losing my job for strapping you to that seat and shoving a gag half-way down your gullet, guess which one I’ll choose?”
Smarter than Savard expected. He’d have to appeal to the young man’s baser needs. He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. You win. But you could score a bigger victory if you help me. And by bigger victory, I mean monetary.”
Mundy crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “I won’t take a bribe to open the cockpit. Not even for five years’ salary.” Obviously disgusted, the attendant returned to the front of the plane to stand guard.
Fuck. The giant shithead possessed a self-righteous streak. Emil sat in the nearest white leather seat and popped a mild sedative. He closed his eyes and waited for it to kick in. Other than booking the last-minute flight, nothing had gone his way. No phone or internet service. No dedicated time to land. And no caviar in the catering cupboard.
In a few minutes, his tension eased, but not so much he couldn’t think straight. Cooler-headed, he considered what he actually wanted. Yes, he wanted to land as soon as possible, mostly because he needed information and to arrange a ride out to the Gideon ranch. And a decent place to stay before tracking the oracle.
Cell phone on, he tried logging onto the Internet again.
Blank screen with that insipid frowny face in the center.
Merde. Merde. Merde. Each expletive louder than the last.
He glanced to Mundy and was met with a smug grin. Fucker enjoyed watching his frustration.
Bet neither he nor the pilot would fly back to Paris or their next locale without rest. Unlike him, they surely hadn’t left Paris without arranging overnight accommodations.
“Where are you staying?” he bluntly asked Mundy. “In Big Sky?”
“You should book a room at the TrailBlazer. Not Paris fancy, but best place in these parts.” The attendant snorted. “Your phone should work,” he paused and grinned a little broader, “once we land.”
In these parts? Mundy had used country vernacular and knew exactly what hotel would suit Emil the best. Maybe the arrogant shithead could be useful after all.
“That where you’re staying?”
Mundy didn’t reply.
“What? This fancy airline doesn’t spring for decent accommodations?”
“Don’t need to.” Mundy looked to his left, shuffled his feet, and loosened his arms enough for them to drop an inch. Relaxing.
“Because…” he prompted the attendant to continue, and when he didn’t, tried a new tactic. “I’m merely making idle conversation while we hover. And I’m sorry for putting you in a bad position before. I was frustrated. Out of my head. I hate to fly, even private,” he said, lying. “I’ve since taken a mild sedative for my nerves.” He waited and then prompted again. “If you don’t stay at the TrailBlazer, where do you stay?”
“I visit with family.”
Hourra. The tables finally turned for Emil Savard.
“Please.” He indicated the big white seat beside him. “Chat with me. Tell me all you know about Big Sky and I’ll pay you twenty-five hundred dollars cash, all that’s in my wallet.”
“We’re not supposed to fraternize with clients.”
Savard forced a chuckle. “I think we’ve long past fraternization. Bet twenty-five hundred dollars would go a long way for a man like yourself. More than whatever overtime you earn while we circle.”
The flicker of his heavy lashes told Savard he’d garnered Mundy’s interest. He reached into his jacket and removed his billfold. Always prepared for any emergency, he kept a healthy stash of American currency at his disposal. He tossed the entire packet of bills onto the seat beside him.
Mundy took a hesitant step, stopped to look over his shoulder, and then crossed to Emil. He scooped up the wad of bills before sitting down.
“What do you need to know?”
“Are you acquainted with a family by the name of Gideon?”
He snorted again. “Everyone knows the Gideons.”
“Even traveling flight attendants?”
“I grew up in Big Sky. Used to work construction before,” he spread his arms the width of his chest, money still clenched in one giant paw, “I chose a new career.”
Cagnotte. Jackpot, as Chancellor Luckett would say.
“Know where they live?” Before he allowed Mundy to answer, he sweetened the pot. “If you can take me to them, I’ll supply you with another twenty-five hundred dollars. After you drop me off.”
“Which house?”
“What do you mean, which house?”
“The ranch or the one on the lake? It’ll cost you another five thousand for me to take you to the lake house.”
The greedy deal he offered intrigued Emil. “Why the extreme differential?”
“To cover expenses. Only one way to get to the lake house, and I don’t own a boat.”