Page 8 of Angel In Armani

“My dad’s a pilot. He used to take me up with him from when I was tiny,” Sara replied with a shrug. “I can’t remember ever not wanting to learn how to fly.”

For a moment she thought she saw him shiver but dismissed it. Overly confident gorgeous doctors didn’t do human things like shiver, after all.

“You never wanted to fly a plane?”

“Nah. Helicopters are more fun. Planes feel very … closed in. In a helo you’re closer to the sky.”

Another flash of lightning and the drumming on the roof bumped up a notch or two in volume. Right now the sky was a little too close for comfort.

“I guess,” Lucas said. He didn’t sound excited by the idea, either. “And is the Charles in Charles Air you or your dad?”

“Dad,” Sara said. She bit down on the desire to say more. About how it was meant to be her dad and her brother. Here in the dark little bubble of warmth of the car, it would be easy to relax and tell him all her troubles. About the exhaustion of trying to single-handedly run a business that needed at least two more people to function properly. Or dealing with a parent who wasn’t taking being out of action very well. Every time she saw her dad, even though he never said anything, Sara was sure he was regretting the fact that she was the one here to pick up the pieces instead of James. After all, sons were meant to be the heirs to the family business, weren’t they?

But James was dead and had been for six years now and there was nothing that either Sara or her father could do about that.

And tempting as it was to talk to Lucas as they drove through the darkness, she didn’t think crying on his shoulder was going to help keep his business. She bit her lip for a moment, pushing the bad stuff away again. She was aiming for Born and bred a pilot, not Can’t cut it. “Though really, it was my granddad. He flew a Sioux in Korea. That’s why Dad wanted to be a pilot.”

“Something in the blood, then.”

“I guess.”

“Have you always worked for your dad?”

She shook her head. “No, I did a tour in the army. I—watch out!”

Lucas swore and braked heavily. The car skidded but he steered into it like a pro and they came to a halt about a foot clear of the massive tree that lay across the road, blocking both lanes. Sara’s seat belt snapped her back against the seat.

“Fuck,” Lucas said. Sara could only agree with him, but she didn’t trust herself to speak just yet. She was too busy convincing herself that she was still in one piece.

He twisted toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sound of her heart beating was roaring in her ears but she wasn’t hurt. They hadn’t hit the tree. All was good. “Y-yes,” she managed.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?” He snapped his own belt free and leaned toward her.

She held him off with a hand. “I’m fine. But you need to move this car before someone else comes up behind us.”

“Shit. Yes. You’re right.” He straightened and pulled his seat belt back into place. He backed the car up and then swung it into a U-turn. “We need a safe place to stop. I can’t see what’s on the shoulder in all this rain.”

Sara couldn’t, either. The entire outdoors seemed to have turned into water sheeting from the sky. “I’m pretty sure I saw a motel sign a couple of miles back.”

“A motel?”

She waved back at the tree. “Well, we’re not getting past that. And while I’m sure this car has a fancy GPS that could get us onto some side roads, I’m guessing that there are only going to be more trees down. Same thing if we try to get back to Ellen’s.”

“I—”

“I know, you have to get back to the city. But it’s not worth dying for, is it? Let’s go to the motel and hope they have some rooms. You can get a few hours’ sleep and try again when it’s light. The emergency crews might have cleared this by then.”

She watched him think about it, his dark brows twisted in a scowl as he gazed out the windshield, and silently kissed her last hope of keeping his business good-bye. The tree was hardly her fault, but this night was turning into the kind of disaster that was guaranteed to make him wish he’d never heard of Charles Air. Or her. If he argued with her, she would politely ask him to take her back to the motel; then he could do whatever the hell he wanted. “I know this sounds like the start of every bad horror movie ever made, but the motel is our best option.”

His hands tightened on the wheel—her attempt at humor didn’t seem to have lightened the mood—but then he gave a single nod. “You’re right. This is too dangerous. We’ll try the motel.”

Chapter Three

The clerk manning the tiny reception area didn’t look like the type to have a dead mother stashed upstairs. He looked about twenty with a red baseball cap pulled down over dark hair and horn-rimmed hipster glasses looming large on his face. He was reading a photography magazine and listening to a static-interrupted weather station on the radio.

That seemed fairly sane.

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