sent him the package had been stupid enough to leave fingerprints anywhere but, again, he needed to make sure. He retrieved a couple of sandwich bags from the box
and placed the photo and the FedEx wrapper inside them.
‘There’s still a note inside, Richard,’ Grace reminded Bailey, nodding at the envelope on his desk.
He had been so taken aback by the photograph and the desperate look on the woman’s face that he had forgotten all about the note Grace had mentioned earlier. He took the envelope, tipped
it over and allowed the piece of paper to slide out on to his hand.
Grace held her breath.
Bailey unfolded the note and his eyes stayed on the script for several seconds, the words barely making any sense to him until he got to the last couple of sentences. That was when his whole
demeanor changed.
If Grace hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn that what had consumed the Mayor of Los Angeles had been fear.
For the briefest of moments, Bailey seemed paralyzed. Then, like a missile, his hand shot in the direction of the phone on his desk.
Twenty-One
Four days earlier
The man sitting in seat 9A was, by cabin crew standards, the perfect passenger. As he boarded the plane, he smiled politely at all the attendants and then waited patiently for
the passengers crowding the aisle in front of him to place their hand luggage inside the appropriate compartments. There was no trace of annoyance from him, no exasperated folding of the arms, no
irritated ‘excuse me’s, and no uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot. Once he’d taken his seat, he hadn’t asked for a single thing, not even a glass of water.
Despite all the stewardesses onboard flight number 387 from Sacramento to Los Angeles being young and very attractive, there had also been no flirtatious looks from passenger 9A, nor any awkward
attempts at cheesy pickup lines.
The man had caught the attention of Sharon Barnard, the youngest of the three stewardesses on board, and she was curious about what he did for a living. His clothes gave little away; a dark-gray
suit and a crisp white shirt with a perfectly knotted black-and-white tie. He could’ve been just another businessman, like half the passengers on that early morning flight, but he was missing
all the typical gadgets – the briefcase, the laptop computer or tablet, and the smartphone.
While some passengers read, some slept, some worked, some played games on their tablets or listened to music, passenger 9A did nothing. He kept his seat in the upright position, his hands
together in his lap and his eyes forward, staring straight ahead. At first Sharon wondered if he was meditating, but when she walked past his seat and asked him if he’d like anything to
drink, he answered her immediately and courteously, saying that he was all right. She asked him if he was going to Los Angeles on business, and he replied that he was returning from business. He
lived in Los Angeles.
That had brought a smile to Sharon’s lips.
‘Tom,’ Sharon said to the head steward, who was also her best friend and housemate. ‘What do you think of that guy in seat 9A?’
Tom smiled at her teasingly. ‘Are you asking me if he’s gay, darling?’
Tom Hobbs was twenty-three years old, very attractive, single and gay. One of his biggest talents was his sixth sense for spotting other gay males without even speaking to them. He stepped out
from behind the partition and casually looked down the aisle.
‘Yep, he’s one hundred percent hot,’ he replied. ‘I clocked him as soon as he stepped on to the aircraft.’ Tom smiled again, then pouted his lips at Sharon.
‘And I can see that so did you.’
Sharon didn’t look embarrassed. ‘As you’ve said,’ she replied, ‘he’s hot.’
‘No doubt there, and you might just be in luck, honey,’ Tom continued. ‘Because he’s definitely straight.’
Sharon smiled. ‘You really think so? He hasn’t looked at any of us girls.’
‘Oh, I’m positive,
and placed the photo and the FedEx wrapper inside them.
‘There’s still a note inside, Richard,’ Grace reminded Bailey, nodding at the envelope on his desk.
He had been so taken aback by the photograph and the desperate look on the woman’s face that he had forgotten all about the note Grace had mentioned earlier. He took the envelope, tipped
it over and allowed the piece of paper to slide out on to his hand.
Grace held her breath.
Bailey unfolded the note and his eyes stayed on the script for several seconds, the words barely making any sense to him until he got to the last couple of sentences. That was when his whole
demeanor changed.
If Grace hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn that what had consumed the Mayor of Los Angeles had been fear.
For the briefest of moments, Bailey seemed paralyzed. Then, like a missile, his hand shot in the direction of the phone on his desk.
Twenty-One
Four days earlier
The man sitting in seat 9A was, by cabin crew standards, the perfect passenger. As he boarded the plane, he smiled politely at all the attendants and then waited patiently for
the passengers crowding the aisle in front of him to place their hand luggage inside the appropriate compartments. There was no trace of annoyance from him, no exasperated folding of the arms, no
irritated ‘excuse me’s, and no uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot. Once he’d taken his seat, he hadn’t asked for a single thing, not even a glass of water.
Despite all the stewardesses onboard flight number 387 from Sacramento to Los Angeles being young and very attractive, there had also been no flirtatious looks from passenger 9A, nor any awkward
attempts at cheesy pickup lines.
The man had caught the attention of Sharon Barnard, the youngest of the three stewardesses on board, and she was curious about what he did for a living. His clothes gave little away; a dark-gray
suit and a crisp white shirt with a perfectly knotted black-and-white tie. He could’ve been just another businessman, like half the passengers on that early morning flight, but he was missing
all the typical gadgets – the briefcase, the laptop computer or tablet, and the smartphone.
While some passengers read, some slept, some worked, some played games on their tablets or listened to music, passenger 9A did nothing. He kept his seat in the upright position, his hands
together in his lap and his eyes forward, staring straight ahead. At first Sharon wondered if he was meditating, but when she walked past his seat and asked him if he’d like anything to
drink, he answered her immediately and courteously, saying that he was all right. She asked him if he was going to Los Angeles on business, and he replied that he was returning from business. He
lived in Los Angeles.
That had brought a smile to Sharon’s lips.
‘Tom,’ Sharon said to the head steward, who was also her best friend and housemate. ‘What do you think of that guy in seat 9A?’
Tom smiled at her teasingly. ‘Are you asking me if he’s gay, darling?’
Tom Hobbs was twenty-three years old, very attractive, single and gay. One of his biggest talents was his sixth sense for spotting other gay males without even speaking to them. He stepped out
from behind the partition and casually looked down the aisle.
‘Yep, he’s one hundred percent hot,’ he replied. ‘I clocked him as soon as he stepped on to the aircraft.’ Tom smiled again, then pouted his lips at Sharon.
‘And I can see that so did you.’
Sharon didn’t look embarrassed. ‘As you’ve said,’ she replied, ‘he’s hot.’
‘No doubt there, and you might just be in luck, honey,’ Tom continued. ‘Because he’s definitely straight.’
Sharon smiled. ‘You really think so? He hasn’t looked at any of us girls.’
‘Oh, I’m positive,
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