Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“The seat belt sign hasn’t been turned off yet.” She spoke absently because her mind was elsewhere. “The man in the pickup—”

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“Neither did I. You were driving too fast. All I caught was a glimpse of his tattooed arm, which was propped in the open driver’s window.” She paused, then said, “It could have been a coincidence that he was going in the direction of my house.”

“It could have been.”

“But you don’t think it was.”

“Put that truck in some areas around Austin, and it would fit right in. In your neighborhood, in the municipal park…” He shook his head. “Uh-uh. What was a guy like that doing cruising the streets of white-bread suburbia? Looking for his lost pit bull?”

Anything else they said would’ve been speculative, so there was no point in discussing it further. Besides, Dent’s fidgeting had become annoying. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Then… Oh.” Suddenly she realized why he was so restless. “You dislike being a passenger. You want to be piloting the plane.”

“Damn right.”

“Are you still qualified?”

“Qualified, yes. But no longer licensed for this size jet. I’d have to be retyped.”

“But you could fly it.”

“In a heartbeat.”

“You sound confident.”

“You don’t want to fly with a pilot who isn’t.”

“I don’t want to fly with one who’s overconfident, either.”

He held her gaze for several beats. “Something on your mind, A.k.a.?”

She wanted to ask him about the incident that had cost him his career in commercial flying, but his hard expression caused her to shy away. “The attendant is up now.”

“About freaking time.”

When she reached their aisle, she smiled down at Bellamy. “It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Ms. Price. I loved your book.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you on a book tour?”

“No, I’m taking some time off.”

“Don’t make us wait too long for the next book. Something to drink?”

“Diet Coke, please.”

The attendant reached across her to set two cocktail napkins on the armrest between her and Dent. “And for you, sir? Something stronger?”

“You read my mind.”

“I’m good at that.”

“I’ll bet you are,” he said, giving her a slow grin. “Bourbon on the rocks.”

“That would have been my first guess.”

“Make it a double.”

“That would’ve been my second guess,” she said with cheekiness, then pulled back and started up the aisle toward the galley.

Bellamy gave him an arch look.

He said, “If I can’t work the kite strings, I’d just as well drink.”

“It’s not that. It’s…” She looked after the shapely attendant as she made her way forward toward the galley. “It’s always been easy for you, hasn’t it?”

Catching her drift, he said, “Flirting? It would be easy for you, too, if you’d let it be.”

“Never. I’m not equipped.”

He slid a glance over her. “Your equipment is fine. Better than fine. But you’ve got this TFR posted—”

“TFR?”

“Temporary flight restriction posted around yourself that defies anyone to breach your airspace.” He turned slightly in his seat to study her better. “Why the barrier?”

“Just my nature, I suppose.”

“Try again.”

“Okay, blame the gene pool.”

“Meaning?”

“Susan inherited all the ‘it factor’ genes. When I came along, there were no more left.”

“You’re full of crap. Want to know what I think?”

“Actually, no.”

“I think your ex is to blame.”

The flight attendant returned with their drinks before Bellamy had a chance to respond. Dent absently thanked her for the drinks, but his attention stayed fixed on Bellamy, who was made uneasy by his scrutiny. She poured her cola into the glass of ice and took a sip. Finally, because he didn’t relent, she turned to face him. “You’re dying to know?”

“Hmm.”

“He was an up-and-coming electronics engineer in our company. Brilliant. Innovative. Hardworking. Handsome in his own way.”

“Otherwise known as ugly.”

“Average good looks.”

“If you say so.”

“We began going out together after business meetings, first with a group, then by ourselves, and that evolved into actual dating. Olivia and Daddy approved of him one hundred percent. He was pleasant company, he was a gentleman, he was easygoing in any given situation. We got along beautifully. We became engaged at Christmas and were married in June. Lovely wedding with all the trimmings.” She glanced down at the armrest. “Your ice is melting.”

He hadn’t seemed to notice until she’d called his attention to it. Picking up both the small bottles of bourbon, she emptied them into his glass.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She sipped her Coke. He sipped his drink.

Eventually he said, “If that’s the end of the story, then you’re still married to this pleasant, hardworking, brilliant electronics engineer who sounds as boring as hell to me. So does your marriage.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Things rocked along nicely for a couple of years. We were compatible. We never fought.” She smiled wanly. “In hindsight, maybe we should have. We weren’t un happy.”

“Just?”

“Just that there seemed nothing much to look forward to except years of sameness.”

“Monotony.”

“I thought a child might help to—”

“Break up the boredom.”

“Create a newer, stronger bond between us. He agreed. In fact, he loved the idea of a child. We worked on it, and two months later were rewarded by a dual pink stripe on the home pregnancy test.”

She picked up her glass and rattled the ice, but didn’t drink from it. “Olivia and Daddy were over the moon. They wanted a grandchild so badly. Everyone was excited. We were discussing motifs for the nursery, considering names. Then—” After a significant pause, she said, “In the tenth week, I miscarried.”

She was staring into her glass of cola but could feel Dent staring at her. Finally she looked up at him and shrugged. “That was the end of it. I got a D and C. My husband got a girlfriend.”

Dale Moody glowered suspiciously at his ringing cell phone and debated whether he could be bothered to answer it. After three rings he checked the caller ID. Haymaker. Who had recently warned him that Rupe Collier was on his tail.

Ordinarily it was months between his and Haymaker’s telephone visits. It didn’t bode well that he was calling again so soon.

He answered. “What’s up, Hay?”

“Rupe Collier came sniffing again.”

“When?”

“This afternoon. And this time he didn’t phone. He pulled up into my driveway while I was out watering the yard. No way I could avoid him. His hair’s thinning. You can’t tell it on TV.”

“What did he want?”

“Same as before. You. Says it’s real important— vital was the word he used—that he talks to you before tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“You ever hear of EyeSpy ?”

“The kids’ game?”

“The tabloid.”

Dale listened with increasing despair as his old buddy recounted Rupe’s story about a shifty columnist for a widely read tabloid newspaper. It seemed that Dale Moody was the only English-speaking person on the planet who didn’t read Van Durbin’s column or was at least familiar with his byline.