Page 1 of The Turning of the Tables

1

SETH MAYS

Hi. You don’t know me, but Hart says I’m supposed to pick you up at the airport.

My name is Seth Mays.

I used to work with Hart. He gave me your number… hope that’s okay.

ELLIOT CRANE

He told me. I get in at 7:14.

Sounds good.

Delayed. 7:58.

Okay.

Delayed again. 8:43.

Okay.

You should probably tell him tocome get me.

He’s working a case he can’t get out of. A senator’s wife got killed.

So you get me.

It’s going to be 10:36 now.

Okay.

Actually on the plane, now it shows 10:41.

In the air.

:)

Landed.

You have luggage?

Just carry on.

Turn left at the bottom of the escalator, far door. Big blond guy in a blue SUV.

Honda Passport?

I openedthe driver’s side door and got out, wincing a little as my bad knee twinged at the slightly too-hard landing. I turned, watching an about-average-height guy with shoulders almost as broad as mine type into his phone with one thumb, a backpack over one shoulder, a brown fleece over the other arm, and what looked like a fat briefcase in his phoneless hand. What was really striking about him was the white streak that grew in a swath at the part in his hair, pulled back into a short queue so I could see that the rest of it—the sides, the back—was a deep black. Silver glinted from his earlobes, although from this distance I didn’t get a good look at what was causing it.

“You Elliot Crane?” I asked him, coming around theback of my royal blue FJ Cruiser, noting with amusement that the guy behind me was driving a navy Passport… Hence the texted question, clearly.

Elliot looked up, his eyes an arresting mix of green and gold and brown, the whites stark against his copper skin. He looked between the Passport and my Cruiser. “So theotherblue SUV, then,” is what he said in a baritone that sounded just a little rough, tucking his phone in the back pocket of a pair of well-loved medium blue jeans that, if I were being completely honest, definitely loved him back.

I smiled. “Yeah. I didn’t realize there was another one behind me, or I’d have said something less generic. Seth Mays.” I held out my hand. “Seth. Or Mays. Either will do.”

He shook it. “Elliot,” he said, a faint smile on his full lips.