Chapter 1
Sloane Bardo pulled into the parking lot, eyeing the thick layer of slush on the pavement. Thank heavens she’d gone with the stiletto boots this morning; they’d keep her steadyanddry. A quick glance at the sign on the building said her navigation had steered her in the right direction—Copper Stone Aviation.
Once she pulled her rental car—a black Charger—to a stop in the stall, Sloane snatched her phone and hit record on her voice memo app. “For the case of Anna Fielding, lead number one three two five. Heading into Copper Stone Aviation to set up my decoy.”
She flipped down the sun visor to check her appearance in the mirror. Her bright red lipstick was perfectly in place, of course. The brand had been tested, tried, and was with her more often than a best friend. Her blonde hair still held its curl despite the heavy snowfall she’d run through to get from the inn to her car with only her tiny handbag to save her. She’d gone for the high volume and soft waves specifically for the occasion—the style had proven to go over well with men like Griffin. She’d picked out the sleek, black dress for the very same reason.
Sloane popped open the glovebox, retrieved the tickets she’d scored, and tucked them into the front pouch of her shiny red clutch. Next, she tugged her sunglasses from their spot on the dash and slid them on.
Ready.
She glanced up at the overcast sky as she pushed open the door and stepped into the wet slush. The snowfall had taken a break for now, but brightness from the sky and the glistening ground made her squint even through the shades.
After closing the car door, she tied the straps of her leather trench coat and surveyed the lot. The first course should have started an hour ago, which meant all attendees and trainers would be well into their class.
Griffin Pinkston, however, would be standing behind the counter. A twenty-four-year-old single who frequented the local sports bar and rambled about the Celtics while watching basically anysports game. His older brother owned the place and taught most of the courses while Griffin ran the front desk.
The glass doors on the rather industrial-looking building showed her reflection as she stepped onto the curb, slush splattering beneath her boot. The Christmas wreath hanging there reminded her that the holiday was fast approaching. Not that it mattered; Sloane didn’t have so much as one Christmas gathering to attend, and that suited her just fine.
She stomped the snow off her boots under the small dry patch in front of the door, then tugged it open and stepped inside.
A toy helicopter spun over the entryway, it’s soft hum competing with the faint sound of a game drifting through the space. And there was Griffin, his folded arms leaning onto the tall counter, his squinted eyes aimed at the propped phone before him. He straightened up, dragged his focus off the game, and widened his eyes once he caught sight of her.
“Hi there,” he said smoothly. “How, um…” There was a pause while he looked her up and down. “How can I help you?”
Sloane lifted her sunglasses as she approached the counter, noting another splash of holiday décor—a silver and green garland taped to the front counter. Tiny airplane and helicopter ornaments hung off the faux greens, weighing it down in parts.
“Hello, my name is Sloane. How are you?” She offered her hand, and Griffin was quick to reach out and shake it.
“I love your accent,” he said. “French?”
“Oui, andmerci.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m Griffin.”
“Hi, Griffin. You guys recently trained a man from The Homestead Inn to fly a helicopter. He plans to give tours soon.”
“That’s right.” He lifted the ball cap off his head, ran a hand through his short brown hair, then tugged the cap back into place. “That’s Emmitt Duran. Do you know him?”
“Sort of,” she said, leaning her elbows onto the counter. She brought her voice down to a whisper. “I am wondering if you could do me a small favor.”
A pleased smile spread over his face. “I sure hope I can.”
Sloane motioned to the flat screen monitor standing beside a keyboard. “Forward an email to Mr. Duran for me.”
“What email?”
A ding sounded from the monitor, and Griffin raised his brows.
Sloane flashed him a grin. “That one.”
“Whoa.” He turned his attention to the screen, cupped the mouse beside the keyboard, and pulled up an inbox tab. One quick scroll showed the email she’d sent. “This is from you?” Griffin tilted the screen so she could see it better.
“Yes. Would you mind copying and pasting the letter into a new message, then sending it to Mr. Duran from your establishment?”
Griffin took a step back from the desk and folded his arms. “Why?”
“Feel free to read it first,” she said. “You see, his family asked me to, how you say,accompanyhim for a few hours of extended training before he gives any tours. Apparently, they feel he is not as cautious as they would like him to be.”
