Fatal Flight Page 2

  “So, all my life, you and my mother kept this from me. Why would you do that? Why would you lie about something so important?”

  “Your mother never lied to you.” He sat straighter, a warrior’s fire in his eye as he defended the woman he loved, even in death. “She intended to tell you when you reached an age where you could make up your own mind about seeing the man. She died before that happened.”

  “But you knew and didn’t tell me. This Adam Hamilton guy said my father died last year. I was certainly old enough to make that kind of decision. I was twenty-four, for cripes sake. Now I’ll never have the chance.” She glared at him, as more and more thoughts swirled in her head—what if’s, how comes, questions that needed answers.

  “I didn’t keep it from you on purpose.” Pops sighed and pushed back his thinning hair, before jerking his head in the direction of the chair from which her nemesis had risen earlier. “You were fourteen when your mother died. I was devastated, could hardly function. Looking after you and keeping this place going so we’d have a livelihood got me out of bed in the morning. Since then, the last thing on my mind was a guy, whose name I heard once, more than a quarter of a century ago. “You were, are, my daughter. I just didn’t think of the other. It never entered my mind.”

  “Okay, so it wasn’t deliberate.” Sky uncrossed her arms. “God, I feel like the plug has been pulled out of my life, and I’ve swirled down the drain into nothingness.”

  “I’m sorry, honey, but I don’t see why this is such a big deal. How does knowing another man fertilized the egg that created you, who was never in your life, who is now dead, change anything?”

  She wanted to thread her fingers through her hair and scream like a banshee, but as the strands were confined in her usual French braid, neither option was constructive.

  “You probably can’t understand, but I feel like I’m hanging in the air with a wing torn off my plane.” She chose an image with which he could identify. “There’s an elderly woman in San Francisco who wants to meet me, a guy who’s determined to make it happen, and I don’t want any of it. I’m me, not some genetic happenstance some strangers can claim and strip a piece from.”

  “You are you. They have no legal grounds. The guy can’t coerce you into meeting this woman. You’ve done without her family support all your life. You don’t owe her anything. Just tell him no and close the door on this.”

  “Legal isn’t the same as moral,” Sky pointed out. “What if this elderly lady needs help? Maybe she’s destitute, and I’m her only living relative. Don’t I have a moral responsibility then?”

  “Well, honey, that’s between you and God. It’s possible you can’t find that out unless you do meet with her. Maybe the man representing her can give you that information, and you can decide from there.” Pops pushed back from his desk, rounded it, and lifted her onto her feet and into his arms.

  Sky leaned against his solid frame and searched for the feeling of being grounded he always gave her, but this time, she felt like her wheels were up, because she had no safe landing site.

  ****

  Adam sat in the coffee shop in his Tahoe hotel and thought about the woman whose life he’d just upended. He felt like the worst kind of bully, one who’d kicked all the blocks out of another kid’s carefully constructed tower. She’d looked so devastated, so fragile, her blue eyes filled with the same sheen of tears he’d seen in Gita’s identical ones. Leaving her alone and hurting had been hard. But Sky’s chin had been up, as she fought for control. He was the last person she wanted near her.

  Something tightened in his chest. Sky brought out the same need to ride up on his white horse and protect her as his godmother elicited. The two women had him in a pincer. If he pleased one, he hurt the other.

  Why had it never occurred to him Sky might not know she was adopted? He kicked himself mentally again, feeling like he’d just added another bruise to his brain. He wasn’t the kind of man who inflicted hurt, and he’d hurt her in the worst way. And she hadn’t given him an opening to make it better. Scooping her up and cuddling her, until her breathing steadied out and fear faded from her eyes, would have gone over like a shark in a swimming pool. Leaving, so she could process his blunt disclosure had seemed his only option.

  He smiled as he recalled his first impression. God she’d been cute, crouched under the flap of one of Hamilton Aeronautics first prototype aerobatic planes. Seeing the Storm-2B standing in her hangar as he crossed the floor had given him a thrill of pride. He’d designed the majority of the features, after talking the Board into expanding into competition aircraft. When designing aircraft and testing them became more satisfying than the military, he’d retired and taken on a greater role inside the company. He smiled as he recalled her reaction.

  He’d startled her into banging her head, and as he moved closer, she’d cursed what had sounded like nonsense. When she’d swiveled around and looked up at him, he felt like he’d taken a punch in the gut. She had the lightest, clearest blue eyes, set like gems in her aristocratic features. Her tightly pulled-back hair had emphasized the porcelain perfection of her complexion. He supposed they called the skeins of silver, gold, and ash braided together some exotic color, but it had made him think of sunlight shining on angel wings. His lips quirked as the romantic image popped into his thoughts again.

  Her Scandinavian heritage was evident in her high cheekbones and tall, slender body. She was as stunning as a glinting icicle framed against a bright blue sky. He took a sip of his coffee, his smile widening as he recalled the temper hidden beneath the ice, the passion flung like a stiletto from the light-blue eyes. He hadn’t mistaken her visceral response. The age-old chemistry between man and woman had been alive and well and living between them.

  He didn’t think she’d registered their mutual attraction, though, outpaced as it was by her instant hostility. As she’d never met him before, knew nothing of him, he couldn’t take that personally. Obviously, he’d stepped on an angst deployed pressure plate. He suspected she associated him with whoever had earned her aversion in the first place. If triggered, would it blow him sky high?

  He tapped his phone. He should call Gita, tell her he’d found her granddaughter, that she was beautiful and strong. But he couldn’t add “and will meet you” so he picked up his coffee mug instead and drained the bitter dregs. What now? Tracking Sky had taken him four months. He’d told her he’d be back, but he’d already laid his cards on the table expecting she’d pick them up. Now he had lost all his chips. What else could he offer her, what other stake could he find to keep him in the game? Maybe he’d stay around a few more days and do some digging.

  ****

  “Thank God for the Internet.”

  He pushed back from the desk in his hotel suite the next afternoon. He’d uncovered a treasure trove of information on Sky Stravinski, and with a dozen phone calls, gathered a considerable amount of information on Stravinski Aviation, of which Sky was an equal owner. Now he must figure an angle, get him into her presence again. And he had an idea he’d soon have his size eleven shoe back in her office. He’d just make a few calls.

  He growled as he shifted, reaching for his phone. He felt like a pack of wolves was chewing on his hip and leg. He’d sat too long in one position. How could he sit for hours in a jet or simulator testing new technology if he couldn’t even ride a desk? For a moment, negativity pressed forward, black oil clogging his mind. He shoved back. His leg was definitely stronger, and soon, he’d know if the damage caused when his broken ribs had collapsed his lung would keep him from the sky. He’d walked ten miles on the treadmill in the downstairs gym that morning, and his breathing had seemed less ragged. He’d never pass his flight physical with a cane in his hand, but scar tissue on his lungs was the biggest obstacle in getting his medical clearance. Jet pilots withstood a lot of G force at maximum altitudes, and only the strongest lungs could withstand the pressure. He’d come a long way from lying, broken in pieces, in the hospital bed. He could do
this and get back to the life he loved. Meanwhile, he’d focus on something that could distract him from the dark thoughts. Sky Stravinski was a fascinating woman.

  He scrolled through the site he’d found and brought up a photo of her standing by the customized Storm-2B right after she’d assembled the kit. It seemed Sky was one of the best aerobatic pilots in the United States, a winner of many competitions. And she’d gotten there in the plane he’d designed. One of the items he’d scrolled had been a newspaper article stating Sky Stravinski had been invited to take part in the Grand Prix Tournament, an invitation issued to only a few of the top pilots in the world each year. It would take place in Houston, his home ground.

  In fact, Hamilton Aeronautics, his family business, would host the prestigious event at their private airfield. Another coincidence? He didn’t believe in them. He almost thought he was being guided at times. She must be thrilled with her invitation, he concluded, even as a ripple of fear raised the fine hairs on his arms. Competition flying wasn’t even the worst of what she did. A large part of the income that kept their flight school solvent came from Sky participating in air shows. Stunt flying was a dangerous occupation, with an average of one performer a year dying in a crash. The reason she’d gotten into it was self-evident. Max Stravinski had followed his great-grandfather and grandfather into the Air Force and taken up flying a WW1 Tiger Moth bi-plane when he’d retired and opened his flight school.

  A photo of a twelve-year-old Ashley flying the Tiger Moth popped up on the website. She’d gotten her license as soon as she reached the mandatory age of seventeen, but Max had already taught her everything he knew about aerobatic flying. He hadn’t joined the competitive circuit, probably hadn’t had the time or money when he was young. Years later, Sky had worked her way into a top-notch reputation and become a judges’ favorite, from the various articles Adam read. He sat back, rubbing his eyes with tense fingers. It was ridiculous he should feel this level of concern for a woman who’d disliked him at first sight. I’m just projecting what Gita would feel if she knew about Sky’s profession, worrying on her behalf. Right, and that’s as false as Sky telling me she isn’t an O’Shaughnessy.

  How she found the time to instruct and run her business, he couldn’t see. Sky filled whatever role most needed attention, but was the only instructor, with approximately twelve students at any given time. Sitting in a plane with a beginner pilot was a dangerous occupation.

  Investigation into the financials of the company, through some of his contacts, showed it was solvent, earning a steady income and using bigger pay days, from Sky’s air show fees and competition winnings, to handle maintenance and the enormous insurance rates on the aircraft. They sat on a prime piece of real estate just southwest of the popular resort town of Lake Tahoe, Nevada. With low-lying mountains circling the small city, any piece of flat land was a developer’s wet dream. The private airfield, with two strips, several hangars, and considerable land, was a wise investment and excellent security.

  However, joining the aerobatic circuit sucked up money like a vacuum, and word around the small investment community was Stravinski was looking for a sponsor. Investing was the most direct vector Adam could fly. His phone rang, just as he decided to make the call.

  “Hamilton.”

  “Max Stravinski here, Mr. Hamilton. I wonder if we can talk.”

  As Adam settled back in his chair and listened, his smile widened. Fate was giving him just what he wanted—a ticket into Sky’s life.

  ****

  Sky stepped out of her re-built Mustang and checked out her reflection in the plate glass window of the hotel. She’d figured Hamilton for rich, and the five-star hotel he’d chosen didn’t surprise her. When she’d phoned the number he’d left her and set up an appointment, she’d insisted she’d meet him there. She didn’t want him back on her property.

  The woman, reflected in the window, looked cool and crisp in pale-blue slacks with a silky slip top under a caramel-colored jacket. Strappy heels raised her five-foot-seven height by another four inches, putting her nearly at eye level with him, she calculated. A small leather backpack in caramel held her phone and necessities, and semi-precious stones on an intricate lacing of gold chains filled the neckline of her jacket. She looked expensive, elegant, and untouchable, just as she’d planned. Clipping up the steps leading into the lobby, she lifted her chin, sending her hair streaming down her back.

  He rose from a chair, as soon as she entered, and crossed the lobby. So, he wasn’t into the power play games of making the person come to him. She gave him a mental half mark, but everything else about him set her on edge. He wore a casual sports coat in gray tones, a golf shirt in pewter, and a pair of washed denim jeans, and walked toward her like he owned the world. Light glinted off the gold of his watch, and handmade loafers kept his step silent. He was big, lethal, and compelling. She didn’t like the way her heart tripped when she looked at him.

  A small hitch in his step reminded her he was recovering from a serious accident, even though his cane was not in evidence. Did he think it made him appear more vulnerable? A part of her that remembered the anguish of recovering from air crashes cheered on his progress and applauded his determination. She pushed compassion onto a high shelf in her mind and pulled down suspicion instead.

  “Sky, I’m glad you phoned.” He held out his hand.

  She placed hers in it. She’d asked for the meeting and would keep it professional. His long fingers closed around hers with a gentle squeeze that sent shivers racing up her arm and through her bloodstream. She pulled free of his warmth, giving him her coolest look.

  “I have some questions.” She looked around the multiple seating areas in the lobby, searching for one out of the spotlight of those watching.

  “Shall we get a coffee in the restaurant,” he suggested, waving toward wide doors opening into a glassed-in room, mimicking a solarium. Sky had been here before. It brought back unpleasant memories, but she nodded and walked by his side.

  The hostess led them toward a table in the middle of the room. Sky had been told the owners did this in the hope attractive couples would draw more people in. She was relieved when Adam shook his head and indicated a booth along one side, protected from the gaze of those walking by and shaded from the bright sun flooding in the windows.

  Sky sank onto the leather bench, and against her inclination, another mental check went up on the pros side for the man. His ego didn’t require constant attention, and he hadn’t used her as a “look at me” prop.

  “Just coffee, black,” she told the hovering waitress.

  “Make it two.” He settled back, his fingers stroking the petals of a rose in the center piece before setting the vase aside, so he had a clear view of her.

  “You said you had questions?” Gray eyes met hers, yet his closed expression gave nothing away. She suspected as Chief Operating Officer of Hamilton Aeronautics he was a formidable negotiator. After reading his business card, she’d done her due diligence before calling and knew he held down a demanding position, where government contracts and billion dollar deals were a daily occurrence. She’d decided he was getting a free ride on a title he didn’t deserve, and couldn’t fulfill, but meeting that steady look, she reconsidered.

  “Is this woman, you claim is my grandmother, destitute? Does she need financial help?”

  His eyes widened, gray irises sparking with surprise. “Is that a condition of seeing her…if she can make it worth your while financially?” His look narrowed, turning hard.

  For a moment, she was captured by the way his eyes changed, shards of silver replaced by tempestuous gray, then steely pewter. Then his words sank in. She opened her mouth on a verbal salvo triggered by anger, just as the waitress brought over the coffee service. Taking advantage of the interruption, Sky pushed down the angry words threatening to pop off her tongue. When the woman left, Sky set her unfolded napkin on the table, picked up her purse from the bench, and rose. “You know you really are the hole in
the donut I figured you for in the first place.” She kept the words quiet, her face blank, and her gaze frosty. Turning, she took a step. His large form came up from the table, with the speed of a martial arts master, and blocked her way.

  “Sky, I’m sorry if I misconstrued your question. Put yourself in my shoes and replay it. I’m guarding the interest of a woman I care about a great deal. What would you have thought?”

  She picked his hand off her arm and dropped it as if it were a slug. “It’s immaterial as we come from opposite points of view. I wanted to know her situation, before I told you I wouldn’t see her, but would cover her financially if she was in trouble. But as you care for her so much, I guess you can take care of her. So, I’m in the clear and can just say no and good-bye for the second and last time.” She ducked past him and hurried across the lobby, her back ramrod straight. Behind her, she heard a softly spoken, “Shit.”

  She told herself she was glad her decision was made, the tension over. She had hoped he’d answer her questions, tell her more about the O’Shaughnessys and her sperm donor, but his reaction had cleared away any guilt she might feel at refusing her grandmother. The man was insufferable. By the time she reached the airfield, she’d come up with so many negative thoughts about him she was wound tighter than a prop before take-off.

  Chapter Two

  “Pretty damn good.” The kid was full of himself, as he jerked the plane onto the pad in front of the hangar. “I know I could have done that roll, if you weren’t such a tight ass about rules,” he challenged her.

  “Junior, you couldn’t do that roll if I gave you a hundred more hours. Your technique sucks, and you’re fudging lucky I have those rules, or they’d be scraping you off the airfield now. You can look elsewhere for an instructor. I don’t go up in a plane with a kid who doesn’t listen. You put my life on the line today, and it won’t happen again.”