Too Close For Comfort. Colleen Collins

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      The fellow did a funny salute. “You got it. I’m Wally.”

      Jeffrey smiled while trying not to stare at Wally’s blazing red plaid shirt. Maybe all Alaskans wore such shirts in case they got stuck in a snowstorm. “Flight to Arctic Luck,” Jeffrey said. “Four p.m.” He reached into the inner pocket of his Italian cashmere suit jacket, pulled out his wallet and extracted a credit card. “One. Jeffrey Bradshaw.”

      Wally took the credit card, giving Jeffrey an odd look. In certain circles, Jeffrey was accustomed to people recognizing him. At thirty-four, he’d held prominent executive positions at several global corporations, the most recent being Acquisitions Director at Argonaut Studios in Los Angeles. Just last month Forbes had done an article on how Jeffrey increased Argonaut’s profits in the third quarter by a phenomenal fifteen percent due to his innovative business ideas. The article even made Jeffrey look like a damn movie star by plastering a photo of him and a hot new television actor, Gordon Tork, on the cover.

      Not bad for a kid who grew up on the streets. But growing up tough had been a bonus for Jeffrey. He had both street savvy and business savvy, which meant he could deal with just about any type of personality thrown at him, from cons to CEOs.

      And this Wally fell somewhere in-between. A decent guy, probably born and raised in Alaska. So it would surprise Jeffrey if Wally, working at a one-person airport counter in remote Alpine, Alaska, had seen the Forbes article and recognized Jeffrey.

      As the card cleared, Wally continued staring at Jeffrey, then glanced behind his shoulder, then back to Jeffrey.

      Jeffrey looked over Wally’s shoulder into a square mirror where he caught his reflection. Strange. His neatly trimmed dark brown hair curled over his collar in the mirror. That’s when he realized it was no mirror, but a window. And he was staring into some guy’s face who was looking back at him, his hazel eyes flashing surprise.

      It was like looking into some kind of distorted reflection, as though Jeffrey were seeing a more craggy, weathered version of himself.

      Hell, it was like looking at himself. There was that damn cowlick he’d wrestled with his entire life, right at the crown of his—well, that guy’s—head. Even the size of his—well, that guy’s, too—ears. Jeffrey never thought his ears were that big, but several girlfriends had giggled they were the biggest, sexiest ears they’d ever whispered into.

      Jeffrey squinted.

      Yeah, that guy definitely had his ears.

      What were the odds that two men, in a chance encounter, looked alike, had matching cowlicks and the same big, sexy ears? Had to be less than one percent of the population of the entire world. No, even less than that.

      I’m losing it.

      He wiped his hand across his face, welcoming the cold jolt of snow crystals that still clung to his leather glove. Seeing transmutations of himself had to be the effects of the long flight from New York to Anchorage, then the commuter hop here to Alpine. Throw in some stale airline peanuts, and anyone would see things.

      Outside, the roar of an engine distracted him. His gaze shifted to another window, through which he saw a Cessna barreling at some insane angle toward the ground. Jeffrey was always aware of the impression he was making, but nothing could have stopped him from yelling an expletive and pointing toward the impending crash.

      “Looks like Thompson’s right on time,” said Wally.

      Stunned, Jeffrey watched as the plane jerked up at the last moment, its wheels miraculously touching the tarmac before the machine shuddered to a stop with mere feet of asphalt to spare.

      Jeffrey waited until his pounding heart leveled off. “Is Thompson the pilot flying to Arctic Luck?”

      “You bet.”

      “I want another flight.” No way in hell was he getting into some stunt pilot’s death-wish plane.

      “No other flights to Arctic Luck today.”

      “Is this an airport?”

      Wally paused, his clear blue eyes taking in Jeffrey. “It is.”

      “Then call whoever’s in charge. Get another flight here.” Jeffrey hadn’t graduated Princeton’s business school summa cum laude, and been a successful business maverick, without learning a few tricks about managing people. He glanced at a handwritten sign taped onto Wally’s computer. Keep The Customer Satisfied. “Because I’m a customer and I want satisfaction.”

      Wally tapped a key on the computer, then shifted his weight so he faced Jeffrey. “We’d be more than happy, Mr. Bradshaw, to get you another flight, but our most recent weather bulletin says there’s a storm building off the Gulf. Thompson’s our best bush pilot and, right now, your only option for a flight to Arctic Luck.”

      On cue, a wiry teenage boy dressed in jeans and a parka pushed open the swinging door from the hangar. Pausing, he shoved back his baseball cap and raked fingers through his short, black hair. Upon seeing Jeffrey, his big brown eyes widened, then swerved to look at the guy in the window.

      Wally waved a paper at the boy, who did another doubletake at Jeffrey and the guy in the window before accepting the paper. He promptly looked at it, then back at Jeffrey with a broad grin. “Howdy.”

      The voice was…softer than Jeffrey expected. “Hello.”

      The kid held out his hand.

      Jeffrey paused, then offered his. For such a small hand, this teenager sure had a hearty shake. “You’re Thompson?”

      “Yes. You’re heading to Arctic Luck?”

      Was this kid even old enough for a pilot’s license? Wonderful. An illegal, daredevil pilot. Jeffrey learned long ago to never accept “no” for an answer. Keep stalling, asking for another flight to Arctic Luck, and things could happen. “I’m taking another flight.”

      The boy released the handshake. “Then you’re going to be waiting for a long time.” He held up the paper. “Storm’s coming in.”

      “So I’ve heard.”

      The boy grinned again, then swaggered off to the pop machine. But instead of inserting coins, he gave it a calculated punch that released a drink.

      “Are you canceling or taking the flight?” asked Wally.

      Jeffrey weighed his odds. He could forego this trip to Arctic Luck, which meant he wouldn’t have the first-hand data he needed at the Argonaut board meeting early Monday morning. A key meeting where Harold Gauthier, chairman of the board, was making a special appearance to hear the pros and cons for the Alaskan film series Jeffrey was pitching, a romantic comedy along the lines of Ed meets Northern Exposure to be called Sixty Below. Not only was Jeffrey overseeing this deal, he’d written the story, which he’d set in a hypothetical Alaskan town. But now that the deal was nearing closure, it was imperative Jeffrey actually see the proposed location so he could speak formidably about how this frontier town was integral to the success of the series.

      He had originally planned on flying in today, Saturday, then researching Arctic Luck tonight and tomorrow. Later on Sunday, he’d scheduled flights back СКАЧАТЬ