Chapter 1

Darren sat in his aisle seat. He pulled out his phone and checked the time; then he pressed keys to put the device into Airplane Mode and then powered it down. He slipped it back into his pocket. The flight attendant walked down the aisle closing overhead bins.

He saw a slim woman of medium height step into the cabin. She consulted her ticket stub and headed down the aisle. Her eyes caught his and she smiled.

Darren stepped into the aisle and she sat in the window seat. “Marcia,” he said, “I was afraid we’d leave without you.”

“It’s been one helluva day for me,” she replied. “I couldn’t decide on a wardrobe. Then Rob got all snitty...”

“Snitty?”

“Yeah -- he doesn’t want me taking this trip and he refused to drive me to the airport. So, I called a cab. Be there in fifteen minutes, they said. Right -- more like forty-five. I barely missed the check-in deadline by five minutes and then got the enhanced pat-down and search at the checkpoint. I just hope my bag gets on board.”

“Do you usually have this sort of luck when you travel?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then, I’m going to change your login to be BlackCloud.”

“Very funny. I hate flying, Darren. I really hate it.”

“What’s to hate? Mile for mile it’s safer than driving.”

“I know ... but if you exclude the miles in the air and just count the miles taking off and landing...”

“I hate the hassle of getting on the plane, but once I’m on it, I enjoy the experience. Fasten your belt,” Darren said as he pulled his tight. The aircraft doors closed and the plane pushed back from the gate. Darren glanced toward Marcia. She headed the technology team for the accounting department -- one of Rebecca’s direct reports. Marcia was in her early thirties, though she looked younger. She had an oval face with a high and broad forehead, high cheekbones and a perky, turned-up nose. Her chin receded slightly and her mouth was broad with a bit of an overbite and medium lips. She was a brunette; her hair streaked with lighter highlights and cut in a shaggy style above shoulder length. She had gray eyes that had a tint of green in them and she had patches of faint freckles on either side of her nose.

The jetliner taxied to the runway. Marcia closed her eyes and clenched her fists as the craft gained speed, lifted off and nosed up, the force of its acceleration pushing Darren into his seat. Marcia jumped at the sounds of the landing gear and flaps retracting.

Soon the airplane settled into a gentle climb toward its cruising altitude. Darren glanced at her. “Are you okay?”

Marcia drew in a breath and released it. “I’m okay now.” She rested her head against the inside of the fuselage and closed her eyes. Darren removed a flight magazine from the seat pocket and began perusing it.

The attendant pushed the refreshment cart down the aisle. Darren nudged Marcia. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Oh ... ice water I guess.”

“Ginger ale for me and ice water,” he told the attendant. He handed a plastic cup to Marcia and the attendant set tiny bags of pretzels on the tray tables. “Look at this,” he remarked, holding up his cup. “I always order ginger ale because not many passengers do. They used to leave the whole can with me, but no longer. The airlines aren’t going to give their customers a break, even if it amounts to nickels.”

“I always order water,” she replied. “The carbonation bothers me.”

The flight droned on toward Chicago and then began its descent. The pilots deployed the flaps and Marcia grabbed Darren’s forearm. “I think a wheel just fell off,” he said to her. Then, the landing gear extended and locked into place with a thud. “There goes a wing.”

“Don’t even joke about it!” She squeezed his forearm in a white-knuckled grip, her eyes clamped shut. The plane drew closer to the runway, touched down, bounced once and braked. Darren felt her grip on his arm relax. “Just think,” he remarked, “we get to repeat this on the leg to Saint Louis.”

Darren escorted Marcia through the jetway. He followed signs to the baggage claim and they stood by the carousel. “Now for the moment of truth,” she remarked. “Did my bag make it on board?”

The belt began turning. A royal blue valise was the first down the chute. “Look at that,” she said.

“Is that yours?”

“Yep.”

“Last on, first off,” he mused.

Marcia reached for the bag and grasped it by the side handle. At the same time a young man gripped it by its end. “Hey!” she exclaimed, tugging at the bag. “This is my bag.”

“It’s mine,” the man replied and tugged back.

“Does yours have a purple pom-pom tied to the handle?”

He looked at the bag and released his grip. Marcia fell backward, landing hard on the base of her spine, the bag in her lap. “Asshole!” she called toward the man as he picked up another royal-blue case similar to hers.

“Bitch!” He extended the handle and wheeled his bag away.

Darren helped her to stand. “Are you all right?”

She rubbed the base of her spine. “Nothing broken...”

“You’re bleeding!”

“Shit!” She regarded a gash in her finger. “There are some tissues in my purse...”

Darren removed a pack from her purse and handed her one. She wrapped it around her finger. “You must’ve caught it on a sharp part of the carousel.”

“Yeah ... must’ve.”

Darren grabbed his bag. “Let’s see if we can get a bandage at the travelers’ aid kiosk. Marcia held her thumb against the tissue and dragged her bag. He returned from the kiosk. “She said we’d need to buy some at the news stand. You don’t have any in your purse, do you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Wait here.”

He returned with a pack of Band-Aids and unwrapped one. “Hold out your finger...” He wrapped the bandage around it. “Better?”

“I’ll live.”

He smiled. “Looks like the enchantment continues.”

“Did you reserve a rental car?” she asked.

“I figured we’d take a cab.” He gestured toward the door marked, Ground Transportation. “Marriott Grand Hotel,” he told the dispatcher, who gestured a cab from the waiting line.

Their bags in the trunk, Darren and Marcia sat in the back seat. “Tell me,” she said, “what else can go wrong?”

“It’s been my experience that there’s only one way things can go right but an infinite way things can go wrong,” he replied.

“As we’ve seen. What’s our game plan?”

“We meet with Elaine tomorrow for a presentation and a tour of DxT’s data center. Tomorrow night is the welcome reception for the DxT Systems Users’ Conference. We’ll get an opportunity to meet folks currently using this product. Wednesday is the conference banquet and Thursday afternoon we’re outta here.”

“And, tonight?”

“We’re on our own,” he replied. “I thought we could ask the concierge for dining recommendations. Then, early to bed and early to rise.” He looked at her hand. “How’s the finger?”

“Still throbbing. It has stopped bleeding, though. I can’t believe that jerk, getting into a tug-of-war with me. Sometimes I hate people.”

The cab stopped by the hotel’s main entrance. Darren paid the fare and kept a receipt. A doorman carried their bags to the front desk.

“Did you get checked in okay?” he asked Marcia as she stepped away from the desk.

“Amazingly, yes. I was prepared to hear they couldn’t find my reservation and the place was overbooked so I’d need to stay at that Comfort Inn we passed on the interstate.”

“Maybe your luck is changing. I’m in room 517.”

“I’m in 623.”

“Let’s get settled,” he suggested. “I have some emails and correspondence to catch up on. It’s three-thirty, now. Why don’t we meet in the lobby at six? I’ll scope out dining.”

“Okay.” They rode the elevator to the fifth floor. Darren dragged his bag into the corridor and the elevator doors closed.

Darren sat at his laptop reviewing email. He heard a knock at his door. “Yes?” he called.

“It’s me -- Marcia.” He opened the door and she stepped in wearing a blue, one-piece bathing suit, wire-framed glasses and a towel wrapped around her waist. “Darren -- I did something really stupid. I went to use the pool and left my passcard in my room.”

“Come in -- you can call the front desk. I’m sure they can issue you a replacement.”

“Thanks...” She stepped into his room and he closed and bolted the door. Marcia picked up the phone. “This is Marcia Barnett. I’m in room 623 ... That’s right. I need a new passcard ... Can’t someone bring me one? Right now I’m in room 517. Thanks.” She hung up the phone. “They said I could go to the front desk for one but I’m not traipsing around the lobby like this.”

“And?”

“He said someone would bring one right up.”

“Okay,” he said. She sat on his sofa and crossed her legs. Darren regarded her from behind his laptop. He pointed two fingers towards his eyes. “What’s with?”

“I took my contacts out to go swimming,” she replied.

He nodded. “I didn’t even realize you wore them.” He continued to regard her.

“You’re making me uncomfortable, the way you’re looking at me,” she said.

“I’m sorry -- I won’t if it bothers you.”

“Thank you.”

“You are a pretty girl, Marcia,” he replied.

“That makes me uncomfortable, too.”

“I’m simply stating the truth. You are pretty.”

“I don’t appreciate being called a girl. I’m thirty-one.”

“You’re a pretty woman, then. You look younger -- like twenty-five, tops.”

“I know I have a youthful face,” she replied.

“You do. Your face looks like it belongs on a teenager. I know what it is -- it’s the freckles.”

“Oh, God ... I hate my freckles and I’ve tried everything to get rid of them.”

“I think they add to your youthful appearance. Maybe that’s why I said you’re a pretty girl.”

“You wouldn’t mistake me for a teenager,” she replied.

“You do look young, Marcia. The years have been kind to your face.”

“The years haven’t been so kind to the rest of me.”

“Well -- I’m forty-two and that makes you young enough to be a girl in my book. But -- if you don’t like it; then, you’re a woman.”

“Thank you,” she said tartly.

“A pretty one ... who fills out a swimsuit nicely.”

She folded her arms and held her shoulders. “I don’t like feeling exposed in front of people I work with.”

“What if I had put on a pair of trunks and used the pool, too?”

“I probably would’ve stayed in the water, neck deep ‘til you left.” She looked into his eyes. “Darren -- please end this line of conversation. I find it unwelcome.”

“Understood.” Darren opened his suitcase and removed a white dress shirt. “Cover up with this.” Marcia slipped into it, buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. She folded the towel she had around her waist and set it on the arm of the sofa. “I’ll bet you could go to the lobby dressed like that.”

“No way.”

Darren returned to his email. Marcia walked to his window and looked out. “I’m on the other side of the building,” she remarked. “You have a better view from here.” He scanned the backs of her legs -- they were smooth and taut. Marcia turned around and his gaze flicked back to his laptop.