Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel) (6 page)

The intense rush of blood to his head after he
leveled
out of the dive was almost overwhelming, and it
spiked his adrenaline in a way nothing else could. Derek twisted his plane
through the obstacle course, weaving in and out of the tall cones made of
fabric and filled with air to keep them in place. Up and down had virtually no
meaning to his body—gravity was no longer his master.

It made him
feel
strong, empowered. Dominant. The rush he got from
flying his aerobatic plane was something he hadn’t even known he’d craved his
whole life until the first time he’d done it. Once he’d experienced it, he was
hooked. When he learned there was a league where he could compete against
others to be the fastest, most precise pilot, he hadn’t hesitated a second
before he’d joined up, even before he’d known it was mostly a group of the
wealthy and elite.

When he finished his run, he
returned to the ground, albeit reluctantly. Walking around on his own two feet
felt mundane after the thrill of flying in ways most people never dreamt of.

He had invested in his own
hangar at the airport and was the only one to have access. Most of the other
pilots only flew their planes, but he watched all maintenance with a careful
eye and exacting standard, and did the regular care himself. Even before Evan’s
warning, he knew flying was his biggest vulnerability. As much as he pretended
his brother’s warnings didn’t faze him, he had no desire to splatter on the
ground because someone got in and sabotaged his plane.

As he locked up, he squinted
into the setting sun to see someone walking toward him.

“Ah, Tom, how are you doing
this evening?” he asked.

The airport controller was a
genial older man, approaching his seventies but still sharp in the tower.
“About as good as these old bones will let me be. You had a couple great runs
today.”

Tom had always been familiar
with all the pilots. Money wasn’t a measure of worth in his
eyes,
all that mattered was how one conducted himself in the air.

“Thanks, Tom. I don’t know
if you heard, but Rex and I have a bit of an unfriendly wager on the first race
of the season. I’m not too worried, but I don’t want to eat my words.” Derek
had scheduled a few more practices than usual before the race. He was
confident, but didn’t want to let that confidence err into cockiness.

The older man chewed on his
lip a little. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, Derek, but Rex changed
something about his plane. I’m not sure exactly what he’s done, but he’s flying
like you wouldn’t believe in practice over the past couple of months. The tightest
runs I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something considering how much you’ve
always owned the course.”

“Seriously?” Derek
considered the implications. “Is it within the rules if he’s tinkered with his
engine?”

Tom nodded. “It should be,
unless he’s done something outrageous. There’s nothing saying you can’t
performance tune your vehicle, but most guys don’t take it past general
optimization, since there’s very little to gain and a lot to lose if they push
it too hard. The manufacturers know what they’re doing. Hey, I know that look.
Don’t be tempted to go screw around, Derek. I’ve seen a lot of good guys have
bad accidents, some fatal, by touching things they shouldn’t have.”

Ugh. This could have all been avoided if I had made my retirement
speech at the gala before Rex caught up with me and pushed me into this stupid
bet.
And
the entire guest list and the media had been there and witnessed, which meant
Derek could not back down unless he wanted to lose all credibility.
Frederick’s been having a field day, hamming
it up for the media, including it in all the advertisements, even though it’s a
private bet between two pilots.

Things had
spiraled
out of control in short order.

“Well, thanks for the heads
up, Tom. Enjoy your night.”

“You too, Derek.”

Derek had brought the
Lamborghini to the airport. It was his second
favorite
part about flying regularly, the drive to and from the airport. He didn’t take
the quickest route, but there was a certain
back country
road with hairpin turns and wonderful straightaways. Taking each of his cars
out on a rotation and working them through their paces on the way to and from
the airport was nearly as thrilling as flying, and a better use of the
precision engineering than sitting in the garage or stuck in L.A. traffic,
which was their fate the rest of the time.

He pushed the car to its
limits right away. Not in sheer speed, since it would be impossible to get up
to the Lamborghini’s fastest over the short sprints available to him, but in
maneuverability
and finesse driving. Acceleration pressed
him back into the seat and to either side as he navigated the turns and worked
his way up the switchbacks through the hills.

When he reached the highest
point, he pulled off to the side of the road to enjoy the last views of the sun
setting into the Pacific. It painted the horizon a brilliant red, a faint
scattering of clouds catching the light and proclaiming the death of another
day.

Derek pulled back onto the
road and saw headlights coming up behind him. It wasn’t often he came across someone
on these back roads. No matter.

The engine roared as he
continued his hectic pace, pushing himself, and his vehicle, to the limit. The
thrill of the run pumped him full of the sweet adrenaline he craved, his
actions becoming ever more precise and exacting. He felt like he was at his
best self when pushing himself to the brink; if it was possible, he would live
his entire life on the knife’s edge between safety and ruin, always flirting
with the boundary and sometimes barely recovering in time.

He squinted as his rear view
mirror reflected harsh white light back at him.

“What? He’s still back
there?” Derek spoke aloud, the words surprised out of him. “He should have been
left in the dust a long time ago.”

Not only was the car still
there,
but
it had gained on him. It didn’t seem
possible.

Derek couldn’t make out what
kind of car it was without the sun to light it up. Only a pair of mean-looking
headlamps gave him any clue to the car’s identity, and not much at that.

He poured himself into the
Lamborghini, urging it on, cutting the corners as sharp as he dared. And yet,
it didn’t seem to be enough. The car still gained on him as though a phantom
that effortlessly drew closer and closer. Derek could almost imagine the anger
and
ill-intentions
of the vehicle behind him, embodied
by those headlamps. He considered pulling over to let the other driver pass,
but his gut didn’t like the idea.

Evan’s warning was bright
and clear in Derek’s mind. If the driver of that car had tracked him down for
nefarious purposes, then pulling over would be the worst thing he could
do—it would put him at the other person’s mercy. There was no real reason
to believe that was the case, but it was as plausible as the other scenario.
The odds that someone else drove these roads in a sports car at the same time,
with the same—or higher—level of skill, and who actively tried to
catch Derek’s car were low.

“Let’s dance, asshole,”
Derek said under his breath. He ignored the mirror, his attention on the
vicious stretch of road approaching. Derek had the benefit of knowing these
roads like the back of his hand from driving the route so many times. He
doubted his pursuer had the same level of experience.

The turns came hard and
fast. Derek wished he’d taken a better handling car, but he hadn’t known he
might be drive for his life today. The squeal of the engine approached painful
levels as he shifted, launching him forward.

Tighter, tighter!

He glanced into the mirror.
It was a mistake.

The other car was barely a
length behind him now, and the headlights were painfully bright. Derek knocked
his mirror to the side—he’d rather work blind than have to squint through
the light.

He felt it at exactly the
wrong moment: a slight bump from behind just as he entered a tight turn.

The impact forced the
Lamborghini into an out-of-control fishtail he struggled to recover from. The
steering wheel danced through his grasp, and he fought to wrestle it back into
position, but it was too late. The ground disappeared in front of his car, and
he sent a wordless thought through the ether toward his brothers, wishing them
luck against whatever force aligned against them in the world.

“Fuck!”

The Lamborghini tumbled off
the cliff. It wasn’t a sheer drop but a series of small ones, and the airbag
deployed just in time to catch his face and prevent it from slamming against
the steering wheel. The sharp pain of the seatbelt compressing his chest cut
off his breath.

The car tumbled, and for the
second time that day Derek’s body lost all sense of where the ground
was—this time gravity was thoroughly in control. Intense forces whipped
Derek around, and he fought to keep his body limp to help limit any possible
damage.

After an eternity of being
jumbled, tossed, and jerked around, the whirling world came to a standstill,
although it took an extra couple minutes for his mind to make sense of that
fact and calibrate his sight properly.

He raised his hands and
looked at them. His right hand was in proper working order, his left…

“Well, could be worse, I
guess.”

The pinkie finger stuck out
at an odd angle, and when he tried to move it, a sharp pain was his body’s
response. Derek patted himself down as best as he could, and to his relief
nothing else was painful enough to signal a serious injury. His entire body
would be black and purple in short order.

“Fuck. Evan will be
insufferable. At least he’ll be happy he was right.”

Luckily his cell phone
survived, and even luckier, he still had
signal
.

“Yes, that’s right, the Onyx Company. Have you
heard…
Hello?” Sara swore.

“No luck, huh?” Becky asked
from where she stitched together a new blouse. “Have you got a proper response
out of anyone?”

Sara flung herself down on
the couch beside her roommate. “I wish. Either no one’s ever heard of the
company, or else they hang up on me. I’m getting seriously worried, but I’m
also captivated.”

“That’s good, though!” Becky
said. “You need something to focus on.
Although if I were
you, I would drop this company nonsense and just go straight to the source.
Why you aren’t trying to spend every possible moment with Derek Devereux is
beyond me. I can’t believe you went to his house! And even worse, that you
didn’t bring me along!”

“Oh, shut up, you horn dog,”
Sara replied. “Of course you would go after Derek. You don’t care about the
mystery of it all. But the Onyx Company is the key to everything, I’m sure of
it. Beck, the letter I read said they made four billion dollars. Profit. In one
quarter. That means sixteen billion dollars a year, and yet we’ve never heard
of them. Doesn’t that make you the least curious?”

The redhead shrugged. “All I
care about is the handsome man who represents the path to spending that
ridiculous fortune. Who cares where the money comes from, Sara? Just try to
marry him, and then it could all be yours. Just saying. Besides, you saw one
piece of paper. Who knows if it’s even legit? Maybe it’s all an elaborate
hoax.”

The thought brought Sara up
short. She had suggested as much to Ron, but she hadn’t believed it. After
exhausting all of her usual avenues, she was thinking maybe it was worth
another look.

“I don’t know, Beck. He
lives a substantial lifestyle. I mean
,
you could fake
having more money than you do for a while. Take out a mortgage on a huge
mansion, do a few expensive things, but only do them for show and in the
cheapest way possible. It could happen.” She was still dubious. “It would
explain a lot, but what about the lack of birth certificates or documentation?
That needs an explanation!”

Becky paused from her
stitching to throw her hands in the air. “Hey, I’m not the journalist. I’m just
asking questions. Seriously though, if you won’t take a real run at Derek
Devereux, can you introduce me? I would be more than happy to be his wife and not
have to worry about a thing ever again. Or even his mistress.
Or a one-night stand.
God, he’s hot. Let’s be honest, I’d
let him do anything he wanted. He could smother me in
Nutella
and spank me, if he wanted to.”

“Beck!”

“Oh, whatever. I’m just
saying, the man’s hot.”

“Well, no arguments here.”
Sara checked her phone. “Speak of the devil, and he appears. Look at that.”

Becky shrieked. “You got a
message from him? What does it say, what does it say?”

Sara laughed, “Give me time
to read it, you goofball. Let’s see… He’s asking if I want to meet him for a
walk at the Griffith Observatory. So I can see the city better, since I’m new
to town.”

“Wow.” Becky stared at her,
wide-eyed. “What a gentleman. I can’t believe that Derek
fucking
Devereux is asking you to meet him for a walk. This is so
huge.”

“You mean for my case?” Sara
asked.

“I mean for your life! I
know you had Michael and everything, but he’s not here anymore, and girl, you
need to realize he’s just never coming back.”

That familiar painful,
nauseating feeling was back. All it took was one mention of him, or even
anything that reminded Sara of the accident, and it was like she was hearing it
for the first time.

Becky’s face softened.
“Look, I’m sorry, Sara, but you need to hear the truth. This is an amazing
opportunity in front of you, don’t miss it because you’re hung up in the past.”

She’s right. She’s not a diplomat, but she’s right.

“Let’s make one thing clear:
I’m not going out with Derek Devereux to
win
him. I’m going so I can get to the bottom of this case and keep my job. You
know, the thing I’ve wanted to do ever since I was a little girl.” The words
sounded strong to her ears, but they weren’t entirely truthful. The moment
she’d shared with him in the library at his house had been real, even if she’d
tried to leverage it to get information out of him. That kiss had left her
wanting more.

“Whatever you say,” Becky
said. “Just so long as you make me the maid of
honor
at your wedding and I can call dibs on one of his brothers.”

She’s insufferable!

“Any one will do, eh, Beck?”

“Ouch!” Becky pricked her
finger with a pin as she put the finishing touches on the new piece of wearable
art she was creating. “So long as I’m fed and treated like a lady I’m not too
picky, Sara. I mean, I love making clothes, but I’d rather be designing them
and letting others do this part, you know?”

“I hear
ya
.
I better get ready to meet Derek. Hopefully I can get him to open up about his
past more. If I can get him to say anything about the company, even better!”
She forced herself off the couch. With a critical gaze she looked down and
patted at her belly. “I didn’t take care of myself properly over the past
couple years, did I? I’m lucky I didn’t swell up like a balloon.”

“Well, when you barely eat
anything because you don’t care about life anymore, one of the great side
effects is staying pretty thin. Still, it’s nice to see you filling out now,”
Becky said. She cocked her head to the side. “When’s the last time you got
yourself off? I know for a fact you haven’t had sex with anyone since Michael,
but I hope you at least kept yourself up to speed, otherwise you might be a
little rusty when push comes to shove with Derek.”

“Beck! Oh my God!” Sara’s
face heated quicker than a microwave at her roommate’s forthrightness. “You
can’t just say that!”

“What? We used to talk about
sex all the time. Just because you stopped having it doesn’t mean sex
disappeared from the world. I’ve been doing just fine, thank you for asking.
You should at least think about it. You don’t want to miss your shot with a
billionaire because you flunk the final exam.”

“Flunk the final… Jesus,
Beck!”

As Sara got dressed in her
room, Becky’s words turned through her head. They did use to be more open about
that stuff, but when Michael had died, her appetite for anything
sexual—and life itself—had
shriveled
. She
had been certain she would never want to draw close to a man ever again, no
matter what. Michael had been the one, the perfect fit,
her
soul mate. The thought of being intimate with anyone else made her almost sick
to her stomach without fail.

Until
Derek.
He was too perfect to be real, so it was safer to have those thoughts. At least
so she’d thought. What if it got to that point? It would compromise the hell
out of her investigation, but would she be able to turn it down? Would she want
to?

It was all a huge mess. This
wasn’t how she had pictured the investigation going. She should have entered
the city, conducted her interviews and asked her questions from afar, gradually
sussing out the reality of the situation. Then, and only then, would she
attempt to approach Derek Devereux, once she had all the facts and could
confront him with the truth, and be able to look into his eyes and see if he
was
lying.

Instead she looked into his
eyes and lost herself.

Oh girl, what have you got yourself into?