of Britannia tour?”
“That diagram is not just any generic Bombardier schematic. It was torn from the handbook of the plane that services that specific tour.” She pulled the handbook from her desk and tossed it to him.
Dougal opened it to the back where the schematics were located and saw the jagged edges where the paper had been ripped out. It didn’t take a crime scene investigator to see that the torn segments matched. “Any clue as to who could be behind this?”
She shook her head. “I’m no stranger to controversy, you know that. There have been outspoken religious fundamentalists picketing my resorts, condemning them as hedonistic and wicked. Then there are the superkinky customers who threaten to sue me because Eros refuses to fulfill their illegal fantasies. My competitors are jealous of the way I’ve taken my father’s dated commuter airline model and given it a very profitable new millennium makeover. But many on the board of directors are unhappy about this new direction. Making enemies is all part of doing business in the tourism industry.”
“This feels more personal.” He fingered the torn pages. “For one thing, how did they get access to the jet’s handbook?”
“I don’t know. That’s where you come in.”
“I’m not sure how my men are going to like dressing up and playing tour guide.”
“I understand it’s asking a lot. I’m willing to sweeten the deal.” She named a figure so high it was all Dougal could do not to blink in disbelief. “What do you say?”
He smiled. “How can I refuse?”
Taylor reached across the desk, rested her hand on Dougal’s forearm. “I want this person caught and I want my guests kept safe.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
“I’m counting on you.”
He got to his feet, thought about what happened in Germany and swallowed hard. He could do this. He had to do this. He’d learned from his past. He wouldn’t be played for a fool again. He met Taylor’s steady gaze and made her a promise. “You can depend on me. I won’t let you down.”
At that moment, a knock sounded on the door and before Taylor could say, “Come in” the door opened and a heavyset older gentleman, with a straight-shouldered military bearing, stepped over the threshold.
Immediately, Dougal saluted the former general who had once been his superior officer. “General Miller, sir.”
“Please.” The general waved his hand. “There’s no need for that. We’re both retired.”
Dougal relaxed his stance.
“How are you, Uncle Chuck?” Taylor asked and got up to give the general a kiss on his cheek.
“I’m just fine, princess.” He wrapped an arm around her waist.
“How’s Aunt Mitzi?”
“Blowing through all my money on a spa day with her friends.” He grinned at her, and then looked at Dougal. “Are you in the middle of something here? I thought I’d take you to lunch and you could tell me what’s going on with that sabotage business.”
“Actually, I just hired Dougal and his team to augment my security staff. I just received another threatening letter. This one targeting my air fleet.”
“Oh?” The general canted his head.
“I’ve started my own private air marshal service, sir,” Dougal explained.
“Ah.” Miller nodded. “Applying the lessons you learned about security after that mess in Germany.”
Was that a personal dig? The man’s tone made Dougal squirm in memory over what had happened. “Yes. And I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that Eros Air stays safe.”
“See that you do,” Miller said curtly. “See that you do.”
“HEY, HANDSOME, YOU CAN SHAKE your spear over here anytime you want.”
In light of that sexy remark, Dougal forced himself not to roll his eyes as a group of women filed onto the Bombardier CRJ200, chatting, giggling and finding their seats. The majority of them were young, rich and attractive. The red-haired woman who’d cracked the suggestive comment briefly met his gaze, then lowered her eyelashes, licked her lips and murmured, “Yummm-o,” before moving down the aisle.
It didn’t help matters that Dougal was dressed like Joseph Fiennes from Shakespeare in Love right down to the artsy, beatnik beard he was itching to shave.
After all, this was Eros Airlines and Fantasy Adventure Vacations and Taylor’s company’s catch phrase was Something Sexy in the Air. Other than the pilot and copilot, who were both pushing sixty, Dougal was the only male employee aboard. He felt like the last cut of prime beef in the meat market on the Fourth of July.
He was going to have to talk to Taylor. The puffy-sleeved shirt and skintight leather breeches were bad enough, but the facial hair simply had to go. Resisting the urge to scratch his jaw, Dougal greeted each guest with the requisite smile, welcoming them aboard with an affected British accent. It was going to be a long two weeks.
Look at the side benefits. You stand an excellent chance of getting laid.
Except he and his men had signed a contract with a morality clause. While they were encouraged to flirt with the guests, sexual contact was strictly prohibited. Dougal watched a provocative young woman with a great ass wiggle away and he hissed out his breath.
Damn that morality clause.
That was the moment Dougal spotted her.
The last one to board.
The one who didn’t belong.
She stood out like a single red rose in a field full of dandelions, all genteel and otherworldly, an escapee from the pages of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. He half expected to see unicorns and songbirds and butterflies trailing after her.
Her hair was raven’s-wing black, her skin pure alabaster, her eyes a stunning shade of ice-floe blue. She must be wearing contact lenses; no one’s eyes were that color naturally. She was dressed in a butter-yellow sundress made out of some soft, frothy material that caused his mouth to water. Dougal could taste the sugar-coated marshmallow bunnies and chickens his mother had put in his Easter basket when he was a kid.
Unbidden, he found himself imagining what she looked like underneath that springtime sundress. Did she have on white cotton panties with a sensible underwire bra? Or would he find a delightful surprise? Maybe a wicked scarlet bustier and G-string panties?
Dougal tilted his head. No, he decided. Pink satin tap pants and a matching camisole. Sweet yet sassy. A good girl longing for adventure but nervous about reaching out and grabbing what she desired.
And yet it was more than her ethereal beauty that set her apart from the others, and Dougal was trained to notice subtle differences. It was the serious, “all-business” slant to her slender shoulders and the determined set to her chin, as if she had something to prove. It was the perceptive expression in her eyes, the
