“Guess we were looking at the wrong plane,” Jake says, getting close to my ear.
Then he tells me how he wants us to play it.
“It’s personal for me, on account of what they did to Helene,” he says. “But I know it’s even more personal for you.”
We’d both ditched our night-vision goggles in the truck. Now Jake trains his pale eyes on me in the flashing lights of the plane.
“Take us over the line,” he says.
ONE HUNDRED TEN
BRIAR CROCKETT IS standing at the picture window, staring out at the lake and the lights of the seaplane, glass in his hand like some kind of nightcap, when the front door opens and closes.
“Told you I need another little minute, Bo,” he says without turning around.
“Take all the time you need,” I say.
He turns slowly, clearly trying to keep his usual calm about himself, trying not to act surprised as he walks to his desk and puts his drink down next to an open suitcase I can see is filled with cash.
I point at it. “Your go bag?”
He’s once again got that curious look back on his face.
“Silas,” he says.
“If you’re wondering why Bo just let me stroll in here,” I say, “he’s currently got a gun stuck in his ear.”
Briar nods, then sits down at his desk, as if about to officially call this meeting to order. He absently reaches over to the suitcase and closes it.
“Now that you’ve done that,” I say, “how about you keep those hands where I can see them?”
“You’re armed, of course.”
“And dangerous, as luck would have it.”
We can still hear the plane outside, see the lights flickering through the huge picture window, making his face go in and out of shadows.
“Well, we seem to have a situation here, don’t we?” Briar says in that familiar soothing voice of his.
“Going someplace?”
“My situation isn’t the one to which I’m referring here, Silas,” he says. “It’s yours, actually.”
“In what way?”
“I’m just wondering if you’ve checked in with Mrs. Webb in the past hour?” he asks, voice still soft. “And your dear, sweet grandmother?”
He slowly holds up his hand, shows me that he’s only reaching for his drink as he takes another sip.
I feel as if there’s a hand as cold as ice squeezing my heart now. Feel my heart start beating again the way it had when I’d been chasing down his son.
It takes all the strength I have in me and all the will not to show him that.
To tell myself to just keep breathing in and out.
I know all this man wants in the world is to get a rise out of me.
“As a matter of fact,” I say, “I just did.”
