His Flight Plan (2 page)

“All right, I don’t see anything tonight. However, I do see Delta has a seat available for their six oh five flight. By the arrival time you would get in leaving only time enough for you to go directly to the meeting.”

“Oh, God, yes. Book it please. I don’t care if the seat is on the tip of the right wing.”

“Not that bad.” Brigitte laughed. “It’s still a first class seat.”

“Thanks.” Kiera spotted the passengers surrounding the open door of the baggage claim office sorting through the luggage to claim their own. She started checking tags of all the red suitcases she saw. Years ago, red was an odd enough color that she could pick her bag out a mile away. However, now it seemed to be the new black. “I’ve got to get my bag and head to the hotel. Can you take care of canceling my reservation for this airline at eight?”

“I’ll take care of it. You be safe and call me after your meeting.”

“Will do.”

Finished with the call, Kiera slipped her phone into her purse. She frowned and was starting to get a little upset as she continued to flip one baggage tag after another, not seeing hers, yet all the other passengers were grabbing suitcases and rolling away. One after another left and still she had nothing.

Going into the claim office for the airlines she approached the bald, deep-brown-skinned man behind the counter.

“How can I help you?” He looked up and gave her a smile, framed by his goatee. One more genuine than the frustrated agent upstairs.

“Hi…” she glanced down at his embossed, silver tag, “…Antwan. My name is Kiera Stanfield. I just got off flight 1725—”

“Headed to Salt Lake City?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry about your flight, ma’am. All the bags have been placed out front for your convenience.”

“No they have not. Mine is not out there.” She was trying to keep her tone nice like his. But she was struggling since she was already pissed about the day. “Will you please look up the tracking number?” She handed him the print out from when she had checked into Charlotte-Douglas.

“I will. One moment.” He took the paper and set it beside his flat screen monitor, referring to it occasionally. 

She kept her hands linked together on his high counter, attempting to keep from drumming them as the seconds turned into multiple minutes.

He frowned. “Ah…I see the problem.”

“What?” She leaned forward and tried to peer over the monitor, even though the way it sat she couldn’t see anything. Set up that way on purpose by the airlines, of course.

He met her gaze, his smile gone. “Your luggage is already in Salt Lake City.”

“What! How in the hell did my bags get to my destination but I can’t?” Forget being calm, she was fully pissed off now.

“It appears that they were already loaded to your original flight leaving O’Hare. Then you changed planes—”

“I didn’t change planes, I was bumped.”

He frowned as he placed a single finger on the screen and traced something he was reading. “My apologizes. However, it states passenger requested a later flight. Was comped a first class seat.”

“Listen, Antwan.” She pressed her palms flat on the counter, but could still feel them shaking from the anger raging through her body. “Hear me well. I feel like I have been repeating myself all damn day.”

He stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, not in attitude, but appeared to be showing her she had his full attention. “I’m listening.”

“When I checked in eight hours ago, a flight from Charlotte, I discovered that
your
airline overbooked the first class section. I was re-booked to coach. I didn’t pay for coach. The agent told me the next flight had a first class seat available. So, I took that one. Since I still had time to reach my destination.
However
—” her jaw was locking and she was speaking slowly through clenched teeth, “—moments before that flight was boarding I was called to the counter and found out that I was once again shoved back into coach because of some big wig coming. I only took that because I am now on borrowed time to reach Salt Lake City for a very important meeting.”

“Ma’am?” His tone was low. Almost as if he were speaking to an emotional child he was trying to soothe.

Kiera realized that she was crying when she felt the streams crawling down along her cheeks. “Oh, God…” Embarrassed at her own breakdown she swiped at her face, not caring if she smeared her make up. Taking a deep breath she worked on calming herself.

“I surely see your frustration. This last flight had a mechanical and all passengers were set up in a hotel for the night and you’re not leaving until the morning.”

“Me with none of my stuff.” She shook her head, too exhausted to say anymore.

“I’m sorry. What I can do for you—”

She held a palm up halting his speech. “Are your next words going to end with this way to your flight to Salt Lake City?”

He chuckled. “No, Miss Stanfield.”

“Then save it. I’m done with special offers from your airlines.” Reaching over the counter she took her baggage claim slip, then turned and walked out. To her there was nothing else needing to be said. She might as well get to the hotel and sleep.

* * * *

 “Hey, Twan, how’s it going?”

“It’s O’Hare…crazy as hell, Drake.” Antwan lifted a suitcase from the stopped carousel and carried it to his claims office.

“That’s too true.” Drake followed his friend. The two of them had been friends for years. First high school and then attending the same community college, as their family finances hadn’t offered much of a chance of four-year college. Besides, Drake had always wanted to be a mechanic. So a university wouldn’t have done him any good to attend.

“I saw you all have another plane down.”

Drake leaned against the wall across from where Antwan was working at his counter. “Hell, yes. The part is scheduled to come in on the next flight. But the bird won’t go out until tomorrow. If these customers knew how shitty these planes were for this airline they’d never board them. I’m amazed they stay up.”

“That’s because they hire damn good mechanics that can put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” Antwan pointed at him.

“Yeah, but it gets old. It’s been eight years now with this company since I signed on. You remember then, before the recession, before cutbacks on everything.” He tipped his head back, giving it a little bang against the wall. “Now it’s just frustrating as hell. I bust my ass, just to make sure the planes remain airborne. Because if one of them drops out of the sky…”

“The CEO will be looking for any mechanical error to pin it on.”

He shot a look at his friend. “Damn right. Not on my watch.” Drake had been crew mid-shift manager for four years and he only worked with the best on his team. He always ensured every one of his members stayed up on their training, both mandatory and voluntary. All he could do was hope that things he had in the works would pan out…soon.

Antwan went out and brought back two more suitcases.

“What time are you getting off tonight? You feel like a beer over at the sports bar?”

“I wish, man. I’m working a double. I don’t get off until three.” Antwan hissed out a breath.

“Lyle again?” Drake shoved away from the wall.

“Hell, yes. That man is just like the planes, can’t work for one damn reason or another. They need to fire him, but he’s the hub manager’s nephew.”

“Family connections of the rich.” Just another example of the politics they had to deal with for the airline, Drake thought with disgust.  “Well, I’m going to head out and let you get back to work.” He held a hand out to Antwan.

His friend gripped it, shook and ended it with them bumping shoulders. “Before you go, Drake, I need a favor if you don’t mind.”

“What’s that?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark blue uniform pants.

“There was this customer.” Antwan shook his head, his brow tightening. “I felt sorry for her. Amway Continental has given her one hell of a day. By the time I saw her she’d been at the airport for over eight hours. She was on that last mechanical situation.”

“Ah. Where is she now?”

“At the hotel, doesn’t leave out until tomorrow. But her bags left without her and she had nothing but her purse and laptop case. I tried to give her the complimentary toiletry bag. However, she wouldn’t even let me get that far, she just walked out.” He held up the green and white bag with the airline logo on it.

“Antwan the sensitive. She must have been a looker,” Drake teased, knowing his friend had been happily married for three years and never even considered cheating on his wife.

“She could look like a boot, man, and I’d still feel that no one should have a day like she’s had.” Antwan placed the bag on the counter. “You mind delivering that to her on your way home? I’d take it, but like I said…I’m stuck here.”

“Sure. Since I’m headed home instead of to a bar with my friend,” Drake joked. “What’s her name?”

“Kiera Stanfield.” Antwan tapped the bag. “I owe you one.”

“To hell with that. You owe me two. I was going to make your ass buy tonight.” He backed up toward the door.

“What? Why?”

“You recall the Cleveland and L.A. game? Your ass lost. Lakers got beat. That means you owe me a beer.” Drake pointed at his friend and smiled.

“Damn. That’s right.” Antwan laughed. “Don’t forget the bag.”

Drake shook his head. “If her day has been as bad as you say, she deserves better items than that bargain crap in that bag.” Smacking the doorframe, he headed out.

“Thanks,” his friend shouted behind him.

Giving him a thumbs-up over his shoulder, Drake continued toward the employee door that would let him out closer to his car. He’d take care of the stop for his friend, then get home and hopefully catch the game he had recorded from Thursday night. Not the end of day relaxation he was looking for, but it would do.

Kiera heard the knock on the door just as she got off the phone with Brigitte, telling her about the luggage situation. Glancing at the door, she wished she had placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. However, since no one but her best friend knew she was here it most likely was the hotel and they would knock anyway.

Getting up from the desk where she had her cell phone plugged in, she crossed to the door. The way her day was going they probably were here to tell her the room had been double booked and she had to go. Checking the peephole, she saw the side profile of a man in some sort of utility uniform. Frowning, she left the latch on the door as she pulled it open.

She’d seen enough murder and suspense movies where a poser shoved the door open and attacked a helpless, stupid woman. That wouldn’t be her.

Peering through the crack the thick, gold bar allowed she stared at the man, barely seeing more than a sliver of his features. “Can I help you?”

“Miss Stanfield?” His voice had a low, husky timbre.

Nice and unique, she couldn’t help herself from thinking. It reminded her of Matthew McConaughey without the Southern drawl. He could be related to the movie star with his sandy brown hair and the strong chiseled features she could see.

“Who’s asking?”

His smile was only one-sided. However, even through the narrow crack it caused her stomach muscles to contract.

“I’m Drake Rhine from Amway Continental Airlines.”

Lifting an eyebrow she looked him up and down. “You don’t look like an agent.”

“I’m not. I’m one of their mechanic managers,” he declared.

“Unless you’re here to tell me you’ve put that plane back together and I can leave this town, I don’t want to hear from you all.”

“Afraid no—”

Hearing enough, she started to close the door.

“Wait! Antwan Worley sent me. The baggage guy.” He placed his hand against the door, keeping it open. A bag dangled from his clenched fingers.

Recalling the name on the nice man’s tag at the airport, she pulled the door back as far as the latch offered and waited.

“He’s a good friend of mine.” The man who said his name was Drake lowered his hand back to his side. “Antwan was concerned about you not having anything tonight and he never got a chance to give you the complimentary airline overnight kit.”

She glanced down at the bag at his wrist. “So you say, but that bag is not marked with the airline logo.”

His smile encompassed both corners of his mouth this time and there was a small twinkle in the one gray eye she could see. “True.”

If she thought his voice did a number on her, his smile made her heart race. This man had too much appeal, making her not trust him even more. Hell, all serial killers were good-looking, nice men—Ted Bundy was a great case in point.

“To be honest, the stuff we give out to customers is cheap. I just thought you’d prefer at least something that would hold up longer than brushing four teeth.” He paused, his face going serious. “Unless you only have four teeth and I’ll go back and get the other stuff. I don’t want to offend you.”

The staid look didn’t fool her for a moment since the humor lighting his eyes never went away.

“No worries. I have all thirty-two I’m supposed to, minus my wisdom teeth.” She bit into her bottom lip, trying to keep from smiling.

He waved the bag back and forth. “I also grabbed you chocolate bars, one dark and one milk. Not sure which you preferred.”

Chocolate was her weakness. Pushing the door shut, she removed the latch, then pulled it back open. “Two strikes. I like white chocolate.”

His smile returned. Seeing it fully as she stared into his handsome face, she almost swallowed her tongue. The man had to be six three to her five eight. He had a set of killer shoulders that filled out his uniform shirt completely. He probably could have used the next size up, even though the buttons weren’t stretching. This man, with the embroidered nametag with DRAKE and Mechanic Manager beneath it was her idea of delicious white chocolate.

And that’s what caused her to freak a little. She hoped he didn’t think she was flirting with him by her comment.

He snapped his fingers. “I should have gone with all three.”

“Thanks anyway.” She took the bag he offered her. “I appreciate your friend’s thoughtfulness.”