Page 49 of Shared By the Pilots

The traffic heading south out of Cancun was much worse than heading north, and we were stuck in the gridlock for over an hour. By the time we got to the Moon Palace Resort, we had missed our massage reservation, and there wasn’t time to rebook. And to top it all off, the taxi fare was close to a hundred dollars.

“Google Maps says it’s some sort of ecological park,” I said when we sat down to lunch at the oceanside restaurant at the resort. “At least, I’m assuming that’s what Parque Ecológico Kabah means. But that’s very clearly a front for whatever they’re—”

“Veronica.” Luke’s tone cut me off like a knife. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Come on. Wasn’t that fun? It was like a little adventure.”

“Adventure?” Luke scoffed. “Adventure?”

I put my phone down. “I’m sorry you missed your massage. I was looking forward to it, too. How about we have a nice lunch, and then I’ll find a way to make it up to you with your owneroticmassage?”

The server came by, and I ordered a white wine. Luke ordered water.

“This isn’t about the massage,” he said when we were alone again. “We can’t stalk our customers.”

“Nobody saw us,” I said, although I was feeling a bit guilty about the entire thing. “We’re not going to get in trouble.”

“That’s not the point! An action doesn’t becomewrongwhen you get caught. It’s wrong regardless of the outcome.”

“Exactly!” I said. “And what that Alan Broussard guy is doing is definitely wrong. He just keeps getting away with it.”

Luke let out a frustrated noise. “Why are you obsessed with this?”

“Why are you not?” I shot back at him. “Don’t you wonder what’s in those suitcases?”

“It’s not my job to know,” he said simply. “It’s my job to fly the plane from one airport to another. It’syourjob to make sure they’re happy on the flight. The one thing that’s definitely not either of our jobs is to butt into their business for no reason.”

“They’re doing something illegal,” I insisted. “I’m certain of it. There’s no other explanation for shuffling those suitcases back and forth.”

“There are plenty of explanations. Maybe he has an extensive baseball card collection and is meeting with someone to sell them.”

I snorted. “You’re letting your imagination get the best of you?”

“Me?” Luke almost knocked his plate off the table as he gesticulated. “YOUare the one with the imagination, believing this is some international drug ring!”

“Keep your voice down!”

“If they were doing anything with drugs, the authorities would notice. Trust me, I have friends who work for the DEA. You can’t get away with that in the US.”

“Oh, the authorities would notice it? Just like they noticed your fake name, Captain Dricksen?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not illegal. It’s just a pseudonym to shield me from Gulf Air. All the actual paperwork is in my real name and social security number. Veronica, listen to me. You’re going to get us in trouble,” Luke said emphatically. “Stop butting into their business and go back to being a regular flight attendant.”

We ate the rest of our lunch in silence. Part of me knew he was right, that I was flirting with danger. He had every right to be afraid. Drug dealers weren’t known for being level-headed, especially in a foreign country.

But the curiosity was eating away at me. What was going on in that park?

The flight home also passed in mostly silence. I served the two passengers their drinks, but otherwise said nothing to them. They seemed to prefer it that way. Yet as the plane soared over the gulf toward Houston, I couldn’t get myself to focus on my crossword puzzle. There was a bigger puzzle going on, and I felt like I was one good clue away from solving it.

When we landed, I said goodbye to the two passengers and gave them the scripted spiel about hoping they fly with us again. Then, rather than exiting the plane with Luke and his co-pilot, I piddled around by the seats. Picking up crumbs, pretending to look busy while I watched the bags being unloaded on the tarmac outside. Broussard and his friend were very careful with the luggage, taking the time to move each bag together rather than individually. These were extra large suitcases, but they couldn’t have been heavy enough to require two people to move them. Something was definitely going on.

“Veronica?” came a familiar voice. “May I have a word?”

I whirled to find Bernie Langston standing in the doorway of the plane. Today, his smile was polite rather than genuine. I felt like a little girl who had gotten caught eating cookies for breakfast.

“Of course, Mr. Langston.”

This time he didn’t insist I call him Bernie; he simply gestured to two of the white leather seats that faced each other with a table in the middle. He sat down across from me and held his hands together in front of him.

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