Flight Risk Read online

  Dedication

  I wrote this book during a season filled with good . . . and really hard. God reminded me that even while I felt isolated, I wasn’t alone. Thank you isn’t big enough to express my deep gratitude to Beth Vogt. Beth, your daily reminders of God’s truth and the calls where you validated what I was feeling while walking me to truth were truly sanity savers. I am more grateful than words can say for you.

  Ashley Clark, Casey Apodaca, and Pepper Basham, you were the heart sisters I needed at the time my world rocked again. Thank you for being a safe place to be real, to be honest, and to question. Your wisdom, grace, and truth were gifts. So very grateful for you three.

  And to Eric. Those two years were good . . . and so very hard. I’m grateful for where we are today. I have always loved you and always will. I can’t wait to see where God takes us next.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Acclaim for Cara Putman

  Other Books by Cara Putman

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  monday, december 7

  “Savannah, call for you on line one. Says he’s a reporter. Never heard of him.”

  The receptionist’s voice interrupted Savannah Daniels midsentence, and she gave Emilie Wesley, one of her associates at her small law firm, an apologetic smile. “Take a message, Bella. Emilie and I are still working on the Mnemosyne mediation.” She clicked off the intercom, then turned back to Emilie. “Where were we?” She shivered and reached beneath her desk to turn on the small heater that sat at her feet. It would be April before she felt warm again.

  Emilie tapped her notepad. “You were explaining what the company is creating.”

  “That’s right.” Savannah glanced over Emilie’s head as she organized her thoughts about the complex technology. After years of working alone, she was learning a special synergy happened when two or more legal minds tackled a problem from multiple angles. “So the company’s wunderkind created software that is like a satellite backup to the black box on planes. Instead of being a physical box that records the data, Mnemosyne’s system automatically syncs the data back to its servers via satellite technology.”

  “It works?” Emilie stopped taking notes, her brows knit together. An attorney who also worked as a reporter for an online newspaper, Emilie had a quick mind that easily processed details.

  Savannah nodded, thinking where to take this next. “Early tests indicate it does.” The mediation would start in a couple of days, and she needed Emilie’s help to get the preparatory brief finished. Mediation had to work, because her clients needed the case to settle before they ran out of money to keep the company functioning.

  Breaking the complex down into something simple was one of Savannah’s superpowers. She’d need every bit for this case.

  Emilie made a note, then tapped her pen against the paper. “And the plaintiff claims Mnemosyne has infringed on their tech.”

  “That’s right. I haven’t seen anything to back that up, but they are fighting hard.”

  “Savannah?” Bella’s voice crackled over the intercom again. “The reporter insists he needs to talk now.”

  Savannah glanced at Emilie, who had already stood. “We can finish later. I’ve got enough to get the next level of argument outlined.”

  “Thanks.” Savannah grabbed the receiver and punched the light. “This is Savannah Daniels.”

  “Good morning, ma’am.” The male voice was deep, the kind that resonated across a line and made Savannah smile. “This is Jett Glover with the Washington Source, and I wondered if I could have a minute of your time.”

  Jett Glover? As she searched her memory for reporters she’d talked to in the past, her brain twinged as if the name should be familiar, but she came up as blank as a first-year law student. “Should I know you?”

  His chuckle was wry. “That, as they say, is a problem.” The hint of self-deprecation drew her in even as she reminded herself to be guarded. He could be a private investigator or attorney masquerading as a reporter before suing one of her clients. “I’m writing an article that includes your ex-husband, Dustin Tate.”

  Savannah stiffened and pushed back in her chair. Their divorce had been finalized a lifetime ago. For fifteen years she had avoided thinking about him any more than necessary. Why would a reporter contact her about him now? Reporters were even worse than opposing counsel, and she felt her guard build. “Why?”

  “An interview would make it easier to explain.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t take random media interviews.”

  “I think you’ll want to this time.” There was an arrogant certainty in his voice that made her dislike him. No way would she let him into her space.

  “While I appreciate your call, my workload makes it impossible. Have a nice day.”

  She hung up and leaned back as she pinched the bridge of her nose. The last distraction she needed was trying to imagine why her ex was the subject of any reporter’s focus. As far as she was concerned, their lives had diverged when he left her two months before she graduated from law school.

  Focus.

  She glanced at the open brief on her monitor. The mediator, William Garbot, was expecting it before five. While Emilie was a masterful writer, Savannah needed more time to fill her in on the nuances of the Mnemosyne case. It was complicated with counterclaims and preliminary injunctions that prevented her client from continuing the tests required to get the technology approved by the Federal Aviation Administration and to market. Garbot liked having time to read the briefs and check the law before the mediation started. Going through the legal issues with Emilie had given Savannah a couple of new thoughts. She would need her clients to review the brief to confirm she’d simplified the science correctly.

  Her calendar said it would be a quiet day in the office. A day she’d blocked out strategically to write the brief and catch up on the work that had stalled while she wrestled the Hollingsworth case to settlement and quickly resolved an emergency for Juice Store, a new client. She’d work on something else while giving Emilie an hour to massage the brief.

  A rap at her door pulled her attention back to the moment. “Yes?”

  “You have an appointment.”

  Savannah opened her eyes and squinted against the o
verhead brightness at Bella. “You know as well as I do there’s nothing on my calendar.”

  The trusty receptionist arched a brow at her. “Really?”

  “I meticulously add things to the firm’s calendar.”

  Bella didn’t even bother to hide her eye roll. “Girl, I have worked for you for ten years. I know that this new leaf will last approximately two more weeks before it blows away.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Besides, this guy is someone you want to meet.”

  “Fine. Who is it?”

  “Jett Glover.” Bella handed over a business card. “Said you might want this.”

  “I just told him no.”

  “Yep.”

  “And now he’s here?”

  “Yep.”

  Savannah let that sink in a moment as she studied the slip of card stock. “And you think I should meet with him?”

  “Yep.”

  Savannah cracked a smile. “I see you’re a woman of many words this morning. Fine. I’ll come grab him in a minute.”

  Bella nodded, none of her perfectly coifed silver-blonde hair moving, but there was a gleam in her eyes that made Savannah wonder what she was really up to. What had the man said to get past Savannah’s first line of defense?

  After making him wait another five minutes, Savannah stood, squared her shoulders, and straightened the skirt of her black suit, then gave her jacket a quick tug. This would have to be sufficient battle armor. Anything that had the fingerprints of her ex wouldn’t be great. If a reporter was involved, the truth was probably worse than the typical yuck. As she strode into the lobby, she lifted her chin and extended her hand to the man who stood looking at the framed photos of Old Town Alexandria’s landmarks.

  “You must be Jett Glover, the man who ignores clear statements.”

  He turned and grinned, then took her hand. The instant their hands connected, she wanted to yank hers back, but that would acknowledge the immediate, electric effect he had on her. As her gaze collided with the man’s blue eyes, she felt her breath hesitate. Heat flushed her face in a flash.

  * * *

  His task was simple: learn the name of the fourth man who traveled with Dustin Tate. Jett’s editor would run the article this week with or without the name, but Jett wouldn’t be satisfied.

  So here he was, claiming an appointment when the call didn’t work.

  He hadn’t anticipated the sparks flying from the woman’s eyes.

  Savannah Daniels, he’d learned when looking into her, was something of an icon among local attorneys, who respected her small firm and regarded her as someone who spoke the truth and meant what she said. She taught the occasional class at her alma mater and focused her energy on fighting for underdogs.

  He noted the surge of annoyance that flashed up her face and had the urge to explain he wasn’t usually so devious. But he guessed she didn’t like to be bothered with minutiae.

  He could press that to his advantage.

  “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “I didn’t invite you.”

  “Reporters don’t always wait for invitations.” He gave her his best Clark Gable grin, the one that usually left women swooning at his feet. She barely batted an eyelash. Alrighty then. “As I mentioned, I’m with the Washington Source.” She turned and walked back down a hallway behind the receptionist’s desk. He pocketed the business cards he’d grabbed from the holder on the desk while he’d waited, then followed Savannah down the hall, trying to ignore the deliberate pace she set that displayed her feminine curves. Not what he needed to notice right now. “This week we’re running an article that your husband is featured in.”

  “Ex.” The word was a staccato exclamation as she turned into an office.

  “Noted. Ex.” He followed her into the nice-sized room. The art on the wall was what he noticed first. Splashes of color against a pale field of yellow. The piece hanging behind her desk looked like a Jackson Pollock wannabe in primary colors, revealing a suppressed anger. He would have guessed she’d prefer something more pastoral or Impressionist, with a peaceful vibe.

  He pulled out notes he didn’t need while she stalked behind a large desk. She didn’t know how many years he’d invested in writing about the truth. How he was always just one bad article away from looking for another job. This article could be Pulitzer worthy whether she gave a statement or not, but he wanted the whole truth. “Did you know Dustin Tate was a private pilot for wealthy bad boys who have more time and money than good taste? He may have done more than fly them.”

  Her nostrils flared as she coolly studied him.

  “Did he like to live the high life when you were married?”

  “On what we made?” She stared at him like he was mad. “Even if he did, why would that be relevant today?”

  “Maybe we could sit.”

  She crossed her arms, leaving the heavy desk as a barrier between them, and he had to admire her unwavering focus. Fine, he’d take the lead. He was more comfortable there anyway. He sank onto the edge of a leather chair in front of her desk. Then he leaned back and crossed an ankle over his other knee, carefully arranging the crease of his pants.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about your ex-husband.”

  “That’s a given in the fact he’s my ex. Look, we divorced fifteen years ago. I stay out of his current life as much as possible.” But her gaze darted away, suggesting she protested too much. Interesting.

  He kept his gaze laser focused, and she finally eased to the edge of a chair across the desk from him. He’d claim that as a victory. “I’ve investigated a group of four men who make trips to Thailand and other countries in Asia about once a quarter. Your ex is one of them, the pilot for each flight. Seems to participate in their in-country activities too.”

  She shrugged, an elegant motion. “I don’t see why that’s newsworthy.”

  “These trips victimize young girls.”

  The only indication his words registered? The faintest flicker at the corner of her eyes as she glanced at a photo that sat on the edge of her desk, one of a girl with long blonde hair and a bright smile, maybe high school aged. She caught him looking at the photo and stiffened.

  The photo had to be Savannah’s niece since the woman had no children. Jett pressed forward. “Do you worry about his daughter?”

  She went completely still, as if she’d been transformed to stone. “This meeting is over.”

  “You care about your niece.” That would break through her icy reserve.

  It did. Just not in the way he anticipated.

  In one movement she stood and then left her office. The door barely clicked shut behind her.

  A moment later, while he was still trying to figure out what had happened, the receptionist reappeared. “If you’ll follow me.”

  While the accent was Southern, the tone was steel. As if she knew he’d gone too far.

  Chapter Two

  The Washington Source offices were humming when Jett returned.

  He sank to his desk and typed up his notes. There weren’t many. And he still had a hole in his investigation.

  The elusive fourth person of the traveling team.

  His research was solid. There were four hotel rooms. Four on the flights. Four of everything except names.

  There had to be a way to uncover that detail. Once he did he’d be ready to finish the story and hit submit. Then the editors and fact-checkers could work their magic. With his box of files, meticulously labeled and filled with receipts and source notes, the fact-checkers would have an easy job. Just the way he liked it.

  Get the research done and get it right. Then write the story.

  “Glover.” His name squealed from the intercom on his phone.

  He snatched up the handset before his editor’s growl proceeded further. “Yes, sir?”

  “In my office.” The call ended.

  Jett sighed and grabbed his cell phone, tablet, and stylus, all the better to capture any more demands Ted Lance had for him. After weav
ing through the bevy of cubicles, he reached the man’s corner office and marched through the open door.

  Ted sat behind his massive desk, feet kicked on top of it, hands linked behind his head as he looked out the windows. That was the stance the man took when he was wrestling a problem, and Jett didn’t like that he’d been called in for that. Such meetings usually led to Ted pressuring his journalists.

  The space was large with a sitting area around a round table that could seat six. A bank of windows illuminated the space with natural light that was overshadowed by Ted’s frown.

  “We’ve got a hole on the front page Wednesday. Your exposé on the Donnelly trips will run below the fold unless something better comes in.”

  Jett’s back stiffened and he clenched the tablet in front of him. “It’ll be ready, but I still haven’t ID’d the fourth member of the team.”

  Ted turned to look at him, left eyebrow reaching his silvery hairline. “You saying the research isn’t solid?”

  “Of course not. It’s my best work so far, and you know I’ve turned in a string of great investigative reports since you brought me over five years ago.”

  The man waved his words away. “All that matters today is whether that article is ready for the fact-checkers.”

  Jett clenched his jaw and tried to inhale, but it was like breathing through a straw, the kind used to stir coffee. “I need to find the missing member.”

  “You’re out of time.” Ted pulled his feet off the desk and then bounced forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the desk. “If you wait until everything is perfect, you’ll get scooped. How long have I paid you to work on this article?”

  “Only three months.”

  “It’s a miracle you haven’t been beat to press.” The man’s frown deepened as he stared at Jett. “Is that what this is about? The article doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on? You’ve been leading me on? Getting the paper to pay for trips to Thailand?”

  “No.” Jett barely kept from yelling the word. “This is a good article and you know it. The content is excellent. But I am missing one piece.”

  The man fisted his hands on top of the desk. “Get the article with your supporting research to the fact-checkers before you leave today. Otherwise, you’re done on this story. Do it, and I’ll give you two weeks to write a follow-up with information on your mystery person.”