“So where’re we headed?” Linda asked as she slipped into the right-hand seat.
“Honduras.”
“Honduras!” Linda looked out the windscreen. “What the hell’s in Honduras?”
Irene laughed. “My parents, for one thing.”
Linda’s head came around. “You’re parents? They live in Honduras?”
Irene nodded. “The Bay Islands off the north coast. Dad bought Cayo Cochino Pequeña years ago, for his retirement. He built an airstrip and runs charters. Adventure travelers mostly: archaeologists, cavers, divers. It keeps him busy enough and outta mom’s hair.”
“And we can land there?”
Irene turned the radio back on and dialed a new frequency. “Here, give a listen. Cayo Cochino, Cayo Cochino. Do you read? Over.”
The radio crackled. “Hey, is that you doll? I read you.”
“Hi dad,” Irene answered. “You’re home.”
“Slow week for a change.”
Irene felt the warmth rise in her chest at the sound of her father’s voice. “The runway in shape?”
“Sure. As always. You planning a visit. It’d make your mother a happy woman.”
“Dad. I’m ’bout due west of Swan Island. I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Oh man.” Her father talked aside… “Do you hear that mother– Irene’s coming for supper.”
Irene laughed. “Tell her not to go to any trouble.”
Irene’s father relayed the message. “Your mother says she’ll make a stroganoff.”
“With mushrooms?” Irene asked.
“Is there any other way?”
“And dad,” Irene added with a note of caution, “tell mom to set an extra plate. I’m bringing a friend home and I hope you’ll love her as much as I do.”
Her father didn’t miss a beat. “If you love her, doll, we will too. You already know that. And a man can’t have too many daughters, can he?” he chuckled.
“I love you dad.”
“You had better.” Irene could imagined his smile. “The wind’s outta the northeast. You land from the south and you’ll have no problem.”
After all these years, he was still instructing her how to fly. She loved it. “See you soon, dad. This is November-two-seven-six-Alpha, out.”
Irene turned to Linda. “Well?”
Tears clung in Linda’s eyelashes. “I feel like I’m already home.”
Irene circled the island and under her father’s watchful eye, executed a perfect three-point landing.
Showoff! Mr. Ross smiled, stepped from the deck that ran the length of the house and went with the jeep for the girls.
They enjoyed a joyous reunion dinner of beef, noodles, mushroom gravy and glasses of the red wine Irene’s father had flown in from Venezuela. Her parents took to Linda immediately. Linda’s open expression and easy smile were captivating and Irene was pleased, watching as Linda won her dad over while outlining her work at MIT. Her dad was a pushover for a pretty girl and certainly a sucker for a bright mind.
Irene cleared the table and Linda set up her laptop. While Irene and her mother cleaned the kitchen, Linda and Mr. Ross hovered over the computer screen, excitedly crashing a simulated aircraft into the side of a mountain.
“They’re like a couple of kids on Christmas morning,” Irene’s mother commented while drying her hands. “I think your father has found the daughter he never had.”
Irene gave her mother a leveling look. “I could take that the wrong way.”
“But you won’t,” her mother confirmed with a self-satisfied smile. “You were never the selfish type, even as a small girl.”
Irene watched her dad at the keyboard. “Guess dad was always a bit of a techie and now he’s found someone to share his passion.” Irene turned to her mother. “I need to make a quick call to the States; let someone know I arrived safely.”
“Use your father’s office, dear, while I put coffee on. The sat-phone is on the desk.”
Irene pulled a chair up to her father’s desk and dialed the number in Chicago. “Mr. Roselli? Irene again. You asked me to stay in touch.”
“Irene? Thank god. You’ve got more lives that a damned cat. I got word Scirocco’s plane went down and figured you had to be flying it.”
“Scirocco and Sandro are dead, Mr. Roselli, floating in the Caribbean unless the sharks got ’em.”
There was a pause as Roselli digested the news. “I heard the Colombian girl missed and that Scirocco jumped island. So where are you?”
“I’m in Honduras and I got your plane. Trouble is, I’m not sure how to get it back to you.”
“That friggin’ tinker toy?” Roselli snorted. “I got news for you. The Casino is selling it. For a buck, if you’re interested. I can have my attorney draw up the papers. And I’ll throw in new registration. Hell, I’ll even loan you the dollar, ’til we hook up next time.”
Irene felt light-headed. “Mr. Roselli? You know how much that jet is worth?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “A buck.” And he hung up.
After coffee Irene took Linda by the hand. “Come. Walk with me. I want to show you something.” They headed up the path that would take them to Northwest Point. The soft trade winds tickled their skin as they strolled the prominent rocky point that overlooked the sea. A huge orange ball hovered low over the horizon weaving shades of red and purple into the night sky.
“It’s breathtaking,” Linda commented.
The ocean heaved fifty-feet below their feet. “I’ve always wanted to live right here. On this very spot,” Irene let out a slow breath. “That fancy computer of yours? Can we design a house together?”
Linda’s eyes circled. “You want to build a house? Where’d we ever get the money?”
“The plane’s full of money. More than we could ever spend.”
“You’re serious.” Linda went silent for a moment, made up her mind. “How about a little Hobbit House?”
“Perfect.” Irene slipped her arms around Linda’s waist. “Just like the one on Cracker-Jax, but with a difference.”
Linda eased closer. “A difference?”
“Sure, silly. We only need one bedroom.” Irene released her hold on Linda and moved closer to the edge of the promontory. She pulled a notebook from her shoulder bag.
“What’s that?” Linda asked.
Irene flung the book over her head. “History,” she said. And she watched the pages flutter as the notebook fell into the sea.
end
And coming soon from Jo-Anne Wiley:
… by a THREAD
Someone’s killing lesbians. And hoisting their quivering bodies into the trees where they hang like bazaar Christmas ornaments.
Victim No. 7 is a pretty accountant who makes one fatal mistake. On a lonely back-road, a short cut to Tijuana, Mexico, she finds herself suddenly stranded. When help arrives, the shocked girl is pulled from her vehicle.
Victim No. 7 is led into the woods, stripped of her clothes and suffers the indignity of having a stranger’s hands touch her body. Then the men show her the hook.
She sees the blatant look of intent in their eyes and knows this is more than a sexual assault. Much more. She realizes she is about to lose her life.
Naked and bloody, she falls to her knees and begs, then screams: An endless mindless shrieking; a piteous emotional release that does nothing but raise a heckle of laughter from the men. And then she is falling forward and unbelievably, her toes are scrambling for the pine needles. Somewhere, just left of her spine, she feels her flesh protrude. The skin, stretched to bursting, abruptly gives way. The steel slithers through; the burn is unbearable. Her pelvic bone takes the weight and, head down, she is hauled up, into the pine-boughs.
Also by Jo-Anne Wiley and available from Pink Flamingo Media:
Shutter-Buggered: Everyday women, like you, caught in the viewfinder. Bra loose in the crooks of your arms; pantyhose about your knees. A compromising situation to be sure. The click-buzz of the camera and suddenly someone wants a favor. What would you do to get those photographs back?
Don’t: A small indiscretion. A simple diversion during a busy workday. It should have been harmless fun. But you picked the wrong playmate. Now everything you know and love is threatened: Your job, your marriage, your children. Now, submission is the only way out!
Tomcat: A sexy cop with a big problem. And a bad attitude. Spanking her bottom wasn’t enough; they had planted the flower. Got it for the internet. Now, with nothing left to hide, it’s all up for grabs. With her body and self-respect hanging in the balance, she’s hot on the trail of a killer.
Poison: There’s the waxy taste again, numbing her lips; then a hollowness rides low down. Her nipples ache. And abruptly, her vagina is open territory. She is overwhelmed by the desire. Toxic toads, sultry nights, secret spy holes, beatings and a renegade priestess set to avenge a vendetta that has been smoldering for seventy years. The rhythm of the drums is interrupted…
Meat-Locker: The cops call it the meat-locker: the City Morgue. For the docs and nurses at Rosedale, it’s the refrigerated compartments in the basement. For a young girl who knows too much, it’s the end of the road. Hose her down to purge the last traces of sexual misconduct. Lay her on the steel rails. Slam the door. Turn down the cold. Listen to the muffled screams.
Joker’s Mistress: With one-quarter million on the table and a luscious body up for grabs, Kathrine presides over the most lucrative poker game in the Country. But the Hells Angels control the gaming on the Coast and consider Katherine a renegade; a fact made painfully clear when she is forced to eat her own lace panties. But Katherine isn’t quick to roll over. In a wicked double-cross, she ends up with more money than she can carry. Now all she has to do is get away with it. Unscathed.
Jazzed: When the ‘Dance Demon’ arrive in Moscow, they are met at the airport by General Yuri Chenkov who is immediately smitten: A dozen identical dancers. All are six-foot tall, sultry green-eyed brunettes with perfect thirty-six ‘C’ breasts. Same body type. Same challenging good looks.
Chenkov is stunned and confiscates their passports. Why settle for one dancer when he can have them all?
Now each girl must decide for herself what she is willing to do to gain her passage home.
Dark Angels: A coven of women with a perverse obsession and a redhead who presides over the rape-games. Lee finds herself drawn into this macabre web when her niece is brutalized. The lure of the girl’s sexual assault becomes Lee’s addiction: Books, movies, a survivors’ forum. And using a police scanner, Lee is always first at a rape crime-scene. But something goes horribly wrong: The women of the Coven are dying, victims of a sadistic killer.
When Lee is branded the next to die, she must race to unravel the secrets of the Coven; discover who would destroy it.