Last Flight Out

Jennifer Psy.D. Vaughn

Description

Ella Sheridan has failed them again. One shortcoming after another, this is just the latest disappointment in what Ella sees as a lifetime spent not measuring up. Her family's pristine image about to be shattered when the nation learns the vice president's daughter has cancer. Ignoring her mother's strict security mandates against commercial travel, Ella books herself on a flight bound for Los Angeles to share her difficult diagnosis first with a trusted friend. She has no idea that someone with evil intentions has other plans for her.

Dezi has just landed the job of his career. Ruggedly handsome and entirely focused on himself, he has made his photography work priority number one. As he heads to L.A. for the shoot, he has absolutely no interest in a new relationship, until one literally falls into his lap. His clumsy introduction to Ella leads to the deepest, most intense encounter either of them has ever had.

Ahmed is the son of an Iraqi woman and a British man, doctors who cherished their brilliant boy until they died in the bombing of a Baghdad hospital. As he watches a rising star in American politics tell her nation the dead citizens are an acceptable loss in the pursuit of a greater good, Ahmed focuses singularly on her as the perpetrator of his personal tragedy. Guided by an obsessive need for vengeance, Ahmed builds the skills he will need to punish her for taking away all that he loved.

Unwittingly, Ella becomes his pawn as he infiltrates her life to lure her mother out. Will a woman who has sacrificed and clawed her way to the White House follow protocol, or her heart, when she learns her daughter is in mortal danger?

Can Ella and Dezi's fragile new passion survive both a maniac's wicked vendetta, and a potentially deadly disease that could take one of them out for good?

"Last Flight Out" is the story of being true to who you are, facing your own regrets, and maybe having the opportunity to set things right before it's too late.

A portion of the proceeds will be donated to organizations dedicated to fighting breast cancer across New Hampshire.

Sujets

• Romance
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9780983336914
• Langue: English

Extrait

Last Flight Out
JENNIFER VAUGHN
 
 
 
Edited by Nikki Andrews
 
 

 
Published by SciArt Media www.SciArtMedia.com


Copyright 2011 Jennifer Vaughn,
All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by SciArt Media
Converted by http://www.eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-0-9833-3691-4
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Last Flight Out Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Vaughn.
 
Front cover photo by Shawn Dixon, Copyright © 2011 by Shawn
Dixon. Used with permission
Back cover Copyright © 2011 by SciArt Media. Back cover photo by Diane Sage, Sage Studios Photography. Copyright © 2011 by Diane Sage Studios Photography. Used with permission.
All stories, content, and text are wholly the work of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of SciArt Media.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
1st Edition, first printed March 2011.
No portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed or adopted into other works of any kind without the express written consent of the copyright holder(s).


 
 
This book is dedicated to my family. Beginning with a Mom and Dad who have blessed me with more love and support than one girl could ever ask for.
I love you from the bottom of my heart.
To my husband, Brad, who picks up any slack I leave behind. I could do none of this without you.
 
And most of all, to my children, Brody and Darby. Your mom loves you more than all the words inside this book.
Thank you for making me complete.
Foreword
I was a fan of Jennifer Vaughn before I came to Channel Nine. I first saw her on the air a dozen years ago. At that time I was hosting a show on New Hampshire Public Television.
Over the years I had seen dozens of television reporters come and go. Jen was someone special. She wrote clear news stories that had punch. She had a good voice. She understood the camera. In short, she was a natural.
And she was good looking.
When Jen told me that she had written a novel, it came as no surprise. With her competence I knew her book would be readable and fun.
Which, I am delighted to say, it is.
And her novel is not just a read, it’s a romp; a fascinating, funny, scary, romantic, touching romp with all the characters larger than life.
Jen’s story slams us back and forth all over the world; from England to Iraq to the White House to New York, Los Angeles, and Florida.
It all comes together on an airplane ride as good as a rollercoaster.
What fun!
Fasten your seat belt, you are in for a hell of a ride.
 
Fritz Wetherbee
Acworth, NH
January 2011
 
Acknowledgements
This is new for me. Writing for television news is one thing; writing a book is quite another. I have asked so many questions along the way I very likely annoyed a good many of you, but in any case, your overall gracious acceptance of my persistence has meant the world to me. I offer my sincere and heartfelt thanks to Jeff Bartlett and Alisha McDevitt at WMUR-TV. You both, along with my entire television family, have had nothing but support for my new venture. To Josh Judge, for helping me land with someone who would get my very first book out into the world. To Maryann Mroczka, your enthusiasm has touched me so deeply. To Kirk Enstrom and Doug Perry, who entertained all my technology questions that always began with, “But would it be plausible if…”
To every journalist who has traveled to the places I have yet to get to myself, and chronicled what you saw and whom you met. I could not have created the characters in this book without your stories, your pictures, and your insight. Anna Badhken, and Molly Hennessy-Fiske, your exceptional work made me feel like I was right there with you. A very special thanks to all my early readers, who let me know if I had any right doing something like this. I am humbled by your support, and so grateful for your honesty, especially Andrea Craig Alley. You are a grammatical goddess . To James Maynard, and Nikki Andrews, my thanks for holding my hand down a path that I’ve never walked before. To Shawn Dixon, your talent is grand. Your cover was everything I wanted it to be, and more. To Erica Auciello Murphy, and Scott Spradling, your guidance and suggestions are so greatly appreciated.
Finally, to every pink warrior who has permanent space inside my heart. You have displayed more courage, grace, and bravery than anyone should be asked to. Beginning with my aunt, Melodie Figueiredo, I have seen this disease take too many of you away. I write this in your honor, and in your memories, because you fought the good fight. May we, one day soon, carry your precious spirits across the finish line with a cure.
A portion of sales from each copy of Last Flight Out will be donated to the Elliot Breast Health Center in Manchester, New Hampshire, and to BreastCancerStories.org.
 
Jennifer Vaughn
February, 2011
Prologue
They say the best stories are the ones you live to tell. As I sit here with every muscle in my body tensed tighter than a circus high wire, I am not sure which way that will go. We are at 37,000 feet and heading somewhere . There is silence in the cabin, save for moments when you can actually hear passengers trying to gulp down the fear that sits lodged in their throats like a boulder. Everybody has been allowed to keep his or her cell phone except me. The pilot said they would not work anyway. Sure enough, try as they might no one has been able to get a signal.
How is that happening?
He took both of my phones, which is not a good sign. How did he know about that phone? No one is supposed to know about that phone. The most powerful people in the world are going to be exceedingly pissed off at me. If I survive this, my mother will kill me.
He has told us almost nothing. For the first time in my life, I have seen someone die right before my eyes. I have seen the exact moment when death seeps in like a flood of dark water under a locked door. I had to look away from the frozen eyes staring at me as I choked back the coffee that was turning sour in my stomach.
At this moment, I sit at a crossroad. What I had envisioned as the biggest catastrophe in my life now seems almost delicate as I wait for the click of the intercom system that will signal the pilot is ready to speak again.
Please, tell us something, anything .
The big, warm hand grips mine again. He tells me for the hundredth time that everything will be fine and we will make it out of this. How is it that I have met this perfect creature on what could be the final day of my life? Is fate that cruel that it would give me mere hours with the one person who just might be able to scale my impossibly high walls?
His face is the only thing I can focus on as I nod back with a shaky smile that feels more like a grimace. He puts his head back on the seat and looks me square in the eye.
“Ella,” he says. “Trust me. We will live.”
God, I hope so. This could be really good.
Just then, I hear the intercom click .
The pilot is about to speak.
Chapter One: Ella
Don’t ever let anyone tell you Irony isn’t an evil bitch. The day my life hit the skids should have been murky and overcast with a pelting rain and icy chill. Instead, it was postcard perfect. Everything went down the crapper on a brilliant early fall afternoon with gently blowing air that felt as soft as a cotton ball. The sun had reached that spot high enough in the sky to make you sweat in the long sleeves you threw on that morning when old man winter felt like he was tucked into the bed right beside you. In the moments just before my cell phone rang, I focused on drawing the air deep into my lungs in a lame attempt to flush out the fear that felt like quick sand.
I closed my eyes against the sparkling blue sky. The warm breeze felt like the tiny hairs of a paintbrush, feather light strokes that tickled my cheeks, my forehead, and my chin. I wished I could stay in that moment forever. With my eyes closed, hair blowing in the wind, no one wanting anything from me. Right that second, I felt healthy and strong. I wanted to hold onto that for as long as I could.
And…time’s up .
My cell pulsed in my right hand. The foreboding almost so powerful it felt paralyzing. I braced my body for the words that would crush my spirit like a hammer on a walnut. The pieces smashed into such tiny particles there would be virtually no hope of putting them back together again.
No one knew what was happening. Not a single person was aware of my personal crisis unfolding right there on a ridiculously tiny patch of grass in mid-town Manhattan. Sounds strange, I realize, and my explanation for not sharing is relatively simple. I’m just not very good at being the center of attention. I get all flustered and uncomfortable, and start to scan the room for a wall to hide myself behind. Sure, I have an interesting worldview, and I can easily weigh in on lots of topics, just as long as none of them is about me. I understand basic human nature, I get that most people need constant validation. I’m here to give it to them.
I can deliver the belly laugh at the end of what is supposed to be a rip-roaring hysterical story with flawless timing. I’m a master of the wide-eyed “ wow ” as I properly celebrate someone’s latest accomplishment or bemoan their ultimate betrayal. I add the exclamation point at the end of someone else’s paragraph, and I am just fine with that.
So having the starring role in my own drama was particularly unappealing. None of it made any sense. At twenty-eight, I assumed I was in a grace period of sorts for something like this. My lifestyle was clean, my habits boring, and I could think of nothing I had done to support the potential revolt happen