Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

Perceptive, despite being shocked, she noticed the slacked jaws and curious glances from the group of landscapers, and stepped back into the house.

“Let’s take this inside.”

48Flight Plan

Fourteen Years Ago

The full moon shined above on a perfectly clear sky. The breeze was chilly, bringing fresh air from the mountains and cooling off the rocks after a day of blazing summer sunshine. Pockets of mist lingered here and there, as the night fog was starting to accumulate near the ground, holding the smell of burned jet fuel captive, intoxicating.

The small airport had closed its lobby for the day at seven, hours ago, and most lights had been turned off. Bill nodded in passing at the one staffer who had stayed behind, muttering oaths about the entitled people who couldn’t fly during normal business hours and thought the entire world revolved around them. He’d just waved Bill’s car and the nanny’s car onto the tarmac, glaring at Bill Caldwell from underneath a sweat-stained ballcap bearing the insignia of the San Francisco Giants. The chartered jet responsible for keeping the man after hours on a game night was warming up its engines in front of the big hangars, with the light turned on in its cockpit.

He’d have to pay that frustrated staffer off too; otherwise, the stupid fuck would bitch about him all day long tomorrow, about the late-chartered flight, and why he’d missed whatever pitch or homerun that was going to make history and change his life, if he’d only scratched his balls and got hammered in front of the TV instead of working late. Probably ten grand would cut it, with a side of a clearly stated threat if he opened his mouth to anyone at all.

The jet taxied slowly to their location and stopped, only 10 yards away from Bill’s car. The pilot pushed open the airplane door, then climbed down the six steps and approached him.

Bill lowered his window.

“Your plane is ready, sir,” the pilot said, gesturing a salute with two fingers raised at his visor.

“We’ll board immediately,” Bill replied. “Be ready for takeoff in three minutes.” He studied his face, his eyes, looking for signs the pilot might’ve been suspicious of Bill’s motives or at risk of pulling a fast one and calling the cops. But the tall man’s gaze was honest and direct, his demeanor professional, impeccable. The signature on the five-page NDA he’d been presented with had taken him less than thirty seconds to complete. He hadn’t read the document, stating in his line of work, he signed those a lot and relied on referrals for more business; he’d never do anything to upset a client.

Perfect.

“That’s it for now, thank you,” Bill added, sending him away with a hand gesture.

“Sir,” he replied, then walked quickly to the idling plane.

Bill waited until the pilot was back in his seat, then climbed out of his car. He opened the back door and picked up a girl in his arms.

She wasn’t moving.

Her long, wavy hair escaped the blanket she’d been wrapped in, waving in the brisk wind. Her tiny body was perfectly still, lifeless, cold.

Carrying her gently and keeping her face covered with the edge of the blanket, he climbed on board the plane and set her down on one of the seats. He strapped her in, then gave the bundled body a long look before returning to the nanny’s car.

The woman, a slightly overweight, middle-aged redhead who worked as a nurse at Franklin Medical Center and as occasional nanny for Rose Harrelson, was waiting for him, standing, holding another girl in her arms. This one was sleeping soundly, despite the sound of the idling jet engines spinning only a few yards from her head.

“How did it go?” Bill asked.

“Just like we discussed,” the woman replied. “I fixed them dinner, and dosed it with enough phenobarb to keep them in dreamland for ten hours. They won’t know what hit them.”

“Did you leave any traces?”

The woman seemed offended by the question and scoffed, scowling. “I went in through the window, like you told me, although they were sound asleep, and I have the keys to the front door. But never mind that,” she sighed. “I followed all your instructions, to the letter.” He encouraged her to continue with an impatient head gesture. “I removed the screen, went in, took the girl, then wiped the sill for prints, lowered back the window, and reattached the screen. Then I drove straight here, and no one followed me.” With a satisfied grin, she added, “I checked. Now, do you have my money?”

Bill went back to his car and returned right away with a small duffel bag. He unzipped it and showed her the contents, bundles of cash tied up neatly in color-coded denomination bands, like the banks issued. “Three hundred thousand in small bills, untraceable, like you asked. Are you ready to leave before this blows wide open?” He zipped up the bag and put it on the ground, by the woman’s feet.

She placed the girl in Bill’s arms, then grabbed the money bag, holding it tight with both her hands. Her face lit up when she clutched the handles like her life depended on it. “Hubby and I have tickets tomorrow morning for Venezuela,” she replied, smiling widely. “We’ll be long gone by the time they wake up. It’s a direct flight from San Francisco. We leave in an hour.”

But Bill wasn’t listening to the woman anymore, now looking at the girl’s face. She was sound asleep, her mouth slightly open, her breathing calm. Her chestnut hair waved in the wind, loose strands touching her face at times, a case of déjà vu. A dimple in her chin and the way her lower lip curved above it reminded Bill of Alyssa and of himself, when he was a young boy. Good.

“And the meds?” he asked, looking around carefully to see if anyone witnessed their conversation. The whole thing was taking too damn long. Someone could stumble upon them any second.

“Ah, yes,” the