“I wish. You should ask for one on board. I just never forget a word I read.”

“Lucky for him.”

“Yeah, well, let me know if he’s okay,” August said, turning to go back to his seat. Down the aisle this time. “The kid too. He looked pretty frightened.”

“He’s not the only one,” she said.

“Sorry about that, folks,” the captain said, his amplified voice clear now. “Please keep your seat belts fastened, as we might be experiencing a few more bumps before we reach New York.”

“If that was just a bump, I’d hate to see what a real problem looks like,” the attractive occupant of 24D said to August as he squeezed past. “Not that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, Superman.”

“Just trying to help out,” August said, sitting down. “I have a boy about the same age.”

“And I’ll bet he gets his casual good looks from you.” She laughed. “You’re married?” she asked, glancing at his ringless fingers.

August wondered if the question implied anything more. “Divorced. One year and counting,” August said. He put out his hand. “August Adams.”

“Xandria Muro,” the woman said, returning the handshake with a confident grip. A memorable name to go with the memorable face. “We’ve got almost seven hours left to fly, so I apologize in advance if I end up telling you my life story.”

August got the impression from her crisp business attire that her life story would be less than thrilling. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I was thinking that I might—”

“Get some sleep?” Xandria asked. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” August said, not sure why he felt bad about trying to avoid conversation. Her embarrassed blush highlighted her round cheekbones, which seemed lifted in a perpetual smile. “I probably couldn’t sleep right now anyway. After all the commotion.”

She accepted the invitation by tucking a gold strand of hair behind her ear and tilting her head. “You were quite the superhero, weren’t you? So what do you do when you’re not saving the elderly?” Xandria asked.

August laughed. “If I’m a superhero, then we’re in trouble,” he said. “I collect and sell rare books. Emphasis on the sell part.”

“How’d you get into that?”

“I thought you were supposed to tell me your life’s story,” August said, restraining a smile. “But to answer your question, I used to be an archaeobibliologist.”

Her full lips rounded into an O. “You studied Bibles?”

“Bibles are a primary focus, but an archaeobibliologist examines all kinds of texts.”

“Examines them for what?”

“Clues. Historical and cultural references, mainly, but also for information about ancient secret societies, lost treasures . . . you know, real-life Indiana Jones-type stuff.”

“Sounds amazing. Why did you quit?”

“I didn’t quit,” August said. “I just got tired of sitting in a room, reading about adventure. I wanted to make some of my own.”