Low Pressure

“During which I’ll be out of pocket. I’m afraid Daddy will take a turn.”

“If you get a call, we’ll charter a jet back.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You can afford it. You’re rich and getting richer.”

She said nothing to that. “But not telling them that we’re going feels devious.”

She had called Olivia en route to the Austin airport and had spoken to her father as well. Both had assured her that he was comfortable, that the drugs were working to curb the side effects of the most recent chemotherapy, and that for the time being he was holding his own. Even so, his oncologist had urged him to remain hospitalized so he could be closely monitored.

“I agree that’s best,” Bellamy had told her dad. “But I miss you.”

“Miss you, too, sweetheart. I’ve become accustomed to seeing you nearly every day.”

Although he had put up a brave front, he’d sounded feeble, which had only intensified her guilty feelings for leaving Austin without notifying them of her trip to go and see Steven.

With Dent setting the pace, they had practically jogged from the park back to her house, where he’d allotted her only five minutes to toss a change of clothing and some toiletries into a bag before hustling her out to his car.

He wove through Austin’s insane traffic at seventy miles an hour, which would have left her breathless with fright had she not been navigating the airline’s equally maddening telephone reservation lines.

The security check line had never been so long or slow moving. They made it to the boarding gate with only minutes to spare. Bellamy insisted on sitting on the aisle, telling Dent she didn’t like the window. He’d said God forbid that she look out and spot a cloud.

They’d been bickering ever since. Now she said, “You didn’t even give me time to think about it.”

“If you’d thought about it, you wouldn’t have come.” He looked around the first-class cabin. “Where’s the flight attendant?”

“The seat belt sign hasn’t been turned off yet.” She spoke absently because her mind was elsewhere. “The man in the pickup—”

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“Neither did I. You were driving too fast. All I caught was a glimpse of his tattooed arm, which was propped in the open driver’s window.” She paused, then said, “It could have been a coincidence that he was going in the direction of my house.”

“It could have been.”

“But you don’t think it was.”

“Put that truck in some areas around Austin, and it would fit right in. In your neighborhood, in the municipal park…” He shook his head. “Uh-uh. What was a guy like that doing cruising the streets of white-bread suburbia? Looking for his lost pit bull?”

Anything else they said would’ve been speculative, so there was no point in discussing it further. Besides, Dent’s fidgeting had become annoying. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Then… Oh.” Suddenly she realized why he was so restless. “You dislike being a passenger. You want to be piloting the plane.”

“Damn right.”

“Are you still qualified?”

“Qualified, yes. But no longer licensed for this size jet. I’d have to be retyped.”

“But you could fly it.”

“In a heartbeat.”