Tex Miller was dead. Okay, not quite dead, but he was about to be, and I alone would be responsible for it. No, this wasn’t my first attempt, but it would be the last.

The airport-wide announcement that played on repeat chimed in again:

Welcome to Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. For your safety...

The time and place were not by chance. I knew what I was doing, but if I had any hope of success this time, this is how it had to go down, in broad daylight, public, with my escape a hundred yards away and thirty-five thousand feet skyward. Plus, there’d be free cocktails; first-class still had some perks.

The March sky gleamed brilliant blue, and the sun’s harsh reflections bounced off the shiny silver of fuselages and wings parked in neat diagonals. The severity of the glare flooding the concourse compelled me to wear sunglasses. Weepy eyes will do that. Sure, there were other reasons a woman might don dark glasses indoors. Let people wonder, I thought. I knew the real reason. The telltale sting of tears made me wince, but I sucked back any sadness. The joyful squeal of a toddler cut through the busy airport’s white noise as he pounded the window glass, yanking me back to the task at hand.

There would be questions, of course.

“Why?” His dying voice rasped more air than sound.

“Yes, Tex. That will be first and foremost, I’m sure.” I rolled my eyes at his banal question. For over twenty years, I’d endured the man—his bravado, his boisterous snark, and now?

“No, Callie, I’m asking. Why? Why are you doing this?” His words came louder now. Was this some show of force? One last desperate grasp at clemency?

“You know why.”

“Wasn’t I good to you, Cal? Didn’t I provide for you? Make first-class possible?” How completely Tex-like to take on sweet sincerity in these last moments. It’s why his fans adored him, the Commander of Hearts. Please.

“You did, Tex. You did all that and more, but let’s give credit where it’s due. We had a good run. But I need more. Decades of lonely days and nights, it’s no way to live. And frankly, I don’t want to share anymore.” I cringed at all the melodrama, only to have him double down in B-movie-like agony.

Tex wheezed a listless, death-rattle gasp. The truth was, if I could have taken him in my arms, I would have. I’d hold him, kiss him, ease his suffering. Then again, if I could do those things, we wouldn’t be in this predicament now. There’d be no reason to kill him, would there? Even in his last breaths, Tex was beautiful, rugged in a way that made most women swoon, and with enough swagger to turn men’s heads too. And the critics would no doubt wonder why the fan-favorite got taken out at the top of his game. Yes, there would be questions. Hell, there might very well be wailing in the streets.

“I love you, Callie.”

I stopped typing. “Nope. That’s not helping, and it won’t change anything.”

“I know, but it’s true. It’s always been you, and I needed you to hear me say it,” Tex coughed.

The giggle rose out of me. A subtle shoulder shake at first, but then it bubbled up stronger until I couldn’t contain it. The inappropriate guffaw echoed in the cavernous airport corridor. Heads turned. I composed myself; now was not the time to draw attention. Sure, I was the only one who could see him, hear him, but that didn’t make me crazy. He was my muse for God’s sake. Still, people have been known to judge.

“I’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years. I thought I knew all of them. The fake, the genuine, that snort when it sneaks up on you. But that one’s new.“ He grimaced in what looked like pain. It wouldn’t be long now.

“I guess it’s hearing those words from your lips. I’ve imagined them more times than you ever made me laugh. They don’t feel the way I thought they would, but it’s how I know it’s the end.”

“Wait, Cal. Maybe not. Maybe it could be a beginning.”

“Don’t be silly, Tex. Declarations of love come at the end. You know that. It’s how the story arc goes.”

Flight 515 to JFK, New York. This is the final boarding call for flight 515 to JFK, New York.

“That’s my ride. Thanks, Tex. I mean it. And I am sorry it had to end this way. Goodbye.” I gave the slightest pause before hitting send, initiating the next phase of my assassination plot, almost sure it was the right thing to do. Almost. To compete with the man was a losing battle. Tex Miller demanded all my time, all my space, all my air. But I had other stories to tell. At least, I hoped I did.

Laptop closed, I slipped it into my leather carry-on and wobbled a moment, getting out of one of the airport’s signature rocking chairs. Steadied, I slung the strap over my shoulder and dashed for my getaway gate.

“Just in time, ma’am,” the gate agent remarked as I scanned my airline phone app to board the plane. Hurrying down the gangway, I chanced a look back. What did I think I’d see? Police? A hoard of screaming, angry fans? No one followed. With one step onto the plane, relief washed over me. I gave a polite nod to the flight attendant in her tidy blue uniform and ducked into my bulkhead window seat.

“Killer?“ the woman asked with inquisitive eyes.

“What?” I jolted from my short-lived respite.

“Cocktail?” she asked again.

With a furtive glance around, I leaned toward her. “Uh, it’s eight in the morning.”

She shrugged. “I thought I recognized the look.”

“Whiskey. Neat.” A quiet blurt. That’s for you, Tex, I thought. “Coffee, too, please. Black.”

“You got it.” As she navigated the tight quarters to pour my drink, the phone, still in my hand, vibrated. Given the email I’d just sent, the name on the screen drew no surprise.

“I’m on the plane. Can’t talk,” I answered.

“You can’t do this, Callie. You just can’t.” Laney Li half-shouted and Laney never shouted.

“It’s done. Tex Miller is dead.” I ended the call and powered down the device. Handing me my whiskey, the sky waitress’s wide eyes caught mine. “You didn’t hear that. And I’ll take another one of these as soon as you can make it happen.” I emptied that glass, another first-class perk, in one fiery gulp.

**************************************************************************

As soon as the plane touched down, I booted up my phone, and it pinged with an immediate text message, the Around Town Car Company letting me know my scheduled ride would wait for me at baggage claim. I had no doubt, After all, my man Bernard was on the job. Bernard was my driver. Well, not mine alone, but since I’ve been making trips to New York, Bernard has been my man. I was so beholden to Bernard that in the twenty-some years we’ve worked together, there have only been three instances when I found him unavailable to drive me: his daughter Maisie’s high school graduation, her college graduation, and her wedding day. On all three of those occasions, I changed my travel plans. No, I wouldn’t say my life revolved around Maisie’s schedule, but you could.

Whenever I fly to New York City to meet with my literary agent Laney and my Watermount Publishing editor, Celeste, I fly into JFK. Bernard always waits for me with his shock of white hair under a black cap, atop a black suit, holding a placard with C. AUSTIN written in neat block lettering. I’ve made this trip nearly every month for twenty-two years, but this is what we always do. When we first met, he was still a ginger, and I was a brunette in my mid-twenties, and by our third introduction, I began greeting him with a daughterly peck on his pleasingly pudgy cheek. Twenty-two years in, this custom has stuck as well. I couldn’t say for sure, but I imagine I’m as old today as he was the day of our first meeting, or close to it. But, with a little help, my shoulder-length wave is still brunette.

From atop the escalator, I used my vantage point to scout out Bernard, but to no avail. The crowd, made of every make and model, buzzed below, harried and huge, but no black suit, no black cap. Pulling out my phone again, I stepped off the moving staircase and out of the fray to check messages. Three new voicemails, all from Laney. Those I ignored. I also received yet another confirmation text from the car company. The repeated contact was unusual compared to my visits over the years, but I assumed Around Town had implemented some new policy after a nervous traveler insisted on frequent updates.

I brushed off the momentary concern and set my sights on claiming my luggage, a roller bag I didn’t care to hassle with on the plane. A growing jumble of suitcases chugged around the serpentine beltway as more bags skidded down the slide extending from the ceiling. Eyes on my bag, I waited patiently amid the scurry of more eager patrons, realizing just how unhurried I was to get to my destination. Laney’s stern face popped into my mind, and my stomach tightened at the angry image. Laney wasn’t only my agent; she was my best friend, my only friend. She’d come around once the initial shock subsided. Wouldn’t she? Celeste would be a different story. Distracted by my wandering thoughts, I snapped to when I realized my bag had gone by and hurried to chase it past the carousel’s next curve.

With my suitcase retrieved, I again looked around for my man Bernard. In twenty-two years, he’d never been late.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Cal? Feeling abandoned? Left behind?”

I nearly tripped over my own feet, spinning to see Tex, his tall, muscular frame in a casual lean against a backlit car rental advertisement. “Dammit, Tex,” I growled through a clenched jaw.

“As I live and breathe.” He filled his would-be lungs while giving his limbs a broad stretch, like a man reborn. His crooked grin tended to catch my breath and did it again. “But imagine how I feel? You left me gasping my last breaths on page 437, Calliope Jones. Talk about abandonment issues. Dare I ask what happens on page 438?”

My fleeting concern for Bernard rebounded and escalated to full-blown worry. I headed to the exit, leaving my problematic protagonist in my wake, very much not dead.