Love Under Two Flyboys [The Lusty, Texas Collection] Cara Covington (short story to read txt) 📖

people were unable to locate a crash site, or find any trace of Mr. West’s plane, I got suspicious. So I had one of my people who is very good with computers do some investigating and then some hacking. And what we discovered is that Mr. West’s credit card and bank account have been used after he supposedly crashed and died.”

“I see.” Ramos looked off to the side. “Mr. West was recommended to us by Ernesto, who, sadly, is no longer in my employ. For this reason, I am willing to give you more time to locate Mr. West and the goods that belong to me. You will, of course, receive no more shipments of merchandise until I receive my payment for the last one.”

Well, at least now Preston knew why he hadn’t seen ferret-face. That man was likely dead, and his body would never be found.

No way in hell was Preston going to tell Ramos they’d already found West. One of his men had gotten a little too enthusiastic in his questioning, and the damn thieving pilot had died of a heart attack before he’d revealed the exact location of his plane. But they had an area, and they had Frank West’s laptop. Preston believed it was only a matter of time before this situation was resolved. He nodded to Ramos. “I’m grateful, sir, for your patience and generosity in this matter. Please be assured I am doing everything in my power to see that you receive that payment.”

“Si, I am sure you are. I am also sure you understand the price of failure, Señor Rogers.”

“Yes, Señor Ramos, I do.” Preston handed his glass to the servant who’d stepped forward. He got to his feet, nodded, then left the room. Retracing his steps he held his breath, hoping he didn’t get a bullet in his back for his trouble.

He didn’t fully relax until the limo pulled up to his hotel and he was out of the car and inside the lobby. Even there he knew he wasn’t completely safe. But he did believe that if Miguel Ramos had meant for him to die tonight, he’d already be dead.

The elevator doors opened as he approached, and he wasted no time getting in and pressing the button for his floor. He waited until he was inside his room before he pulled out his cell phone. He punched number two on speed dial. The phone was answered on the second ring.

“Jimmy, tell me you’ve found that fucking Piper.”

“Sir, we believe we may have. West had some e-mail contact with a farmer just outside of Abilene. I accessed Anywhere Earth, the satellite photo site. The man’s got a couple of buildings big enough to hold that plane. There was also a payment out of West’s Money Buddy account to this farmer—a man by the name of John Smith. Apparently that’s his real name.”

“All right. You sit tight. I’ll join you in the morning. Then we’re going to give Mr. Smith a little visit. Did you see to Mr. West’s remains?”

“No, Dennis did that. He took the body to his apartment. I was too busy going through the man’s computer, looking for the plane.”

“You did a good job, Jimmy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Preston closed his phone and hoped to hell Dennis also had done a real good job of staging West’s body. The man had died of a heart attack, and Dennis hadn’t done much more than threaten him with his gun. Technically, they were all guilty of murder two, but hopefully the authorities would cite heart failure as West’s cause of death. The last thing he needed was to have the feds breathing down his neck looking to hang a murder charge on him.

All he wanted was to recover the Piper and the secret stash hidden inside her. The sooner Miguel Ramos had his diamonds, the sooner Preston and his business would be able to return to normal.

* * * *

“You said it was a cottage.” Tamara stood in the lane, looking up at the two-story Victorian house. A curved, covered porch at the front supported what looked like a walk-out area for the second story. With its white stucco, dark wood siding, the building appealed to her more than she felt comfortable admitting.

“Well, that’s just what we’ve always called the place.”

“It was built by a Kendall in the 1920s and has actually only sat empty for a few months,” Henry said.

“Come on, we’ll give you the nickel tour.” Morgan reached forward and opened the door.

“It’s not locked?”

“Well, it was, until about a half an hour ago. Don’t worry. We’ll give you a key. You’ll be as safe as you want to be here.”

That was a very strange thing to say. Tamara pushed that thought away. These two flyboys seemed to specialize in saying strange things. Instead, she focused on the place that would be home to her for the next few days.

No question, the house was gorgeous. Inside, a large sofa and three comfortable-looking armchairs in soft brown graced a downstairs parlor painted in eggshell with a matte finish. The trim, all rich-looking dark wood, gleamed, as did the polished wood floor. The area rug, tan with brown and green accents, looked to be of a very deep pile. Tamara imagined her bare toes sinking into it.

The kitchen had clearly been remodeled, as the appliances, all stainless steel, appeared brand new. The black granite countertop had flecks of gold, and it was all Tamara could do not to reach out and caress it with her hand. She was only a passable cook, but this kitchen reached out to her domestic side.

Off the kitchen, a formal dining room stood as if just waiting to receive the best crystal and china money could buy. The long cherrywood table sported a fine linen runner with a cactus planter in the center. But what stole Tamara’s breath was the beautiful fireplace, old-fashioned red brick and granite hearth, that took up center stage along one wall.

“Someone has really good