1               Five O’Clock Somewhere

“Cela23, line up and wait,” came the instructions from the Air Traffic Controller in the tower at John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana, California.

“Cela23, Roger last ATC,” Palmer Hughes replied to the tower and maintained a holding pattern at one thousand feet. He glanced at fuel, altitude, and horizon and saw that everything was fine. The flight had been diverted from LAX due to an undisclosed emergency in a terminal that had caused flights to be canceled and ground traffic to come to a standstill. John Perdue, the copilot, stepped back into the cabin to inform Daniel Cho, the Security Specialist assigned to the flight, so he could communicate with the client. The flight from Greeley, Colorado, had been smooth and uneventful until the diversion and the forty-minute wait as so many flights were diverted to the smaller field.

This flight was the fifth time the young NBA star had used the Franklin Celebrity Service to fly home to spend time with his parents as his father fought for his life with stage four colon cancer. At twenty-six, Darnell Cambrie was one of the hottest players in the League. He had signed a five-year extension that paid him two hundred thirty million plus bonuses for playoff appearances and selection to the All-Star game. Darnell traveled privately as often as possible in his off-season, knowing the end was near for his father, first coach, and personal hero.

Also on the flight was Darnell’s current girlfriend, who had moved into his Malibu mansion and had traveled with Darnell on the last three visits home. She had been taking more control each time the Franklin Team worked with Darnell.

Cho walked back and sat beside Darnell on a long leather sofa to quietly explain the delay and where they would be landing as soon as the tower cleared them. At six foot seven, Darnell was stretched out with his legs across the aisle, resting his size fourteens on the captain’s chair. Cho had hoped not to wake Brianna Wells, Darnell’s other half, who appeared to be sleeping beside Darnell with her feet in his lap. Unfortunately, Bree—as Cambrie called her—had a temper that could take up far too much oxygen on a small aircraft. When Brianna removed her blackout mask, Cho returned to his seat.

Brianna said, “What? What’s he doing over here?”

Darnell said, “It’s nothing, baby. Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not sleeping. I’m resting my eyes.” She looked at Cho, who had settled back into his captain’s chair and fastened his seat belt. “I asked you a question, Bodyguard. What were you talking about?”

Cho ignored her and looked to Darnell, the primary and the only person he communicated with directly. Darnell told Brianna, “He was just telling me about being ready to land. So don’t give him a hard time.”

Brianna looked out the small window and said, “Why don’t I see the ocean? I should be seeing the Pacific, but I see houses and the freeways. Where are we?”

Darnell turned to face her and said as quietly as he could with the engine noise in the cabin, “We are landing at John Wayne instead of LAX. We have a car waiting.”

Brianna sat up straight, pointed at Cho, and said, “You go tell your boy we are not landing anywhere other than LAX. That’s not acceptable.”

Cho didn’t move or respond. Instead, he just sat staring straight ahead at the door of the small aircraft that couldn’t open soon enough for him.

“I’m talking to you! Hey. Oriental bodyguard, dude. I’m talking to you.”

Cho turned to face her with steely eyes and said, “Asian. The term you were looking for is Asian Dude. This aircraft lands where the pilot says it lands. Mr. Cambrie,”—he directed his comments directly to the NBA star—“please instruct your guest to comply with FAA guidelines and my commands while we are in this aircraft.” He then looked at Brianna and said, “Remain seated and silent until we are on the ground.”

“Fool! Don’t be telling—”

Darnell held up a hand to stop her from talking. She looked at him like he had lost his mind.

“Please, Brianna. Just relax and don’t give Danny a hard time. He’s doing his job, and so are the pilots. Something happened at LAX, so they sent us to JW. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” she said. “When is anything a big deal with you? You shouldn’t let this pissant disrespect you. Or me! We need to get home,” Brianna said.

Copilot Perdue called back, “We are cleared for landing. Please buckle up. We’ll be on the ground in eight minutes.”

Brianna yelled toward the cockpit, “Unless we are low on gas, you better take us to LAX. We have people waiting for us there.”

Everyone ignored her except Darnell. “Bree. I asked you to let it rest. Please. These people take good care of us. There is no cause for you to be saying shit to nobody. We’ll be on our way home in twenty minutes. Malibu in two hours tops. And who do we have waiting for us?”

“Nobody, baby. I just wanted them to take us where we wanted to go, not wherever Jackie Chan over there said they could drop us. We were the ones paying them, remember?”

Darnell just looked at her and thought about letting it go but decided he did that too often with her, and she tended to bully people he respected. He said, “Bree, baby, I never forgot who’s paying for the flight or anything else. I didn’t forget when the bed was delivered for my pops, and you said it was a bit too much, either. I ain’t forgetting none of it. I’m asking you to give me a break and lay off Danny. We’ll be home when we get home.”

Brianna folded her arms, gave Darnell a stubborn look of insolence, and said, “Whatever. You don’t give a shit now, but you should. Maybe you will.” Then she put her mask away and sat on the sofa to await landing.

The flight landed and taxied to Terminal A, where John Michael Perdue had called ahead and arranged a limo service. Cho would accompany the primary and guest to his home and then return to the aircraft. They should have been refueled by then, and with any luck, the problems at LAX would have been cleared up so they could get clearance to take off from John Wayne and land at their home port of LAX.

The ride to Malibu took over two hours. Brianna had been argumentative and difficult all along the route. Finally, the limo driver had closed his divider shortly after pulling away from the terminal. Cho had seen his eyes glance in the rearview mirror and watched him shake his head or roll his eyes at the belligerent attitude she was giving Cho and Cambrie. When the limo finally pulled into the driveway of Cambrie’s ten-million-dollar Malibu estate, the circular drive held two Sports Utility Vehicles and a new Ford Bronco. The driver stopped before them, but the super-stretch couldn’t maneuver between them.

Finally, the driver opened the glass partition and said, “I’m going to go ask these guys to move the SUVs so I can get through.”

Cambrie leaned back and said, “I can move the Bronco, but I don’t have any SUVs. Not sure who that is.” Then the windshield exploded, and the driver’s head did as well. Brain matter and blood sprayed into the passenger compartment all over Cambrie.

Cho pulled his service weapon, yanking Cambrie to the floorboard.

Brianna said, “Just cooperate with them, and everything will be okay.”

Cambrie looked up at her, not believing what she had just said. “Bree. What have you done? Who’s out there?”

Six shots were fired through the blacked-out windows in the back of the limo, and Brianna screamed, “Hey, stop shooting! I’m in here!”

The door was yanked open from the outside, and seven shots were fired into the spasming body of Brianna Wells. Cho fired once, and the shooter went down. Cambrie had started screaming the instant the door was pulled open. He was deafened by the report of Cho’s nine-millimeter being fired so close and the rapid fire from the AR-15 that had instantly destroyed Brianna. Her blood was all over the interior of the car windows, ceiling, seats, and carpeting.