Her Sister's Keeper

Kent hesitated. He could take her to a safe house. That could certainly be arranged. But he sensed that she needed more than just a safe place. She needed a sympathetic ear and companionship. “I know where,” he said. “You’ll come home with me tonight. Chimeya may be too remote and rustic for your Hollywood tastes, but you’ll be safe there.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that,” she said. “Thank you for the offer, but it’s too much of an imposition.”

“Then I’ll assign Sergeant Bertha Dewburgh as your bodyguard. No one’ll bother you with Big Bertha nearby, and she’ll stick with you like glue. Takes her job real seriously. Guaranteed, Big Bertha and two plainclothes detectives’ll keep you safe in any hotel room. I’ll make the call, if you’re sure that’s the route you want to take.”

Kent reached for his cell phone again, and Melanie stayed him with a touch of her slender hand. “All right,” she relented. “I’ll go with you to Chimeya.”

Kent tucked the phone away for the second time with an abrupt laugh. “Good choice. Come on. If we hustle, we can be at Chimeya before dark.”

“All right, just give me a few minutes to pack some things,” Melanie said.

“I’m sorry, but that’s a negative. Nothing can be removed until the crew from the crime lab gets a look at it.”

“Crime lab?”

“Yes, unfortunately, your apartment has been classified a crime scene. But don’t worry, by tomorrow you should be able to send for a few things.” Kent offered a cryptic little grin. “In the meantime, I have a strong hunch you will be well taken care of and outfitted once my housekeeper gets a hold of you.”

KENT’S LOVE AFFAIR with flying had begun at an early age, and he attributed that love to strong genetic encoding on both sides of his family. His father had flown in the Navy and survived two tours and eighty-six missions in Vietnam. He called those his years spent “downtown.” His grandmother on his mother’s side had been one of the women pilots who served the United States military in World War II. In 1942 she’d been the youngest pilot in the Air Transport Auxiliary, ferrying planes and supplies to frontline airfields in Britain and France. She’d flown Spitfires for the most part, though she’d been rated for multi-engine aircraft as well, and had piloted nearly a thousand planes with only one forced landing.

Kent had toyed with the idea of joining the military after graduating from college and following in his father’s footsteps, but as strong a temptation as flying the most sophisticated fighter jets was, his love of freedom was even stronger. Having grown up in faded Levi’s and worn cowboy boots, he couldn’t picture himself in a crisp white uniform, smartly saluting his way up the ladder. So he opted for the next best thing: first, his private pilot’s license, and then commercial training at the best facility in the nation. He could have landed a job flying for one of the big airlines, but again, his love of freedom won out. He’d bought his own plane and piloted his own dreams.

Kent was aware of Melanie’s trepidation as he pulled the unmarked police car into a parking space near the terminal at the small airfield.

She sat up, smoothed her hair and glanced out the window. “Oh, God,” she said, eyeing the fleet of private aircraft parked beyond the buildings. “You weren’t pulling my leg. You really do commute by airplane.”

“You betcha,” Kent said. “In an hour we’ll be at Chimeya. C’mon.”

He was out of the car and opening her door, waiting as she got out slowly and clutched her purse to her chest, a frown puckering her smooth brow. “Dr. Mattson, there’s something you should know….”

Suddenly enlightened, Kent reached for her hand. “Fear of flying is very common. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with me.”

Melanie’s green eyes widened with surprise. “How did you know?”

“I specialize in psychic psychology.” She followed him as he entered the terminal. “Hey, Paulette,” he said to the woman sitting behind the counter, who was reading a paperback. “I’m heading home for the night.”

Paulette reached for the flight-plan log and tossed a set of keys on the counter. “Gotcha, Doc,” she said, staring at Melanie with interest. “She’s all fueled up and ready to roll. Have a nice evening. See you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” Kent said, scooping up the keys and signing the log book.

“Doc?” Paulette said just as Kent was exiting the office. “Better watch your climb out. An FAA dude was here when you blasted off last Friday and we got written up for not busting your chops.”