Same clients.
Same routes.
Every way I split this, it looks the same: Paul was a good pilot who made a fatal mistake on his pre-flight checklist.
Except, I know that’s not the whole truth.
It’s possible he filed false flight logs, but I won’t know that for sure unless I can track down the real ones. For which I would likely need a warrant, and I’ve already been told that I won’t get any help, that looking into this and getting caught means losing my badge.
It’s only because I called in a favor that I have copies of the flight logs pertaining to the case. The rest of the files are out of reach for me. My captain made sure of that.
Frustrated, I run both hands over my face and straighten.
As I lift my coffee mug, I realize it’s empty, so I carry it into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot.
My mom left a few hours ago, leaving a refrigerator full of leftovers and taking Trigger with her for the company. It’s not unusual for her to keep him for a few days. He’s honestly as much hers as he is mine, though my house always feels so empty without the little guy.
Even though the lawyer currently napping on my couch is an all-consuming presence all her own.
As soon as the coffee pot is started, I leave the kitchen and head into the living room. Beckett’s legs are curled up beneath her, and she’s fallen asleep with a notebook in her hand. After grabbing the throw blanket off the back of my couch, I set her notebook aside and cover her with the blanket.
She takes a deep breath but snuggles in closer, head resting on her curled arm.
I swallow hard as I study her.
Without the bold red lipstick that has been her signature for as long as I’ve known her, she looks softer. More vulnerable. Freckles so light they’re nearly invisible dot her nose and cheekbones, only adding to that softness.
Man, she’s beautiful.
She’s got me completely torn in two all over again. And I know, when this is over and she returns to Boston, it’s going to hurt. Badly. I mean, it hurt the first time, and we’d only had one date.
With that sober reminder, I get to my feet and head toward the back door for some fresh air. I desperately need space tobreathe. To think. Because, if I can’t solve this, then it doesn’t really matter whether or not she’s got me twisted up inside.
Because Beckett Wallace may not survive what’s coming if I don’t. I may not have many answers, but Iknowthat.
The night air is cold, but I don’t bother with a sweatshirt as I step out onto my back porch. Crossing my arms, I take a deep breath and run through what I do know.
Which is a whole lot of nothing.
Aside from the fact that I know there’s something I’m missing, I don’t have anything else to go on. Whoever covered this up did a great job. Which leads to my gut feeling that we’re looking at a police cover-up. And that makes me sick to my stomach.
The door slides open behind me, and Beckett steps outside, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say as I avert my gaze from her and out toward my grassy backyard.
“You didn’t,” she replies with a yawn. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
“Don’t be. You needed it. Oh, my partner called. They didn’t get anything on the surveillance, and they weren’t able to recover any prints that didn’t belong to you or the maid who cleaned your room before you checked in.”
“I didn’t think they would. He was careful.” There’s disappointment in her voice.
“I’m sorry.” I turn toward her now. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Beckett turns her face up toward me. “I know you won’t.”
A moment passes between us, that sizzling connection that’s been there since we first met across an interrogation table. My gaze drops to her lips. Lips that I’ve been desperate to taste since I first saw her standing there in my interrogation room two years ago.
I turn away.
