His my-word-is-law tone raised her hackles and sent a trickle of unease through her. “Exactly how far do you expect me to go to keep the customer happy?”
His head jerked back and his nostrils flared. “I’m not asking you to do anything illegal or immoral.”
“You’re asking me to violate HAMC rules. I want you to spell out your expectations—in writing. Preferably signed and notarized.”
“What? You don’t trust me, little sister?”
“Half sister.” She shouldered her flight bag. “You’ve made it clear from day one that I’m unwelcome here. I’m not handing you a blank check to write me out of the picture.”
“Would a blank check work?”
His audacity took her breath. “Could you possibly be more of a jack—”
The scrape of a shoe on asphalt drew her attention to another approaching male. Gage. Great. Two headaches. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“There’s nothing you can’t say in front of Gage. He’s like family.”
The statement only irritated her more. “Unlike me who actually is family. I admire your loyalty. To your friends at least.”
“What’s your price, Lauren?” Trent asked.
She wanted to kick the knucklehead in the kneecap, but she’d encountered and dealt with worse than him before without resorting to assault. “You can’t buy me off, big brother. You’ve had our mother for thirtysomething years. It’s my turn to spend a little time with her. Don’t worry. I’ll give her back.”
“You’ve known her all your life.”
A gurgle of disgust bubbled up her throat. She cut a look at Gage, who stood by Trent’s side. “I see your spy has debriefed.”
Gage frowned. “Lauren, our conversation wasn’t confidential.”
“Don’t waste your breath, Faulkner. I knew where your loyalties lay before we ever set foot on an airplane together.”
Trent squared his shoulders, trying to intimidate her by towering over her. Too bad it didn’t work. “If you’ve known our mother all your life, why are we only now hearing about you?”
“Because apparently our parent wanted to keep us all in the dark. She never told me about you, either.” She turned away then turned back. “Did you know my father was one of the founders of Hightower Aviation?”
The men’s breath whistled in stereo.
Trent scowled—his usual expression around her. “I’ve heard no such claim.”
“And neither had I until I started clearing out my father’s old papers. Your father and mine were in the Air Force together. I found pictures. They started HAMC after they got out. They were scraping along, strapped for cash when our grandfather Bernard Waterman came on the scene and offered them money in return for one-third ownership. I’m not sure how our mother plays into the picture.”
“I’ll have to verify your story.”
“Good luck with that. Jacqui’s not talking.” But why? And why had her father kept the secret? “Don’t sweat it, boss. I’m not demanding a percentage of the stock. My father sold out to our mother while she was pregnant with me, and as far as I can tell he got a fair price. He took that money and started Falcon Air with my uncle Lou, who also used to work here.”
Suspicion narrowed Trent’s eyes. “Your uncle?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, relax. He isn’t a blood relative. You won’t have another relative crawling out of the woodwork, showing up and asking for a job.”
Gage shoved his hands in his overcoat pockets. “Trent and I are going to have a drink. Do you want to join us and tell us more about this history of HAMC?”
Trent stiffened as if Gage’s invitation had surprised him.
Obviously they’d decided to tag team her out of a job. She hit the remote to unlock her door, opened it and slung her bag inside. “Nice try, Faulkner. But I have to fly in the morning and any alcohol within twelve hours of flight time gets me fired. Company policy.”
“Nice truck,” Gage said behind her. “Big engine.”
“For a girl, you mean? I need ten cylinders to tow airplanes around back home.” The Dodge SRT Ram was her pride and joy and had been a true labor of love shared with the people she cared most about. It would also be the last project she, her father and Uncle Lou would work on together.
“Look, if you guys are through with the interrogation, I need some shut-eye. I’ve been here since four this morning, and I’m due back at the same time tomorrow for our flight to Lancaster.”
Trent nodded. “Good night.”
“Go ahead,” Gage told him. “I’ll catch up with you at the restaurant.”
After a moment’s hesitation Trent strolled toward his BMW, leaving her alone with Gage. “You don’t trust me much, do you, Lauren?”
“I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”
“You have nothing to fear from me as long as you’re not out to hurt the Hightowers.”
Not believing him for one second, she climbed into her truck. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He braced one hand on each side of her door and leaned into the opening, crowding her. She caught a whiff of his minty breath. Her mouth dried and her pulse quickened.
He stopped inches from her face. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t need Trent to pimp for me. If I ask you to dinner, it’s because I don’t like eating alone. I’m not expecting more. You’re not my type.”
“Good, because you’re not mine, either.” She fired the words back automatically. Just because she didn’t want him didn’t mean his rejection didn’t sting.
He straightened, withdrawing from her personal space. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He turned on his heel and headed toward a black SUV with long, purposeful strides.
What was Gage’s type? The question popped into her head unexpectedly as she turned her key.
Doesn’t matter. Forget it. Go home.
But she had a feeling that now that her curiosity had been stirred, she wasn’t going to be able to forget it.
Three
Lauren shifted uneasily on the front doormat of the opulent Hightower home. A less-desperate woman would go home without making an already-bad day worse, but knowing Trent had dinner plans with Gage gave her a narrow window of opportunity to talk to her mother before he arrived home.The door opened and Fritz the butler stood framed in the entryway. “Good evening, miss.”
“Hi, Fritz.”
“Madame is waiting for you in the salon.” He turned and led the way like a butler cliché from an old movie, British accent, black suit, stiff posture and all.
Lauren craned her neck, once again awed and a little intimidated by the soaring foyer with its priceless art collection and grand staircase. Her heels tapped on the marble tiles and the sound echoed off the walls, making her want to tiptoe. Honestly, the place was like a museum or a governor’s mansion or something. How could anyone be comfortable here?
Fritz stepped aside and gestured to the open door with its fancy wood trim. “May I bring you anything? Wine? Coffee? Perhaps a light snack?”
“No, but thank you.” How could she eat when every encounter with her mother was like an armed truce?
Fritz bowed and retreated, leaving Lauren once more with the surreal sense of being blown off course and landing on a foreign airstrip where you didn’t know if the natives were friendly or hostile or even which language they’d speak. The Hightower abode was hardly the kind of place you could kick your shoes off and wander around in your jammies.
“You’ve come straight from work.” Her mother’s voice pulled her attention back to the massive room. Jacqui sat in a chair by the fireplace looking almost regal in her black pantsuit, heels and diamonds. “The HAMC uniform looks good on you and makes me quite glad I insisted on skirts instead of pants for our female pilots.”
“Um…yeah, thanks. I appreciate you letting me stop by on short notice.”
“I’m always happy to see you, Lauren.”
Oh, right. Jacqui emitted about as much warmth as an Alaskan winter. There was no shared hug, just a meaningless air kiss. They barely even touched. Her father or Uncle Lou would have swept Lauren up into a big lung-crushing, feet-lifted-off-the-ground hug after a long absence. But the Hightowers weren’t the warm and fuzzy type.
“Come in and sit down.”
Lauren perched on the edge of a brocade sofa with fancy fringe trim. How could she not have realized Jacqui was her mother sooner? They shared the same build and the same features, although her mother did something to brighten the mousy shade of her upswept hair and her makeup was always immaculate. Jacqui looked good, but Lauren wasn’t into high maintenance. She’d stick with her naturally boring hair and soap, water and sunscreen regimen.
“I have some questions about my father.”
Jacqui sniffed. “I can’t talk about him yet. I miss him too much.” Her emotion appeared genuine. But it had been two months—two months with a lot of meaningless chitchat, but no answers.
Lauren was beyond frustrated. “I miss him, too, Jacqui, but I need to understand his state of mind before the accident.”
Jacqui rose and went to the wet bar to refill her glass instead of ringing for Fritz the way she had during Lauren’s previous visits. “I can’t pretend to know what your father was thinking.”
“You were the last one to talk to him. Did he seem upset, distracted or depressed to you?”
Her mother faced her but didn’t return to her seat. “Depressed? I don’t know what you mean.”
Lauren took a deep breath. She hadn’t discussed the rumors with anyone other than her uncle. “A couple of his friends think the crash wasn’t an accident. They claim Dad bragged that if he died, his life insurance policy would pay off Falcon Air’s debts.”
Jacqui stiffened and paled. She pressed a beringed, manicured hand to her chest. “No. No. Never. Kirk would never voluntarily leave me. Or you. From the moment I told him I’d conceived, you were his life. He planned everything around providing for you.”
Emotion welled inside Lauren, tightening her chest. “I don’t think he would have deliberately crashed, either. I mean, I can’t believe I would have missed him being that upset. He was preoccupied those last few months, but I don’t think he was unhappy.” But had she missed something? “The life insurance company is refusing to pay the claim until they finish their investigation and rule out suicide.”
“I’ll give you whatever you need. Tell me how much.”
Lauren shook her head. “I’ve told you before I don’t want your money. I just want to know what you and my father discussed that last day before you left him again. That conversation could be a key to what happened.”
Tears pooled in Jacqui’s eyes. Was she faking it? “You believe I had something to do with his crash?”
“How can I know if you won’t talk?”