Roy distrusted adjectives used by business magazines.
They called men decisive and women ruthless when both fired the same vice president.
What he saw was a woman around thirty-eight in a long black tailored coat, fitted white blouse, black shorts, sheer tights, and glossy heels that made absolutely no practical sense inside an aircraft hangar.
Her highlighted blonde hair had been pulled into a precise ponytail.
Narrow black sunglasses sat across her eyes despite the fact they were indoors.
A structured black handbag hung from one forearm.
She held a small red coffee cup in the other hand.
Roy could not hear Warren’s first words.
He did not need to.
He knew the shape of them.
Liability.
Insurance.
Unqualified.
Unknown contractor.
Risk.
Airworthiness.
Roy kept walking.
Adrienne’s head turned toward him.
Warren spoke faster.
The young technician who had noticed Roy looked down.
Roy reached the edge of the maintenance area.
Adrienne stepped directly into his path.
“Mr. Machado?”
“Yes.”
“I understand someone suggested you look at my aircraft.”
“That's why I'm here.”
Her expression was controlled rather than rude.
That mattered.
Roy had dealt with arrogant people.
Arrogance usually wanted an audience.
Adrienne looked irritated, but not entertained.
“I wasn't told your company wasn't on our approved service list.”
Roy glanced toward Warren.
“I don't have a company.”
Adrienne frowned.
“The sign on your van says otherwise.”
“That’s a magnet.”
A few nearby technicians glanced at one another.
Adrienne did not smile.
“Are you currently affiliated with a certified repair station?”
“No.”
Warren stepped closer.
“Exactly.”
Roy looked at him.
“Hello, Warren.”
Adrienne turned.
“You know each other?”
Warren answered before Roy could.
“We crossed paths years ago.”
Roy almost laughed.
Crossed paths.
Fourteen years reduced to two words.
Adrienne looked back at Roy.
“Mr. Pace tells me allowing an unaffiliated mechanic to interfere could create serious liability.”
Roy nodded.
“That’s reasonable.”
Warren blinked.
Adrienne seemed surprised too.
Roy continued.
“You shouldn't let unknown people touch an aircraft simply because somebody says they're good.”
Warren’s shoulders relaxed.
Too soon.
Roy looked at the jet.
“You should verify them.”
Adrienne folded one arm.
“And your verification?”
“In the van.”
Warren said:
“Which is exactly my point.”
Roy ignored him.
He looked toward the open rear access panel.
Then toward the diagnostic cart.
Then at a yellow maintenance tag hanging from a cable.
Four seconds.
Maybe five.
That was enough.
He had seen the picture before.
Not this jet.
Not this exact hangar.
But the arrangement.
The indicators.
The words he could see on one diagnostic screen even from several feet away.
He looked toward the twenty-three-year-old technician.
The kid immediately looked down.
Roy’s stomach tightened.
Adrienne noticed.
“What?”
Roy said:
“Who was first technician on the aircraft?”