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He raised a clear plastic cup to his lips and breathed in the smell of lake water and old wood. Below his lowered lids, he watched luxury yachts and commercial trawlers slice through the orange trail that led to the dock rocking beneath Sean’s leather shoes. He sucked an ice cube into his mouth and dropped his hand to his side. A few feet away, the Sea Hopper rode gold-tipped waves like a frog on a shimmering lily pad.
Sean shoved the ice cube into his cheek and asked over his shoulder, “How much longer?”
The owner of the seaplane, Jimmy Pagnotta, answered, “Ten minutes,” without raising his gaze from the worn checklist in his hands. Sean had hired Jimmy a few times now. The guy always wore a World War II helmet and goggles to cover his man bun, and his Will Forte beard made him look like a cross between Charles Lindbergh and the Last Man on Earth. “Seven-forty-five at the latest,” he added.
A black titanium watch circled Sean’s left wrist, and he glanced at it as he crunched his ice. They were already fifteen minutes past the scheduled seven-fifteen takeoff. Sean hated waiting around, especially for people who couldn’t seem to get their shit together, and who didn’t give a thought to the chaos they caused everyone around them.
“Who did you say we’re waiting for?”
“I didn’t.” Jimmy opened the cockpit door and shoved the checklist into a side pocket.
The owner of the seaplane didn’t elaborate, and Sean turned his attention to the kayakers all bundled up in Patagonia and paddling past the Sea Hopper, toward the neighborhood of houseboats moored farther up the eastern shore.
Painted bright green, the amphibious aircraft had big red eyes above the cockpit and orange webbed feet on the sides. In warmer weather, the four-passenger floatplane was usually filled with tourists making a twenty-minute loop around the city. Half past every hour, people on the ground could look up and glimpse a flying tree frog gliding past the Space Needle or buzzing Bill Gates’s mansion in Medina. The billionaire’s property was a big draw for sightseers and a moneymaker for the tourism industry. Most people were impressed by the massive estate and beautiful grounds. Most people were awed by the obvious magnitude of wealth. Most people were fascinated by all the technology and toys that came with it.
Sean Knox was not most people. He wasn’t impressed or awed by much. Not by a brilliant sunset or a sixty-six-thousand-square-foot mansion. He’d been poor and now he was rich. He preferred being rich but he wasn’t awestruck by wealth. He was seldom careless with money. Some might call him a tightwad, but he saw himself as practical. He’d paid the pilot of the Sea Hopper three times the price of a commercial flight because it made sense. The chartered floatplane cut eleven hours off the traditional route to the small town where he’d lived the first ten years of his life. Sandspit, British Columbia, wasn’t exactly a hub of activity, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone else in Seattle was in a rush to get there this time of year.
This was the second time he’d chartered the seaplane since signing with Seattle last month. He hadn’t planned on making the trip again so soon and he wasn’t about to let the chaos that awaited suck him into staying longer than the two days he planned. He’d packed only a small duffel, a bottle of Grey Goose, and a six-pack of Schweppes tonic water.
“It’s been ten minutes.” He drained the cup and turned toward Jimmy. “Maybe your passenger isn?
??t going to show up.”
“It’s been less than five.” The pilot pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his bomber jacket and glanced at it for several seconds. “I wouldn’t have agreed to a second passenger if it wasn’t an emergency.” He turned his attention toward shore as if he waited for some sort of signal.
Emergency or not, Sean hoped like hell the person they were waiting on wasn’t trying to drive from anywhere within a twenty-mile radius of downtown Seattle. If that was the case, the other passenger was probably stuck in chaotic traffic due to that shitty show, Gettin’ Hitched, and the mob surrounding the Fairmont Hotel, fighting for a glimpse of the latest reality show couple and cheering like the Seahawks had won the Super Bowl again. NBC had even set up jumbotrons downtown so fans could capture the happy couple exchanging their vows on live television with the rest of the country.
Sean had never watched the television program, but he couldn’t escape it. Gettin’ Hitched fever had spread across America faster than a virus in flu season, and it seemed everyone but him had become infected. Even the guys in the Chinooks locker room had talked about each episode like they were getting paid for their own personal recap and review. They’d discussed the scheming and backstabbings and had placed bets on which girl would be sent home each week. Of course, their interest had a lot to do with Lexie Kowalsky. Some of the guys knew Lexie, and her ability to back-check and deke the other bachelorettes off the show made them proud. It was probably no coincidence that the daughter of John Kowalsky had the grit and determination to cut each girl off at the knees and had won the privilege of gettin’ hitched on live television.
Sean had never met Lexie. She’d been three weeks into a ten-episode season when he’d signed with the Chinooks. He’d seen her, though, on commercials and magazine covers and on mobile billboards driving around Seattle, every pixel photo-shopped, bright white teeth, brighter blue eyes, perfection from the top of her blond head to the tips of her pink toenails. She looked bigger than life, sitting on a tractor and towing a man all trussed up in baling twine. The guy had a stupid smile on his face that made him look like a real pussy. No way on earth Sean would ever agree to something like that. He didn’t care if he was being judgmental. Those two had signed up to be judged. His verdict: The bride was probably dumb as the billboards, the groom was likely a pussy, and both were as fake as their shitty show.
Sean felt the vodka kick up his comfy glow a few more notches. Lexie Kowalsky probably wasn’t as pretty in real life as in pictures, and those boobs that practically fell out of her shirt in every photo were likely bought and paid for with her daddy’s money. If Coach Kowalsky wasn’t such an asshole, Sean might actually feel sorry for the guy.
It had been no secret that Kowalsky hadn’t wanted to trade Kessel and Stamkos for Sean, and the thought of John “The Wall” dressed up in a tuxedo and forced to perform in the Gettin’ Hitched chaos brought a smile to Sean’s lips.
Sean turned his attention from the parking lot to Jimmy. “What kind of dire emergency can there possibly be that someone has to get to Sandspit in a hurry?” He took off his sunglasses and shoved them in the pocket of his jacket. “A local jam or jelly heist?”
“What?” Jimmy glanced at Sean, then returned his attention to the shore. “Not necessarily dire, but I . . .” Jimmy’s voice faded to a whisper. “Holy shit. We’re a go.”
Sean’s gaze followed Jimmy’s as a silver MINI Cooper screeched to a stop in the parking lot. The door flew open and a white pouf erupted from the car like an old-school pan of Jiffy Pop. The pouf struggled for several seconds, expanding and growing, then it practically fell from the car, getting poufier. The whole scene was so unreal, Sean half expected clowns to start jumping out, one after another, honking party horns, and acting like fools. Yeah, Sean was a little drunk. Maybe more than a little, but he wasn’t stupid drunk. He wasn’t hallucinating drunk. Just to make sure, he said, “Tell me you’re seeing what I’m seeing.”
“Yep.” The driver stuck a hand out the window and waved as if signaling something. Jimmy waved back, and the MINI Cooper sped away, leaving behind all that pouf. The setting sun reflected within the pouf like twinkly lights, and the cold breeze caught the ends of a veil and whipped it about a woman’s head. At least Sean assumed it was a woman as he watched her swat at the veil like she was being attacked by bees. In all that over-the-top froth and twinkles, it could be a drag queen, he supposed. All at once, it spun right then left, bent forward, grabbed an armful of dress, and sprinted toward them.
“Get in. We’re taking off.”
“What?” Satin and gauzy veil swirled around and behind her as she raced across the parking lot and stepped onto the long dock. Sean raised a hand to shield his eyes from the pinpoint reflections in that horrible dress. “We’ve been waiting for that?”
Without answering, Jimmy scrambled into the Sea Hopper’s cockpit and fired the engine. The steady tap-tap-tap of the woman’s heels on the wavering dock was drowned out as the three-blade propeller began to slowly spin.
“Get in!” Jimmy repeated himself as he jumped onto the dock again. He held a pair of headphones and shoved one at Sean. “We’re out of here,” he said, his voice as urgent as a drug smuggler’s with the federales on his ass.
Sean took the headphones but couldn’t take his eyes off those long legs and glittering pumps. The dock swayed on the waves, and Sean expected those high heels to wobble, snap an ankle, and pitch the woman into the lake.
“Get in,” Jimmy repeated himself. With one last look at the woman, Sean stepped onto the struts and entered the small cabin. Jimmy had removed the first row of seats for comfort, but the plane was still fairly cramped. At least it was for a six-foot-two man who weighed in at two-twenty. He took the starboard seat and slid the Bluetooth headphones around the back of his neck. They reminded him of the Monster Beats he wore when he worked out, only these were more high-tech and had a slim microphone that sat at the corner of his mouth. He ducked his head to look out the double windows as he hooked the earphones over the backs of his ears. Sean had seen some crazy shit in his life, but this ranked right up there with singing dogs, talking fish, and elephants playing basketball.
Several moments passed before all that white appeared in the windows. The sound of the propeller grew louder, the blades lashing the water and whipping that veil around the woman’s face. Jimmy fought all that gauzy froth, then she disappeared. Sean wondered how she was going to get herself and all that pouf into the Sea Hopper. He fit the headphones’ small gel cups in his ears and adjusted the microphone at the left corner of his mouth. A few moments passed, and then all that gauze got shoved headfirst through the door. Through the headset, a female voice ordered, “Push, Jimmy!”
Sean might have offered to help if he knew where to grab. All he could see was the top of a rhinestone crown, a mass of blond hair, and yards of veil. He didn’t think he should pull her in by her hair. He was a nice guy that way.
