Read Online Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach by Rachel Brady - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rachel Brady
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leg dangling out the door, rifling through the glove box. He pulled out some papers and leafed through them, then reached in his pocket and produced a phone.
Marie’s voice came over the loud speaker. Load four was on a ten-minute call and she asked Craig to come to the office. I backtracked toward the crowd and heard the faint thud of a truck door slam behind me.
My packing spot was gone. The floor was covered wall-to-wall with gear in various stages of assembly and my rig had been moved to the sidelines. I didn’t mind being bumped; it was time for lunch anyway. I knelt by my gear bag and fished for my car keys. And, suddenly, I had the uneasy feeling I was being watched.
I turned, and Vince was standing in the open hangar door.
He still looked good in jeans and a cowboy hat, but this time it wasn’t the man that grabbed my attention. It was the Burger King sacks he was holding. He shook them subtly, like a child using treats to entice a cat. When he raised his eyebrows at me, the question was obvious.
Interested?
“I’ll give you fifty bucks for whatever’s in those sacks,” I said.
He smiled.
“Ain’t for sale,” he said with his slight drawl, “But I might share.” He wandered out the front of the hangar toward the soggy grass lot.
He never looked back. Where was he taking that food?
I followed him, still in my jumpsuit, and tried to unzip it and pull my arms out while hurrying after him.
“Glad to hear it,” I shouted to his back, struggling out of a sleeve. “The sides of my stomach are stuck together.”
“Said I
might
share,” he called back over his shoulder, and then he disappeared behind the corner of the hangar into the overflow parking area Craig was in moments earlier.
I tried to step out of my jumpsuit while keeping pace with Vince and his fast food, but I tripped and stumbled into the side of the hangar. My shoulder whacked its giant metal panel and made a thunderous
bong
. Thank God he was out of view.
I freed myself from the suit and rounded the corner.
Vince was opening the tailgate to the same truck Craig had searched.
He jumped into the back and sat on the bed’s plastic liner. His guitar waited there in an open case, next to the Yellow Lab. The dog had been lounging on a mound of old towels but now feverishly eyed the same sacks that drew me.
“I can’t believe you left your Martin in the sun. And next to four dirty paws…Aren’t you afraid—”
“Cindy loves music as much as I do,” he said with a dismissive wave. “In fact, we think a girl should sing for her supper.” His lips curved into a smile and he nodded toward the guitar.
Was he serious?
Cindy gave a friendly tail thump and sniffed the Burger King bags hard.
Vince reached into a bag and tossed her a couple fries, unwrapped a Whopper, and took an ungentlemanly huge bite. I looked from him to the guitar, and finally to the dog, who focused intently on Vince’s food.
Vince ate his burger as if sitting there all alone.
“Cat got your tongue?” He finished up a bite.
He squinted at me, the shadow from his cowboy hat not quite shielding his eyes from the noon sun. Looking at him too long felt a little bit like flirting. I glanced away and planted a hand on my hip.
“Come on,” he said. “Play us a song. Have lunch with me.” He punctuated the last sentence with another enormous bite of Whopper. A mayonnaise-coated chunk of tomato fell into his lap. Cindy took care of it.
“You want me to play a song for you, and then you’ll share?”
Still chewing, he only nodded. Cindy looked back and forth between us, panting.
“How about lunch first?” I said.
He held out his carton of fries and I grabbed more than a polite ration.
“There. Now please sing. Don’t be difficult.”
He smiled again. I tossed my jumpsuit onto the floor of the truck bed and climbed up. I tried to scratch Cindy behind her ears, but she’d only sniff my hands, searching for a handout.
I wiped my hands on my shorts
Marie’s voice came over the loud speaker. Load four was on a ten-minute call and she asked Craig to come to the office. I backtracked toward the crowd and heard the faint thud of a truck door slam behind me.
My packing spot was gone. The floor was covered wall-to-wall with gear in various stages of assembly and my rig had been moved to the sidelines. I didn’t mind being bumped; it was time for lunch anyway. I knelt by my gear bag and fished for my car keys. And, suddenly, I had the uneasy feeling I was being watched.
I turned, and Vince was standing in the open hangar door.
He still looked good in jeans and a cowboy hat, but this time it wasn’t the man that grabbed my attention. It was the Burger King sacks he was holding. He shook them subtly, like a child using treats to entice a cat. When he raised his eyebrows at me, the question was obvious.
Interested?
“I’ll give you fifty bucks for whatever’s in those sacks,” I said.
He smiled.
“Ain’t for sale,” he said with his slight drawl, “But I might share.” He wandered out the front of the hangar toward the soggy grass lot.
He never looked back. Where was he taking that food?
I followed him, still in my jumpsuit, and tried to unzip it and pull my arms out while hurrying after him.
“Glad to hear it,” I shouted to his back, struggling out of a sleeve. “The sides of my stomach are stuck together.”
“Said I
might
share,” he called back over his shoulder, and then he disappeared behind the corner of the hangar into the overflow parking area Craig was in moments earlier.
I tried to step out of my jumpsuit while keeping pace with Vince and his fast food, but I tripped and stumbled into the side of the hangar. My shoulder whacked its giant metal panel and made a thunderous
bong
. Thank God he was out of view.
I freed myself from the suit and rounded the corner.
Vince was opening the tailgate to the same truck Craig had searched.
He jumped into the back and sat on the bed’s plastic liner. His guitar waited there in an open case, next to the Yellow Lab. The dog had been lounging on a mound of old towels but now feverishly eyed the same sacks that drew me.
“I can’t believe you left your Martin in the sun. And next to four dirty paws…Aren’t you afraid—”
“Cindy loves music as much as I do,” he said with a dismissive wave. “In fact, we think a girl should sing for her supper.” His lips curved into a smile and he nodded toward the guitar.
Was he serious?
Cindy gave a friendly tail thump and sniffed the Burger King bags hard.
Vince reached into a bag and tossed her a couple fries, unwrapped a Whopper, and took an ungentlemanly huge bite. I looked from him to the guitar, and finally to the dog, who focused intently on Vince’s food.
Vince ate his burger as if sitting there all alone.
“Cat got your tongue?” He finished up a bite.
He squinted at me, the shadow from his cowboy hat not quite shielding his eyes from the noon sun. Looking at him too long felt a little bit like flirting. I glanced away and planted a hand on my hip.
“Come on,” he said. “Play us a song. Have lunch with me.” He punctuated the last sentence with another enormous bite of Whopper. A mayonnaise-coated chunk of tomato fell into his lap. Cindy took care of it.
“You want me to play a song for you, and then you’ll share?”
Still chewing, he only nodded. Cindy looked back and forth between us, panting.
“How about lunch first?” I said.
He held out his carton of fries and I grabbed more than a polite ration.
“There. Now please sing. Don’t be difficult.”
He smiled again. I tossed my jumpsuit onto the floor of the truck bed and climbed up. I tried to scratch Cindy behind her ears, but she’d only sniff my hands, searching for a handout.
I wiped my hands on my shorts
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