Not Quite Crazy
Page 44
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“You must be Rachel Price.”
“I am. It’s nice to hear a familiar language.”
“Mr. Fairchild told us you’d be here. I’m Louis, and this is Isa. We’re part of the crisis team. Are there any changes?”
“No. Not really. We have a crisis team? I didn’t think we had a need.”
“It’s new. Part of the relief effort sector.”
Isa offered a soft smile. “I’m a clinical psychologist and fluent in four languages.”
Rachel was impressed.
“And I’m big and scary and double as a bodyguard.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.” And she didn’t.
He grinned. “I’m here for Isa. But Mr. Fairchild wanted me to see you to the car so you could go back to the hotel and rest.”
“I was just about to take that trip alone. The last thing I want to do is fall asleep in the lobby.”
They said their good-byes, and Rachel left the noise and smell of the hospital.
Once on the road, Rachel was grateful that San José, Costa Rica, had private drivers in relatively normal cars. But as the city passed by, she noticed people driving around in cars that would have been found in abandoned alleys without a license plate back in the States. She had felt safer driving into the city with Jason by her side than she did now, alone in a strange car.
Still, it didn’t take long for the driver to pull into a hotel turnaround and open the door for her.
It was a Morrison, which after the previous evening didn’t surprise her. At the desk, she gave them her name, and they handed her a key.
An attendant swiped her key inside the elevator and escorted her to the top floor.
There were only three doors in the short hall. She found the one with her number and quietly opened it.
She didn’t need to act like a mouse.
It was a penthouse suite with everything one would expect in the US.
She heard snoring coming from one of the rooms and poked her head inside. Nathan lay on his back, his mouth slack with sleep.
After a little more investigation she found Owen curled up on his side in another bedroom, the curtains open and the lights from the city drifting in.
The master bedroom held a king-size bed that called her name. The suitcase she’d packed, along with the one Jason had tossed together, sat in the corner of the room.
Instead of jumping right in bed, she made use of the minifridge and snack basket.
Before sliding under the covers, she sent Jason one more text, telling him she’d made it to the hotel.
Attempting to stay awake for Jason proved impossible, and she gave in to the night.
Sometime, very early in the morning, Rachel felt Jason’s arm around her waist.
For a brief moment, she wondered if he’d just gotten in . . . but then she realized he was already sound asleep, his deep, even breath brushing against her neck in quiet comfort.
She smiled at the thought of him beside her. She was acutely aware of how comfortable she felt. In a foreign country, sleeping in a bed with her boss . . . these things should put an itch under her skin. They didn’t.
Closing her eyes, she allowed sleep to find her again. Only this time, Rachel found a dream worth remembering when she woke the next day. The two of them were in his jet, she wore white, and he was in a tux. The taste of champagne sat on her tongue and warmth filled her heart. She lifted her heavy hand, noticed a shimmer on her left ring finger, and then the jet began to plunge from the sky.
Rachel woke with a start, her heart pulsing against her chest.
Costa Rica.
Jason in bed beside her.
Noise from the other side of the bedroom door.
Owen’s laughter.
She closed her eyes and forced her heartbeat to slow. But the memories of her dream lingered long into her day.
It took two days for Jason and his team to gather the truth behind the events leading up to the crash, and another two for the preliminary report from the International Civil Aviation Organization.
Rachel stood beside Jason as he spoke to the press. After thanking the media for coming and for displaying patience while they determined the exact reason Fairchild Charters flight 262 went down, Jason delivered all the information he could.
“First, we want to extended our deepest sympathy to the Lambert family. Wendy and Ron have been close friends for many years, and Wendy will be missed by everyone. Ron has already flown home, and we hope the press will grant him and his children their privacy as they work through the loss of a wife and mother.”
Rachel kept her face void of emotion, never letting the media see the thoughts she had inside.
“Toxicology reports have removed the chance of any drug or alcohol use as a reason for this unfortunate accident.” Jason lifted his chin slightly. “A combination of pilot error and passenger interference with the flight crew has been recorded as the cause of this accident. Fairchild Charters will increase our training safety procedures upon landing and takeoff as a result of this accident.”
Three men holding recording devices started to speak at once, all of them asking about the passenger interference part of Jason’s statement.
Jason held up a hand. “Every passenger on every flight, whether it’s with a private company or on a jet with five hundred other people, has a certain code of propriety that must be maintained for their own safety and the safety of others.”
“What safety procedure did the Lamberts ignore?” one overly large and loud reporter asked.
The others reached forward with their recording devices to wait for the answer.
Rachel saw Jason’s struggle with his reply. She knew he wanted to blurt out the facts but had to hold them in.
“It will all be in the written ICAO report.”
“Is it true that Wendy Lambert stormed the cockpit door?”
Jason spoke into the microphone one last time. “Thank you.”
Rachel scurried beside Jason as they were escorted away from the media. Another part of Jason’s team stepped up to the microphone to answer some, but not all, of the questions the media sought.
“Well done.” Glen patted Jason’s back once they were away from the crowd.
“I said a whole lot and a bunch of nothing.” Jason rolled his tired eyes.
“You told them what they needed to hear. The rest is in the report. Taking the heat off Fairchild Charters and displaying sympathy for the family was all we needed to do,” Glen said.
“I still can’t believe Wendy went off the way they said she did.”
“Telling your wife that you’re sleeping with the nanny while a plane is taking off wasn’t the wisest choice on Ron’s part.”
“Sleeping with the nanny trumps telling the wife,” Rachel said.
“Let’s hope for all involved that some of the facts never get revealed. Wendy going postal inside the jet is one thing, the copilot opening the door to determine what the threat was is on us.” From there, Wendy physically fought the man and then stormed the cockpit. According to the flight attendant, everything happened fast at that point. The plane lost altitude, and because they weren’t even at ten thousand feet, they dropped quickly.
“Any word on Albin’s condition?”
“No news from the neurosurgeon in Dallas,” Rachel told Glen. “And Roger is flying home tomorrow.”
“Then we’re just about done here,” Glen said. “If you want to go home now, I’ll stay and mop up the rest of this.”
Jason smiled at her. “I think it would be better if we stayed and cleaned up and if you went back to the office to determine what we’re returning to. I’d like any heat deflected off Rachel before we come back.”
“I am. It’s nice to hear a familiar language.”
“Mr. Fairchild told us you’d be here. I’m Louis, and this is Isa. We’re part of the crisis team. Are there any changes?”
“No. Not really. We have a crisis team? I didn’t think we had a need.”
“It’s new. Part of the relief effort sector.”
Isa offered a soft smile. “I’m a clinical psychologist and fluent in four languages.”
Rachel was impressed.
“And I’m big and scary and double as a bodyguard.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.” And she didn’t.
He grinned. “I’m here for Isa. But Mr. Fairchild wanted me to see you to the car so you could go back to the hotel and rest.”
“I was just about to take that trip alone. The last thing I want to do is fall asleep in the lobby.”
They said their good-byes, and Rachel left the noise and smell of the hospital.
Once on the road, Rachel was grateful that San José, Costa Rica, had private drivers in relatively normal cars. But as the city passed by, she noticed people driving around in cars that would have been found in abandoned alleys without a license plate back in the States. She had felt safer driving into the city with Jason by her side than she did now, alone in a strange car.
Still, it didn’t take long for the driver to pull into a hotel turnaround and open the door for her.
It was a Morrison, which after the previous evening didn’t surprise her. At the desk, she gave them her name, and they handed her a key.
An attendant swiped her key inside the elevator and escorted her to the top floor.
There were only three doors in the short hall. She found the one with her number and quietly opened it.
She didn’t need to act like a mouse.
It was a penthouse suite with everything one would expect in the US.
She heard snoring coming from one of the rooms and poked her head inside. Nathan lay on his back, his mouth slack with sleep.
After a little more investigation she found Owen curled up on his side in another bedroom, the curtains open and the lights from the city drifting in.
The master bedroom held a king-size bed that called her name. The suitcase she’d packed, along with the one Jason had tossed together, sat in the corner of the room.
Instead of jumping right in bed, she made use of the minifridge and snack basket.
Before sliding under the covers, she sent Jason one more text, telling him she’d made it to the hotel.
Attempting to stay awake for Jason proved impossible, and she gave in to the night.
Sometime, very early in the morning, Rachel felt Jason’s arm around her waist.
For a brief moment, she wondered if he’d just gotten in . . . but then she realized he was already sound asleep, his deep, even breath brushing against her neck in quiet comfort.
She smiled at the thought of him beside her. She was acutely aware of how comfortable she felt. In a foreign country, sleeping in a bed with her boss . . . these things should put an itch under her skin. They didn’t.
Closing her eyes, she allowed sleep to find her again. Only this time, Rachel found a dream worth remembering when she woke the next day. The two of them were in his jet, she wore white, and he was in a tux. The taste of champagne sat on her tongue and warmth filled her heart. She lifted her heavy hand, noticed a shimmer on her left ring finger, and then the jet began to plunge from the sky.
Rachel woke with a start, her heart pulsing against her chest.
Costa Rica.
Jason in bed beside her.
Noise from the other side of the bedroom door.
Owen’s laughter.
She closed her eyes and forced her heartbeat to slow. But the memories of her dream lingered long into her day.
It took two days for Jason and his team to gather the truth behind the events leading up to the crash, and another two for the preliminary report from the International Civil Aviation Organization.
Rachel stood beside Jason as he spoke to the press. After thanking the media for coming and for displaying patience while they determined the exact reason Fairchild Charters flight 262 went down, Jason delivered all the information he could.
“First, we want to extended our deepest sympathy to the Lambert family. Wendy and Ron have been close friends for many years, and Wendy will be missed by everyone. Ron has already flown home, and we hope the press will grant him and his children their privacy as they work through the loss of a wife and mother.”
Rachel kept her face void of emotion, never letting the media see the thoughts she had inside.
“Toxicology reports have removed the chance of any drug or alcohol use as a reason for this unfortunate accident.” Jason lifted his chin slightly. “A combination of pilot error and passenger interference with the flight crew has been recorded as the cause of this accident. Fairchild Charters will increase our training safety procedures upon landing and takeoff as a result of this accident.”
Three men holding recording devices started to speak at once, all of them asking about the passenger interference part of Jason’s statement.
Jason held up a hand. “Every passenger on every flight, whether it’s with a private company or on a jet with five hundred other people, has a certain code of propriety that must be maintained for their own safety and the safety of others.”
“What safety procedure did the Lamberts ignore?” one overly large and loud reporter asked.
The others reached forward with their recording devices to wait for the answer.
Rachel saw Jason’s struggle with his reply. She knew he wanted to blurt out the facts but had to hold them in.
“It will all be in the written ICAO report.”
“Is it true that Wendy Lambert stormed the cockpit door?”
Jason spoke into the microphone one last time. “Thank you.”
Rachel scurried beside Jason as they were escorted away from the media. Another part of Jason’s team stepped up to the microphone to answer some, but not all, of the questions the media sought.
“Well done.” Glen patted Jason’s back once they were away from the crowd.
“I said a whole lot and a bunch of nothing.” Jason rolled his tired eyes.
“You told them what they needed to hear. The rest is in the report. Taking the heat off Fairchild Charters and displaying sympathy for the family was all we needed to do,” Glen said.
“I still can’t believe Wendy went off the way they said she did.”
“Telling your wife that you’re sleeping with the nanny while a plane is taking off wasn’t the wisest choice on Ron’s part.”
“Sleeping with the nanny trumps telling the wife,” Rachel said.
“Let’s hope for all involved that some of the facts never get revealed. Wendy going postal inside the jet is one thing, the copilot opening the door to determine what the threat was is on us.” From there, Wendy physically fought the man and then stormed the cockpit. According to the flight attendant, everything happened fast at that point. The plane lost altitude, and because they weren’t even at ten thousand feet, they dropped quickly.
“Any word on Albin’s condition?”
“No news from the neurosurgeon in Dallas,” Rachel told Glen. “And Roger is flying home tomorrow.”
“Then we’re just about done here,” Glen said. “If you want to go home now, I’ll stay and mop up the rest of this.”
Jason smiled at her. “I think it would be better if we stayed and cleaned up and if you went back to the office to determine what we’re returning to. I’d like any heat deflected off Rachel before we come back.”
