1049 Club Read online

  Table of Contents

  PART 1

  PART 2

  PART 3

  PART 4

  PART 5

  PART 6

  PART 7

  PART 8

  PART 9

  PART 10

  PART 11

  PART 12

  PART 13

  PART 14

  PART 15

  PART 16

  PART 17

  PART 18

  PART 19

  1049 CLUB

  BY

  KIM PRITEKEL

  Ebook by

  PDAFiction.com

  Disclaimers: Mine.

  Sex: Yeppers.

  Violence: Not so much violence as icky stuff. Be prepared. There’s going to be some fairly graphic stuff in here. I’ll try to be kind; if it makes my stomach roil, then I won’t put it in. Fair?

  Note: Guys, this one gets pretty rough in places, so do be warned and prepared. As I said in the violence warning, I tried to keep it from being gratuitous, but it is necessary, and will be graphic. That said, it is relatively short-lived.

  If you’d like to tell me what a wonderful writer I am or that I royally suck, feel free at:

  [email protected]

  For more of my work, visit me at:

  http://www.coloradobardsplace.com/

  or see my published work at:

  http://www.pdpublishing.com/

  1049 CLUB

  PART 1

  DENNY COULDN’T HELP but glance up into First Class again. She could only see a bit of a bare leg, and a few wisps of blonde hair, but it was enough. When she had walked through to get to her own seat in 5C, the brunette had nearly chocked on the swig of Coke she’d drank, when she’d realized who she was passing. She had looked twice, almost thrown off by the baseball cap and dark glasses. Funnily enough, it had been the silver watch that had tipped Denny off. Every picture she’d ever seen of Rachel Holt, the young, beautiful author, had been wearing it; and there it was, on her left wrist, glinting slightly from the sunlight shining in through the oval window.

  Hearing someone clear their throat from behind her, Denny moved on, finding her seat, unable to keep her eyes off the general area in First Class. It didn’t seem as if anyone else had made the connection yet. It had helped that the brunette had just been reading People magazine in the airport terminal while waiting for her flight to board. There had been a small blurb in the Passages section, mentioning it was the blonde’s twenty-seventh birthday coming up.

  “Happy birthday, Rachel,” she murmured with a little chuckle, sighing as she buckled herself in. It would be a long flight, but she looked forward to it, heading to Italy for two weeks to visit her father’s family. She hadn’t seen them in about five years, and missed her cousins.

  Denny rested her head back against the seat, listening to the sounds around her, people softly murmuring “Excuse me,” and “Sorry ‘bout that” as they, too got settled. Blue eyes opened as she heard a soft, “I need to get through.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She sat up fully, tucking her long legs up so a young girl, maybe no older than sixteen, carefully passed to the other aisle seat in the middle section of the 767. Denny smiled over at her, then stated to relax again.

  “Oop, one more.”

  Once again looking to the aisle, the brunette saw an older version of the teenager. Once again folding up her legs, the woman, who she would learn was the girl’s mom, passed by and got settled in the middle seat. Mother and daughter spoke softly as Denny finally was able to get fully comfortable. She loved to fly, which was a good thing, because this was going to be one long flight.

  They were about to pull out of Buffalo Niagara International, the belly of the plane being loaded with the luggage of a couple hundred excited passengers.

  Denny glanced up toward First Class again, her mind roaming back to the young author seated not twenty feet from her. When Rachel Holt had bit the racks with her first novel, Conspiracy, three years ago, it had taken off like a rocket. The then twenty-two year old had been launched into the world’s spotlight, winning numerous awards and acclaim. She was young, beautiful, and painfully elusive- a bad mix for a knowledge hungry industry. She had been hunted ruthlessly, her green eyes gracing just about every magazine cover, whether Rachel was aware of it or not. She had only agreed to sit for one interview, and that was with the daily talk show hostess, Maureen Conifer. Regardless of just how private and shy the little blonde was, no one could seem to get enough of her books. Now, sitting pretty with four novels on the shelves, her place in current author stardom was set.

  Denny grinned at these thoughts as she brought out the paperback she’d bought at Borders that very morning, on the way to the airport. It was Rachel Holt’s newest in trade paperback, Willing To Conquer. Typically not one for history, nor thrillers, the coffee shop owner was drawn, nonetheless. The books were extremely well written, and sucked the reader in from the turn of the first page. The emotion was deep and intense, and the detailed accounts of each time period were astounding. Heck, Denny had even started researching the Victorian era out of curiosity after finishing Coattails and Pomp.

  Now, seeing the woman in person, even though it was from behind dark glasses and her short, blonde hair tucked under a baseball cap, Denny turned her novel over, opening the back cover to see the black and white of the young author. In it, Rachel Holt was looking off in the distance, the light shining in her green eyes, making them almost translucent. She was wearing a simple light-colored button-up, though it could only be seen from just under the collar up. It was casually open, probably unbuttoned two or three down, giving the author an air of casual ease. There was no information below the picture, other than: Rachel Holt lives in the northwestern United States.

  “That’s a good one.”

  Denny glanced to her right, seeing the woman sitting next to her glancing at the book in her hands.

  “Finished it two days ago.”

  “I hope so. Picked it up on my way in today,” Denny explained, turning the book back over and resting it in her lap.

  “Did you read the others?”

  “Sure did.” The brunette smiled, trying to decide for a moment if she should tell the obvious fan that the woman in question was sitting just on the other side of the First Class bathrooms. Deciding against it, she sighed deeply, content to be on her way as the plane slowly began to back away from the gate, ready to taxi.

  Denny glanced up from time to time, half-heartedly listening to the instructions from the flight attendant in case of an emergency do this, don’t do that, if you don’t feel you can perform tasks at the emergency exits, so on so forth. She turned her attention back to the novel in hand, allowing herself to get lost in the life of a young slave during the time of Alexander the Great.

  * * *

  Mia Vinzetti sat next to her mother, Gloria. They were headed home, to Milan, where Gloria had grown up with her grandparents, Paolo and Lizbeth. Paolo had finally come down with lung cancer after smoking for fifty-six years. Things looked grim, and while Mia was out of school for the summer, Gloria wanted to go back to be with him.

  The sixteen year old glanced over at her mother briefly, noting she was already neck deep in one of her romance novels. The girl was excited for the trip, never having been to her mother’s homeland before. They had been fighting so badly lately, and Mia hoped this trip could help to mend some of those bridges. She was going to be graduating high school the following summer, and didn’t want to go off to college in California, on the other side of the country from her mother, with them fighting. Mrs. Marcum, Mia’s counselor at school, had assured her that it was typical of the age group, but Mia knew she held a lot of resentment against her mother. Gloria had raised her alone, Mia’s father disa
ppearing from her life before she’d even been born. Never marrying, Gloria had often worked two and sometimes three jobs, just to keep them alive in their small, Brooklyn apartment.

  Mia admired her mother greatly, though she’d never told the older woman that. Gloria’s parents had been killed when she’d been a girl, and so she’d been swept off to Milan, where she’d had a wonderful childhood, then had been swept back to the United States by a Navy boy, Mia’s father.

  It had been tough for the two Vinzetti women, but all in all, they’d done pretty darn good together, and Mia loved her mother deeply. She just wished Gloria had more time for her, yet at the same time, she wished her mother would just leave her the hell alone. The girl pushed long, dark hair back over her shoulder as she grinned internally at her own hypocrisy.

  As the plane hit its altitude, according to the pilot, Mia sat back and closed her eyes. She hated to fly.

  * * *

  Dean Ratliff hate to fly. He hated to travel, he hated to do anything remotely new and different. His partner of thirteen years, Will Ash, basically told him that if they didn’t do something this summer, take some sort of a vacation, they were done. Will was sick and tired of sitting home every year, surrounded by every electronic gadget known to man, expensive French furniture and Dean’s beloved dogs, but seeing nothing, doing nothing, going nowhere.

  Dean had reluctantly agreed to this madness, and then Will had to work! He was to meet his partner in Milan. The sandy-haired man sighed heavily, leaning his head against the cool window.

  * * *

  Michael Dupree held on tightly to the armrest on either side. He heard his wife chuckle yet again. Glancing down at her, he just barely saw her shaking her head in mirth as his actions.

  “Y’all think this is funny, don’tcha?” he asked, halfway chuckling himself. Melissa Dupree looked up at him.

  “Honestly? Why, yes. I do.”

  Michael grinned, leaning down to quickly lay a kiss on the lips of his wife of twenty years.

  “I love you, baby,” he said softly, so glad he was able to do this for her. They’d been married all those years, Thursday their anniversary. He knew Melissa had always wanted to see Italy and all its historical treasures. From their house in Beaumont, Texas, she’d only ever been able to see them via books from the library and the History Channel. When he’d come home from work, having picked up their airline tickets, and itinerary from his brother’s house, where he’d been hiding everything, he thought Melissa was going to break down and start crying right when he gave it all to her, along with a single red rose.

  Michael was surprised when not only did his little woman start crying, but she almost nearly bowled over his 6’4”, 235 lb. frame. That night they’d made the sweetest love. Remembering that, he reluctantly let go of one of the armrests, putting his arm around her slight shoulders. Immediately Melissa lay her head against her husband’s linebacker-like shoulder.

  “I love you, Mike. Thank you for this.”

  Michael Dupree considered himself the luckiest man in the Lone Star state. He’d been a young buck of eighteen, lost and doing nothing but causing trouble and raising hell. He’d met a lovely young redhead who’d put him in his place, throwing an entire mug of beer in his face when he’d gotten out of hand. He’d never let her out of his sights since. Melissa had put up with a lot from him over the years- twenty years, three kids and a mortgage later, and the big mechanic couldn’t ask to be happier. He hoped he’d finally made the petit woman sitting beside him happy and proud, too.

  Michael knew there was nothing he could do right now other than sit back and relax. They’d be on the plane for a long, long time.

  * * *

  “Man, she looked a bit worried, didn’t she?” Dr. Pam Sloan commented to her boyfriend, Austin. The veterinarian watched as the blonde flight attendant hurried through First Class, disappearing inside the cockpit, the narrow door closing after her with finality.

  Behind the vet, a blonde author also noted the flight attendant’s harried behavior. She leaned slightly into the aisle to see if she could discern anything, but the flight attendant was gone. Taking a deep breath, she tried to return her attention back to her laptop, her fingers tapping away on the keys. Her attention was brought up once more when the cockpit door opened, and the flight attendant was on her way back down the aisle, her face too expressionless for Rachel’s liking. She followed the woman’s progress back into coach, briefly meeting bright blue eyes of another passenger before the blonde turned back to her writing.

  Denny DiRisio caught Rachel Holt’s gaze for just a moment, feeling a slight thrill that a famous person knew she existed, if even just for a moment, then the blonde turned away. Denny’s euphoria was short-lived as she felt a tap on her arm. Turning to the woman sitting next to her, who’d introduced herself as Gloria Vinzetti.

  “Do you think something’s wrong?” the woman asked, her short, dark hair falling into her eyes. The brunette shrugged and shook her head.

  “I don’t know. But I doubt it.”

  “Well, that flight attendant sure acted like she had a fire lit under her asino.”

  Denny smiled, nodding. “I’m sure everything is fine.” The coffee shop owner turned back to her book, hearing mother and daughter speaking quietly to each other, then heard murmuring around her. Once again looking up from the book, Denny looked around at her fellow passengers to see if they knew something she didn’t. She caught the eye of fellow passengers, all doing the same.

  “Miss?” an older man further back in the plane said, stopping the flight attendant as she made her way back up the left aisle, from where she’d been speaking with the gathered flight attendants. “Is there a problem, miss?”

  The blonde woman smiled, patting the older man’s shoulder. “Everything’s fine, sir.” Quickly, she hurried on.

  * * *

  Michael Dupree snorted as he woke himself up, opening droopy eyes as something had stirred him. Melissa still was sound asleep, her head cradled on his shoulder. The big Texan looked around, trying to figure out what had woken him. Reaching to the window on his right, he pushed up the flimsy shade, seeing glittering blue beneath him. Glancing up into the sky, he was surprised to see the sky.

  “Shouldn’t we be flying a bit higher?” the guy in front of him asked, looking at Michael from between the seat on the curved plane wall. The Texan shook his head, still looking outside.

  “I don’t know. Ye’d think.”

  * * *

  Dean Ratliff tilted his head slightly as he unfolded the airline brochure. There he saw the small list of onboard alcohol that could be ordered for five bucks a pop.

  “Perfect,” he muttered, stuffing the brochure back into the seat pocket in front of him. He craned his neck until he spotted a flight attendant talking to an older man, not seven rows behind his. “Excuse me,” he flagged her down as she headed back toward the front of the plane. “I’d like to order a drink. When are you going to be coming by with the refreshment cart? I mean, you guys still do that, right? Lord knows you’ve stopped enough of the other services.”

  “We’ll be getting to that shortly, sir. We ask for your patience.” The blonde woman smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Hey! I want my drink, damn it!” Dean called out to her retreating back. He met the gaze of his seatmate. “I intend to write a letter to the airlines when I get home. She was rude.” Sighing unhappily, Dean crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look around to see another, helpful flight attendant. Maybe that little blonde cutie with the trimmed goatee he’d seen before take off.

  * * *

  “Alright, John. I’ve talked to everyone. What do you want us to do now?” Kendra asked, her hands wringing in front of her. She felt sick, and blew blonde bangs out of her eyes.

  The pilot sighed heavily, feeling sweat gathering under his armpits.

  “I’ve taken her as low as I dare,” he explained, everyone in the cockpit noting the waves visible now, in the
ocean below. “We have no choice. Prepare the passengers. Don’t tell them what’s happened, just advise them in precautionary procedures.”

  Kendra nodded stoically, but could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She left the cockpit, walking over to the First Class cubby, picking up the onboard phone.

  * * *

  Denny heard three soft dings, then noticed a redheaded flight attendant hurry to the area in front of their seats. Denny, Gloria and Mia were sitting in the emergency row, so before them was a wall with the flight attendant’s jump seat, where she sat during take off, as well as her phone.

  The pretty young woman put the phone to her ear, turning away from the prying eyes of her passengers. She whispered into the mouthpiece, her body rigid.

  Denny and Gloria shared a look. Denny had a very bad feeling grip her insides. Something was wrong. Images of 9/11 flashed through her mind, and she prayed it wasn’t anything like that, trying to console herself with the knowledge that they were over an ocean, no use to a terrorist.

  The flight attendant hung up the phone, took a deep breath to gather herself, then turned to face questioning blue eyes. The redhead smiled, though it was extremely weak.

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Denny asked, her voice quiet. The flight attendant mouthed the word yes, yet her voice cracked so no sound came out. Denny swallowed hard, nodding in understanding. The public address system crackled to life and suddenly a tinny voice was announcing emergency procedures, while the redhead helped those in need to successfully attach oxygen masks and inflatable life jackets.