Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel) (19 page)

“Excuse me, Sara?”

A man’s voice from behind
startled her and she turned around. As soon as she did, pain bloomed in her
forehead, and her surroundings faded to black.

The lightening sky cast a dull red glow on the road
as Derek pushed his Ferrari along the curves and bends with reckless abandon.
He fought the fatigue that threatened to drag his eyelids down and dull his
reflexes.

The dawning sun broke over
the hills and turned what had been merely a treacherous drive into an actively
dangerous one. He slowed the vehicle down, and the more sedate pace brought
back the thoughts he’d been running from.

Sara lied this whole time. She just wanted to get close to me, and to
the secrets my brothers and I had kept for the past two years. I almost gave
them to her.

He hadn’t been able to sleep
the night before, no matter how vital it was for the race the next day. There
was no getting the conversation at the restaurant out of his mind. He valued
nothing above his family, and the intrusion of this woman had opened him up to
divulging things that no one else was supposed to know. The betrayed trust
shadowed his mind and his thoughts, and he couldn’t get past it. The warmth and
affection he had felt for Sara was ruined by the revelation.

When he pulled into the parking
spot by his hangar, he slumped forward in his seat and let his forehead rest on
the steering wheel. Lack of sleep pulled him down toward oblivion, but the
thoughts and accusations that flew through his mind kept him on the edge of
delirium. Eons passed, and by the time he dragged his eyes up he had to blink
against the harsh morning light pouring through the windshield.

The airport had transformed
from a peaceful practice arena to a bustling event venue, with food and
merchandise vendors setting up shop in their trucks along the spectator routes,
and extra bleachers built around the grounds. There was a special VIP area
where the rich and famous could watch the event at their leisure, well shaded
and air-conditioned, with a selection of the best food and drink.

The media had arrived. There
was already a cluster of them waiting between his car and his hangar. Ron
Scardy’s
distinctive greasy mop of hair was right in the
thick of the pack. Anger and resentment flooded through Derek’s body, jolting
him from the almost meditative state he’d reached.

As soon as he closed the
door to the car and alerted the gaggle of reporters to his presence, the
cameras flashed and they rushed forward.

“Mr. Devereux! How are you
feeling this morning?”

“Derek, is your race performance
going to be impacted by the events at the restaurant last night?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Devereux,
have you and the journalist Sara Flight broken up?”

He used every ounce of
self-control he had learned over his life to ignore the questions and the deep,
sharp pains they inflicted on his already fragile state of mind. Derek blew
through the middle of the group, daring them with his glare to get out of the
way or face the consequences. The reporters followed him like a cloud of gnats
that swarmed on a hot and sticky summer’s day, their questions coming fast and
furious, pestering him and refusing to leave.

When he reached and entered
the hangar door, closing and locking it behind him, he let out a loud sigh of
relief. It was cool and dark in the room, exactly what he needed. The turmoil
had awoken a ferocious headache in him, and he just wanted to sleep.

He checked his watch. Three
hours to race time.
Enough to catch a nap before the
pre-flight checks, although not much of one.

He kept a small cot in the hangar
for times when he felt under the weather or not up to driving home immediately
after a long day in the air. It had never felt more comfortable as he sank down
into the thin mattress. A big, warm hotel bed couldn’t have been more welcoming
at that moment.

Finally, he drifted into
oblivion.

~

A frantic knocking at the
hangar door jolted Derek awake.

“Derek, are you in there?
The heats are underway, and your turn is almost next!”

Oh, no!

He hadn’t set an alarm. The
bed had been too cozy when he slipped into it.

“Derek? Are you okay? Please
answer me!”

He couldn’t recognize the
voice through the metal walls of the hangar and over the sounds of the crowd in
the background—it sounded like the event was in full swing. His mind felt
groggy, and he wiped the sleep out of his eyes as best he could before
stumbling over to the door and shoving it open.

There was a sharp curse in
response, and Gary had to jump backward on his crutches to avoid falling over.
It was a near miss, as he teetered on the edge of losing it and eating dirt,
but Derek leapt out of the doorway and steadied him.

“Sorry about that,” he said.
“I didn’t sleep last night and had to catch up a little before the race.”

His brother gave him a sharp
look. “Are you okay? Is Sara in there with you? Becky’s worried because she
hasn’t heard from her, but I assured her you two would be together here at the
airport.”

The mention of Sara’s name
brought back all the pain and agony from the previous night. “No, she’s not
here. We had troubles last night,
Gare
. I’m not sure
where she went, but we didn’t come back to the house together. I was going to
tell you about it, but by the time I got home you were already in bed. And then
I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here early…”

“Troubles?” Gary looked at
him. “What kind of troubles could you run into on a date that would cause that
level of problems, I thought you two were getting along great!”

“We were. Look, Gary, it
doesn’t look like I have time to talk about this now, so I’ll bring you up to
speed after the race, okay? Can you do me a
favor
and
help me get things going here?”

“Sure,
bro,
just let me know what you need.”

They set to work, opening
the big roll-up hangar door and getting the plane ready to fly. There wasn’t
enough time to do his usual full checks, so Derek settled for a cursory look
over everything. He had flown it the night before and left everything in a
flight-ready state, checking it twice so it would be good to go.

A young man wearing an
official league shirt appeared at the hangar. “Mr. Devereux? Are you ready to
fly your heat in ten minutes?”

Derek was occupied getting
his personal gear in order. There wasn’t enough time to do much more than grab
his flight suit and parachute off their hooks and pull them tight. “Ah, hi
there, Simon. Yes, running a little late and scrambling, but I should be good
to go around then. Has Rex gone yet? What was his time?”

Simon nodded. “Yes, sir, Rex
just finished his run. He beat the official course record by about twenty
seconds. It was some of the best flying I’ve ever seen!” He saw Derek’s frown
and checked himself. “But it wasn’t perfect. I’m sure you can beat it, sir.”

“Let’s hope so.” Derek had
flown faster runs than that multiple times the day before, but the conditions
were different, and today he was much less rested. Not to mention in a foul
mood. “Gary, can you keep an eye out for Sara in case she shows up? She might
come to talk to me after the race.”

“No problem, bro. I’ll take
her in and keep her safe.” Gary gave him a ridiculous salute, a throwback to
their time growing up as boys. “It’s an
honor
serving
with you, soldier. Now go out there and do your country proud.”

It brought a smile to
Derek’s face. His little brother was the most dependable part of his life, and
he didn’t know what he’d do without him.

He climbed up into the
cockpit and ran through the pre-flight checklist as quickly as he could.
Minutes later, he had permission to take off and was in the air.

It was wonderful, calming,
and exhilarating at the same time. He loved flying, cutting through the air
with his precise machine, the epitome of engineering conquering the elements
and bending them to his will. With a few flips and rolls he satisfied himself
the vehicle performed the way it was supposed to.

“All right, let’s do this,”
he said under his breath. A pair of earnest blue eyes haunted his vision, but
he shoved them aside, visualizing the run he was about to undergo.
The one that had so much riding on it.

“You are cleared to begin,”
Tom’s voice over the radio gave the signal his mind looked for, the familiarity
helping him to fall into a routine and relax into what he called his
“performance state of mind.” Only when he let his body do what it had to with
no guidance or interference from his conscious brain was he able to lay down the
fastest runs.

He started his approach, the
beginning gate looming ahead of him. Once he passed between the two towering
masts, the timers would start and he would launch into a choreographed aerial
dance. He’d earned part of his prestige by executing with a mastery and grace
unmatched by the other pilots.

A low, soft beeping filled
the cabin, throwing Derek off as he passed the start gate. It pulled him from
his performance state of mind, and he felt himself lose the edge he needed to
win.

“What the hell is that?” He
fought to ignore the sound and put it out of his mind, but the beeping got
louder and louder, speeding up until it was ear piercing and frantic. “Goddamn
it!”

It had to be something Rex
snuck into his plane to distract him on his run. He kicked himself for not
leaving himself the time to complete a full pre-flight check.

Time slipped away from him
as he wove through another two gates—one he had to enter while upside
down and the other his wingtips had to be vertical. The sound was piercing, and
his headache came back full force under the impetus.

He couldn’t take it anymore;
he had to silence it. Derek reached a straightaway and risked taking his eyes
off the optimal flight path for a split second. With the sound echoing around
the cockpit it was tough to lock down where it came from. There was a small
compartment in the dash, almost like the change compartment in a car, although
he didn’t pull up to any drive-through windows in his plane. He kept nothing
inside of it and forgot it was there most of the time.

At the next opportunity,
Derek pulled open the small drawer on the compartment and revealed a small ball
no bigger than a large gumdrop. It was a sleek black, and there was writing on
it. He couldn’t make it out before he had to pull his gaze away to fight
through the next gate. It was a sloppy entry, and he barely avoided cutting
through the fabric wall of the gate in what would have been an insurmountable
penalty.

The beeping grew to an even
more furious pace. When he was next able to look down, a blinking green light
pulsed in time with the beeps.

He could finally make out
the
scribblings
on the little ball.

It was the Onyx logo.

“What the hell is that doing
there?” How had Rex gotten access to a piece of company hardware?

It didn’t make sense.

There wasn’t an off button
on the ball, but the beeps and pulsing light stopped when Derek laid his hand
on it. It wouldn’t come away or move an inch—it was securely fastened to
the back of the little cubby.

The sudden silence worried
Derek more than the noise.