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.
As Stormy stepped off the escalator, she was immediately assailed by oblivious passengers, the smell of coffee, and the sound of a gate agent getting reamed by an unhappy customer.
Yes, it would obviously be another long day of coffee drudgery, pushy passengers, and egotistical pilots. She could handle most of it, but the pilots were the absolute worst.
When she first started working here, she’d found them fascinating—a great number of them were sexy, confident, and downright charming. It didn’t hurt that they were well paid, flashing bulging wallets at the coffeehouse and flaunting expensive watches and sunglasses.
By her third week, though, she’d discovered that most of the pilots made no secret about wanting one thing only. A lot of them had a different girlfriend in each city on their routes.
She absolutely wanted no part of that. She’d rather be single than be some arrogant man’s plaything. After she’d turned down several “kind” offers, they’d finally taken the hint and stopped asking her for dates—or one-night stands, if she was being honest. Yes, she’d had one of those, but that was in the past.
Stormy had just signed into her register when a man in a clean, pressed button-up shirt, impeccably tailored even to the most stringent of military standards, walked into her field of vision.
His gleaming gold pilot’s wings adorned the left side of his broad chest, and above his right chest pocket he wore a bright name badge with the words “Captain Armstrong, Trans Pacific Airlines.”