The Right Stuff. Lori Wilde
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her father had never once made her feel as if she was to blame. Taylor, however, couldn’t escape the knowledge that by being born she’d caused her mother’s death.
“Why couldn’t Rick and Elsa be together, Daddy?” she always asked at the end of Casablanca. “They loved each other so much.”
“That’s exactly why they couldn’t be together,” he’d say. Then he would kiss the top of her head and get a faraway look in his eyes. “When you love that deeply, you’ll sacrifice for the other person’s happiness. Even if it means that you have to be unhappy. That’s real love, when you can let go of your loved ones so they can be what they need to be.”
It was only years later, after her father had died, that Taylor found her mother’s journal in his safedeposit box and learned that her father had never wanted her mother to get pregnant. Lillian Milton been a brittle diabetic and doctors had warned she might not survive a pregnancy. But her mother had wanted a baby so badly and her father had loved her mother so much, he’d agreed to let her try. And in the process of letting her be what she needed to be, he’d lost her forever.
“You always lose the one you love, Taylor,” her father used to say. “Never forget that. You lose them. One way or another. Always.”
Silly. Fanciful. Thinking about the past. Taylor blinked back the tears that had formed along her eyelashes.
Thankfully, she heard her cell phone ring, distracting her from the sad memories. She flipped it open. “Speak to me,” she said to her executive assistant Heather Rheiss.
“The Italian resort had another incident.”
“What now?” Her third destination fantasy resort in Venice, featuring “Make Love Like a Courtesan” and its masculine counterpart, “Make Love Like Casanova” had been the target of several disturbing occurrences.
First off, malfunctioning smoke alarms had allowed a fire in the laundry room to go undetected until it had done several thousand dollars’ worth of damage. It was suspicious, because the smoke alarms had just passed inspection the week before.
Then, after one of the scheduled banquet feasts, several resort guests contracted food poisoning and had to be sent to the hospital for treatment.
And finally, the thing that had drawn her to Venice to check things out for herself; a Renoir was stolen from the resort because the security system had been turned off. The police suspected an inside job. She’d fired the manager, hired someone new and stayed a week to show them the ropes. The police had no leads in the theft and she’d filed an insurance claim.
Taken one by one, all the incidents seemed unconnected, but together, Taylor was starting to see a pattern. Was someone trying to undermine her resorts? She was no stranger to controversy. Outspoken religious fundamentalists denigrated her resorts and condemned them as hedonistic and wicked. Kinky customers threatened to sue because they thought Eros Air should fulfill their illegal fantasies. Competitors were jealous of the way she’d taken stodgy Milton Airlines and given it a stunning new makeover in the form of Eros Air. It was all part of doing business in the tourism industry.
“The new manager you hired caught an undercover exposé reporter posing as a guest.”
Taylor groaned. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Don’t worry, it’s been handled. The manager confiscated the photos he’d taken and threw the reporter out on his ear. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Heather. I appreciate the heads up.”
“No problem. Where are you now?”
“I’m almost at the air base. I’ll check in with you later.”
“I’ll be holding down the fort.”
Taylor closed her phone and followed the signs to the main entrance of the air base and stopped at the front gate.
“Name?” asked the security officer.
Pushing her designer sunglasses up higher on her nose with a freshly manicured fingernail, she gave him her most winsome smile. “Taylor Milton,” she said. “Colonel Grayson is expecting me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “General Miller ordered an escort to be waiting for you.”
“How kind of him,” she said.
“Just follow that jeep.” The security officer nodded at the vehicle that waited on the other side of the gate with the engine chugging. “He’ll take you where you need to be.”
“Thank you so much.” She wriggled her fingers goodbye as the airman raised the gate arm to let her pass.
The jeep led her through the Air Force base, past rows of tidy, spick-and-span, no-frills structures. The military had been a perfect fit for Daniel. His personality matched service life—straightforward, precise, no tolerance for anything or anyone who did not toe the organizational line. No wonder their relationship had crashed and burned. She was complicated, freewheeling, a true maverick. It was those traits that had made her such a success in the cutthroat airline industry. She did not play follow the leader very well.
In fact, when she saw the lettering on the building where she knew she was expected, she blew around the jeep with a wave of her hand and a brilliant smile for the startled young staff sergeant behind the wheel.
“Ciao,” she called out to the solider on her way past, still in Venice mode. “I can find my way from here, thanks.”
“Ma’am, ma’am, you need an escort!” he hollered, but she kept right on going. Rules were for military personnel. Not her.
She zoomed ahead, pulling into Colonel Grayson’s parking space in front of the administration building.
The young sergeant stopped his jeep behind her and came running over to her convertible. His face was flushed and he looked flustered. “Ma’am, this is a military base.”
“I’m aware of that.” She grabbed her purse, got out and gave him a dazzling smile.
“You can’t park here,” he said weakly. “It’s reserved for Colonel Grayson.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind. Where is he, by the way? I’m supposed to have a meeting with him.”
“N-n-no, ma’am,” the poor sergeant stammered.
“No?”
He shook his head and his face paled. Instantly, she felt sorry for him. Poor guy was probably terrified he’d have to pay the price because she didn’t follow the rules. She’d make sure to mention to the colonel that any violations were completely her responsibility. The young man shouldn’t be held accountable for her actions.
“Colonel Grayson’s not on the base this morning, ma’am. You’ve been reassigned to our second-in-command.”
“He’s passing me off?” she said it lightly, but she was irritated. Uncle Chuck had assured her she would have an audience with the base commander.
“I…he’s…”
“I’m the one who’s stuck babysitting the spoiled princess,” growled an arrogant voice from behind her.
Taylor spun around, ready to deliver a tonguelashing to the insolent man who’d interrupted her, but the second she laid eyes on him all the air left her body.
Daniel Corben.
Looking just as disturbed to see her as she was to see him.
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