1
As Rory Baker watched the dark thunderclouds amassing ahead of the SyberJet SJ30, he wanted to scream “I told you so” at his only passenger. But when your passenger was also your boss, and your boss happened to be a billionaire who always got his way, “I told you so” wasn’t in the approved vocabulary.
He clicked on the interphone to speak to the man in the cabin. “Things might get a little bumpy. Fasten your seat belt and hang on tight.”
A moment later, the man himself opened the door to the cockpit. That was another thing about working for a billionaire. It was his nine-million-dollar plane and he could do what he wanted, never mind any potential safety issues. “How bumpy?”
So much for fastening his seat belt—or following any federally mandated safety guidelines whatsoever. Rory sighed and reminded himself that he’d signed up for this for a very good reason. A million of them, in fact. How else could he make a million dollars flying an airplane?
“Look for yourself.” Rory gestured at the clouds up ahead. The closer they got, the more towering and glowering they appeared. So far he hadn’t seen any flashes of lightning, but this was the tropics. Thunderstorms came with the territory. “I did mention we might be better off waiting.”
“We’ll be fine.” Lincoln Kerr spoke with the absolute confidence of a man no one dared to contradict—not even the weather, apparently. “You’re the best, right? That’s why I hired you.”
“Mmm.” Rory squinted at the SyberVision flight deck, which included advanced digital radar to identify turbulence. It was designed to allow the pilot to find the least rocky path through the storm. But when the screen showed all magenta, the color code for really fucking bad turbulence, it didn’t help much. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
Lincoln gave a scoffing laugh. “Everyone said that. You were the only one who could back it up. My investigators confirmed that you are, in fact, the best.”
“Nice. Can I get that in writing for my next date?”
“They also warned me about your sense of humor. Irreverent, they said. Occasionally disrespectful.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Lincoln grunted in response. His gaze was fixed on the clouds now; maybe the truth of their situation was starting to sink in. He was getting close to forty, but you’d never know it. He was in peak physical condition due to his ten-person staff of nutritionists, chefs, trainers, and longevity experts. There were also whispers of plastic surgeons on retainer; his previous jawbone hadn’t been nearly so square.
The odd thing was that he and Rory looked a bit alike, though Rory was about ten years younger. They each had one Asian parent, which might help explain it. Rory’s mother was from Okinawa, Japan, whereas Lincoln was the product of a high-profile fling between a Korean electronics tycoon and a southern belle from Georgia. Completely different backgrounds, but it did give them a vague resemblance.
“Do you think we should turn back?” Lincoln asked nervously.
“We don’t have enough fuel to get back to Los Angeles. We could try to fly around the storm, but it’s massive. I think we’re going to have to stay the course.”
“What about a water landing? Could we wait it out on the surface?”
Huh? “Darn it, I forgot to bring the pontoons.”
When Lincoln didn’t laugh, Rory said, more formally, “This plane isn’t equipped for a water landing. If we crash, we’re better off doing it on land.”
“You’re saying we’re going to crash?”
Oh shit. He should have watched his wording. “No, I’m saying I think you should go back to the cabin and buckle up. Don’t you have some work to do?”
That was how Lincoln usually spent the flight. Sometimes “working” meant flying his buddies to check out investment opportunities, and sometimes it was just him on his laptop or his phone. But either way, his focus was on the inside of the plane, not what was going on outside. Maybe that was why he didn’t know they couldn’t land on water.
Before Rory had taken this job, which had involved signing a strict NDA, he’d done his research too. He didn’t want to work for someone unsavory, after all. Not even a million dollars would make that worth it. But Lincoln Kerr was pretty much a boy scout in his personal life. Sure, he’d been married a couple of times, but they were both women his own age. Imagine that. He drank moderately and didn’t do drugs. His one vice was his obsession with living as long as he possibly could, and really, who could blame him? He’d need extra time to enjoy all that money.
Lincoln ignored Rory’s advice. Shocker. “Can I sit there?”
He pointed to the empty copilot’s seat. The SyberJet SJ30 was one of the few light jets rated for single pilot operation, which was why Rory had switched to it at the last minute, when he’d lost his copilot. He’d been planning to fly the much larger Citation X, another of Lincoln’s fleet of private jets, but that one couldn’t be operated by a single pilot.
Rory shrugged as an air current lifted the plane, then dropped it about ten feet. “It’s your plane.”
Lincoln squeezed past him and settled his long legs into the copilot’s chair. “Flying solo into a storm. It’s a good thing you’re the best.”
“Amy’s probably thanking her lucky stars she was sick. That was one reason why…” He trailed off.
“Why you wanted to postpone this trip.”
Rory nodded, his focus almost entirely on the flight deck.
