Runner-up 3

Too antsy to sit still, Bonner paced in front of the boarding gate, fingering the note in his pocket. He didn’t like surprises any more than Genie did. But then, little surprised him these days. Least of all, Genie’s ridiculous attempt to pull one over on him. Yeah, he’d panicked for a moment in the car, forgotten in which pocket he’d stashed the flash drive. But the rummaging around in the satchel was all for show.

Did she think he was a fool? He’d seen her lurking nearby whenever Falco called, sneaking furtive glances when he stashed stuff in the safe. Even caught her snooping around on his laptop a few days ago. She’d mumbled some dumb excuse about checking the weather forecast -- as if the temperature inside Nordstrom ever changed.

He’d made a big show out of putting the drive in his jacket pocket. He had miscalculated, though -- thought for sure she’d wait until they reached Cabo before she swiped the damn thing. He should have realized something was hinky when she carried her own bags, but he’d been too busy thinking about poking another notch in their Mile-High Club card. That was Genie’s one redeeming trait -- she was always up for some fun. In some ways, he’d miss her.

The announcement for Flight 247 to Los Cabos blared over the loudspeaker. Ah well, Bonner mused, there’d be plenty of pretty señoritas to choose from in Mexico.

The lady seated next to Bonner on the plane might have been pretty once -- four or five decades ago. He listened politely to her stories about her great-grandchildren, while trying not to stare at her ill-fitting dentures and the three hairs that sprouted from a mole on her chin.

“So what do you do for a living, young man?”

“I’m a television producer.”

The old lady pointed to her ear. “Speak up, boy. My ears don’t work like they used to.”

“I’m a television producer,” he repeated loudly, ignoring all the heads that swiveled to check him out. Ignoring all, that is, except the cute brunet flight attendant, whom he acknowledged with a wink.

A few minutes later, the attendant -- Tiffany, her name tag read -- passed him peanuts, a cola and a cocktail napkin on which she’d scribbled her name and cellphone number. Bonner chuckled as he tucked the corner of the napkin into his wallet, alongside the true Birds of Paradise flash drive.

And then laughed outright, picturing Genie’s expression once she’d uploaded the pilfered flash drive’s files and saw her own face -- and various other body parts -- in all of their jpeg glory.

Bonner froze in mid-laugh. The thought of body parts reminded him that he still hadn’t heard from Ernesto. The guy had been given a straightforward job with specific instructions to call the minute the job was completed. Bonner pulled his cellphone from his pocket and checked his messages. Nothing.

Carmen was a 110-pound dancer; Ernesto weighed an easy 200 and carried a small arsenal wherever he went.

Bonner shook his head. That could only mean one thing. Genie had gotten to him -- or thought she had, anyway. That was one of Genie’s biggest problems -- thinking she could read a man. She’d surely underestimated Ernesto, fallen for his thickheaded thug act.

She’d made a big mistake.