Turbulent Intentions Page 5

  “Yep, she is. I hate seeing her living all alone. She should be settled down, having a nice young lad to help carry some of her burden. The forty years I spent with my beautiful wife before the Lord decided she needed to be elsewhere were the best years of my life,” Sherman said.

  “I can’t imagine what would happen to me if I lost my Katherine,” Joseph said.

  “I still miss Betty every single moment of each day. Now, I find joy with other people, but it’s never going to be the same. She was my soul mate and there’s no replacement for her. Everyone should have that at least once in their lifetime.”

  “I agree, Sherman. I fully agree,” Joseph told his friend.

  The storm began to clear and the two men heard a jet fly over them. Sherman looked up at the sky with a bit of envy.

  “You still miss it, don’t you?” Joseph asked, completely understanding.

  “Oh, I miss it each morning I wake up,” Sherman assured his friend.

  What felt like many years before, Sherman had been a pilot for the military, and then privately, crop dusting fields and eventually flying jetliners. He’d soared high above the clouds, leaving all his cares on the ground as he sat behind the controls of a powerful jet engine.

  There were days he’d give just about anything to be up there again, trying to beat the morning sun as he rushed down a runway at one hundred plus miles per hour.

  Pulling a keychain out of his pocket, he handed the faded blue ring to his friend. The scratched letters of Pan American were still printed on the face.

  “I remember this,” Joseph said with a laugh.

  “I spent a lot of years with them. It’s the keepsake I refuse to let go of,” Sherman said.

  “We all need to have keepsakes from the good old days. But Sherman, when your nephews are married and bringing more family home to you, then you won’t look so much at the past anymore. I love my present and I look forward to the future,” Joseph assured him.

  “I think you are absolutely right, Joseph,” Sherman said. He put the keychain away and smiled. And then he grabbed a pen and paper and smiled even more broadly.

  Let the matchmaking begin.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Stormy was startled from her short slumber by what sounded like someone trying to break down her apartment door. She had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning after getting home late from work.

  Laying there a few more moments, she was furious when the pounding continued. Who would be so rude at such an early hour? It was only seven o’clock. Finally, when the noise continued on for what seemed to be forever, she threw off her covers with a frustrated sigh and stood up.

  Glancing again at the vintage alarm clock, which was sitting on two upside-down milk crates covered with a piece of blue fabric, she realized only a minute had passed.

  Throwing herself back down on the bed, she refused to answer her door, though she was now wide awake. She wouldn’t reward the person’s rude behavior by acknowledging his or her presence.

  When five minutes passed and the intruder still refused to leave, she finally got up and pulled her pink terry cloth robe around her to stomp across her cold, worn wooden floors. She passed through her sparsely furnished, small living room and stood in front of her door.

  “Whoever is out there can get the hell away from here before I cock the shotgun I’m currently holding,” she said, hoping her voice sounded a lot braver than she felt.

  Silence greeted her statement.

  “I’m not kidding. I grew up on an army base and I know how to use this thing,” she lied as she looked down at her sweaty palms. She didn’t even own a gun, but the person on the other side of the door didn’t know that.

  Her neighborhood wasn’t the worst in town, but it most certainly wasn’t the best.

  Several seconds passed—they seemed like freaking eons—and Stormy put her ear to the door. Only silence greeted her now. Great! The jerk had woken her up and now was running scared.

  Maybe she should make a recording of her small speech and keep it at the ready for anyone stepping in front of her door before the hour of ten a.m.

  Her hands still a bit shaky, Stormy made sure her security chain was tightly locked in place. Finally, she cracked her door a couple of inches. She peered down the hallway as far as she could see and found no one out there.

  Had she scared the person off? That thought pleased her immensely. She was one tough girl. Yay for her.

  Still, she really wanted to know what all the pounding had been about. “Is anyone out there?” she called out. Not a whisper could be heard in return.

  A little bucked up, she slowly removed the chain and opened her door wide enough to look out to the other side of the hallway. The sound of the door creaking open gave her goose bumps, but when she looked down both sides of the hall, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she immediately suspected that the creepy college dropout who lived a few units down might have been playing a prank on her. He never had a shortage of cheesy pickup lines or dirty jokes to share with anyone of the female gender. Perhaps he had just hammered on the door before heading out, thinking that he was being amusing.

  Just as she began to turn and close the door, a flat white object on her mat caught her eye. Holding her robe closed with one hand, she reached down with the other and picked up the envelope.

  Once safely back inside, with her lock securely in place, she noticed that the return address was the rental office of her building. She walked back to her bedroom, which was little more than an alcove with no wall or door.

  Wondering what the management could be sending her, she tore open the letter. She sat on the edge of her bed and hesitantly pulled the piece of paper out. Oh, how she hoped it was simply an announcement about sink repairs. No such luck.

  Dear Ms. Halifax:

  Remodel to begin in four days. This is your final warning.

  You must be out in seventy-two hours.

  Stormy’s heart sank in her chest as she crumpled the paper in agitation. She had known this was coming, but still, she’d hoped beyond hope she could get an extension. Finding an affordable place in Seattle wasn’t easy.

  But the new management was trying to spruce up the image of the building for some big investors who were coming in. Dammit! When it rained, it poured. Since everything was going wrong anyway, she decided she would just let it all go and try to forget about it—for at least a solid ten minutes.

  It was time to get ready for work. Suddenly a loud clap of thunder erupted close by. She could hear a slight tapping on her window that was increasing in tempo. Fall was quickly approaching in Seattle, and the rainy weather was steadily increasing.

  Stormy was always invigorated by big storms, not fearful like so many other people. They actually helped to cheer her up, most likely because they were her namesake. She’d been born the night of a great thunderstorm and her parents had thought her name was literally coming to them from the skies. She had to admit, though, she’d rather watch a storm from a warm, safe place and not go out into the middle of it.

  She reminded herself again that it was a work day. Maybe it was good the management had woken her. With a sigh, she walked across the cold, broken tile of her bathroom. The bathroom was small and quaint, complete—har, har—with a toilet, a single shower stall, and a vanity that barely managed to hold her hairbrush and a few basic beauty products. It was a good thing she wasn’t into a lot of cosmetics and skin lotions.

  She turned the faucet on, then pulled the lever, bouncing on her toes as she waited for what seemed like forever for the small tank to send anything above freezing through the rusty pipes. When the water reached lukewarm, she jumped in, and then sighed when it finally matched her body temperature.

  It didn’t take long to get ready, and then she was off. The sooner she faced the wet, cold morning, the sooner she’d be out of it. There was a bright side.

  She arrived in the lobby just as the rain picked up to a sh
eeting downpour outside the old building.

  “Are you going out in that, darling?” one of her neighbors asked as she waited for the morning paper to arrive. The widow, Penny, whom Stormy had a soft spot for, had the same routine every single day.

  “Yes, I have no other choice,” Stormy replied.

  “You know, missy, if you don’t learn how to slow down just a little bit, one day you’re going to find that you’ve let life just up and pass you by.”

  Stormy could feel pressure behind her eyes at the words. “I know that. But sometimes you don’t have much of a choice but to keep on running,” she said sadly.

  “There’s always a choice, dear.”

  Reaching up to grip the pendant from her lost necklace, her hand fluttered away when she came up with empty skin. It had been six years and she still reached for it. The night she’d lost it, more of her dreams of becoming a jeweler had washed away. Sadness filled her at her neighbor’s words, more so than she cared to admit.

  “Sometimes, there’s really not a choice,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks for being there for me, Penny. Now, stay inside and keep warm.”

  She would actually do well to heed the woman’s advice. But she knew she wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sun’s rays pierced through the overcast sky as the rain began to subside, and the now warming pavement of Seattle’s well-traveled roadways produced puffs of steam that were whirled around by the cars rushing along.

  The light at a busy Broadway intersection turned red as a sexy Porsche 911 came to a stop just shy of the crosswalk. Drumming his hands impatiently on the steering wheel was the less than humble airline pilot Cooper Armstrong on his way to Sea-Tac Airport.

  Cooper was once again in a mad dash to get to work early. Of course the airplane needed his special attention, and there’d be no flight for the day without his presence. Sure, there were other pilots, but none as good as he was, he thought with a cocky smile.

  Within seconds, a car pulled alongside him to his left. Giving little thought to the vehicle, he calmly glanced over and saw the passenger window gliding down.

  Cooper waited to see how hot the woman was who was about to offer her phone number. But instead of a sexy brunette or smoldering redhead, Cooper saw his fellow pilot and good friend Wolf Young. Had he not been so distracted, he would have recognized the dark blue BMW M3 immediately.

  Wolf could be a little hotheaded, and he had a touch of arrogance. Hell, it was why the two of them got along so damn famously. But one thing they didn’t have in common was their idea of punctuality. Wolf certainly liked to push the envelope when it came to getting anywhere on time.

  “Are you still driving that grandma’s car, old man?” Wolf shouted over the sound of his revving engine.

  Cooper refused to take the bait—all of it, anyway. He wasn’t about to be late to work because Wolf had goaded him into a race.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Cooper said with a mocking smile.

  “Ha. My car will kick your car’s ass any day of the week.” Wolf revved the engine again for good measure.

  “Are you ever going to grow up, Wolf?” Cooper asked, though he could feel the adrenaline racing through his veins at his friend’s obvious challenge. Damn . . .

  “I sure as hell hope not,” Wolf shouted. “I’m racing. Let’s see if you can keep up.” And his window began to go up, though only partway.

  To his great frustration, Cooper felt his ego taking over his decision-making processes. Just as his friend knew would happen. And though Cooper hated that his reactions were so predictable, he couldn’t seem to stop his next words.

  “Fine, you want to find out what this grandma’s car can do, Wolf? You’d better prepare yourself for defeat.” Cooper shut his window. He could picture the excitement on Wolf’s face, and heard Wolf gun the motor in anticipation of starting.

  The two men watched as the traffic on both sides of the street began to slow, indicating their light was about to change. Both cars surged forward, only held back by their feet on the brakes, as they prepared for the first sign of a green light. Time seemed to stand still, then the light finally changed.

  In an almost simultaneous motion, Cooper and Wolf dumped their clutches and stomped on the gas pedals. With a roar, their cars leapt from the white line. The sound of squealing tires and the smell of smoke filled the air as both cars sped off.

  Cooper glanced at his speedometer, which was climbing quickly to 65 miles per hour as they barreled down the city streets. Their cars darted in and out of midmorning traffic, getting everything from the middle finger to honking horns. Cooper knew in the back of his mind that he’d seen police officers on this road, but his boyish arrogance would never allow him to slow down.

  Wolf made a sudden attempt at a pass, while Cooper responded with a sharp maneuver to block him. The sound of Wolf’s engine downshifting could be heard as Cooper watched him in the rearview mirror. His lead grew as he pushed his Porsche even harder.

  Cooper knew that Wolf would do anything to win. He’d raced the guy before and had learned a few of Wolf’s tricks and strategies. Come on, Wolf, make your next move, Cooper silently taunted as they approached the on-ramp to the freeway.

  Although the traffic was somewhat heavy, the open expanse of the freeway was a golden opportunity. This is your chance, Coop. Give it all she’s got. He quickly shifted into third gear as he turned onto the ramp, looking back to see Wolf only inches away.

  The cars surged up the ramp, both engines growling as they were pushed to their limits. As Cooper crested the top of the ramp, he refused to be fazed by all the sounds of disapproval. In fact, he accelerated past 100 miles per hour.

  Cooper’s confidence about his upcoming victory was quickly squashed by the sight of Wolf’s shiny grille in his rearview mirror. Deciding it was time for some dirty tactics, Cooper cracked an evil smile as he noticed a large truck with its turn signal on that was moving into his lane.

  Without hesitation or fear, Cooper shifted into fourth gear and hammered down on the pedal. The sound of gravel could be heard under his car as he swerved around the merging truck and slightly onto the shoulder.

  Try that on for size! Cooper could see Wolf and his blue car swerving from side to side while attempting to find a hole. He sped off, taking full advantage. After a couple of minutes he figured he’d won, free and clear.

  Glancing in his mirror, Cooper could no longer see any sign of Wolf. Looks like you gave up too easily, my frie—what the . . .

  Cooper could see a BMW fast approaching from his right side, like a bullet fired from a gun. Cooper knew there’d be glee on Wolf’s face, taunting Cooper as he drove. His heart pounding, Cooper pressed his engine as hard as it would go.

  His focus turned back to the road in front of him in time to notice the distinct sky-blue nose of a Crown Victoria protruding from the vegetation lining the median. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a run-in with the local police department, and he was only too familiar with those cars.

  To prevent a catastrophic ticket, another bad mark on his driving record, he quickly downshifted and applied the brakes. With a slight chirp of the tires, he slowed to just five miles per hour over the speed limit in the knick of time.

  He looked back at his rival and friend as the gap between them began to close at a quick rate. Cooper noticed Wolf wasn’t slowing as he moved to the left lane to make his victory pass.

  Knowing Wolf didn’t need any more stressors in his life, Cooper did all he could to point out the police cruiser. He soon realized his warnings were going unseen as Wolf kept on speeding, his focus too narrow to care.

  You fool; you couldn’t say I didn’t warn you, Cooper thought as he watched Wolf’s brake lights glow and his tires smoke in what looked like a panicked deceleration.

  Yes, the police cruiser lit up with flashing red and blue lights and pulled out, maneuvering behind Wolf’s car, signaling him to move to
the shoulder. Cooper, now safe, took the next exit to the airport.

  He glanced at his large aviator watch as he pulled into the airport employee parking lot. He was on time, since his street-racing session had ended with little cost to his normal commute. He pulled into his usual spot and stepped from the car looking absolutely impeccable in his hand-tailored uniform.

  Catching the first employee shuttle bus he could find, he sat quietly with his flight bag and suitcase positioned neatly beside him. Since he’d been flying out of the Seattle airport for the better part of six years, he had his daily routine down to a science. Even if he had been off for the past month on vacation.

  Still, it was almost choreographed. He showed his identification, passed through the screening checkpoint, and headed for the coffee shop.

  He’d deal with his friend soon enough. For now, it was back to work. Still, he had to admit that the race had been a good rush, taking away some of the boredom of the drive he knew so dang well that he could do it while asleep.

  Now it was back to the real world.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The taxi pulled up in front of the Sea-Tac terminal after a nauseating ride, swerving in and out of traffic and around single-minded travelers. Stormy Halifax tossed the driver his money, two hours worth of work gone in twenty minutes of wasted time on the commute, and leapt from the cab, running straight for the front entrance of the airport.

  She was all set to begin her average day with its monotonous routine. She was one of the baristas at a small latte shop, Republic Coffee, located in the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. The small and quaint café was nestled in between the food court and a local gift shop.

  Stormy had been at her job for only a month, but it was such a hassle to get there that she wasn’t sure she even wanted the job to last anymore. If only she didn’t need the money so desperately.

  The airport was a bustling madhouse with an endless sea of people on what seemed to be a busy travel day. Republic Coffee stayed fairly busy throughout the day because it was near the top of the escalators and the main entranceway to a majority of the airline gates after security.