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CHAPTER 13
They met in the park near the overhang of the falls just as they had in the past. Though it had been years ago.
Here, where the river rushed over the cliff, casting up spray as it crashed into the roiling water below. The clouds overhead were parting, sunlight piercing through a thin veil to reflect against the snow thick on the branches and forest floor.
Tate spotted Connell’s pickup as it wheeled into the near-empty parking area of the viewpoint and slid into a spot on the far end of the lot. Seconds later, Connell was out of the cab and heading in Tate’s direction.
Tate started walking along the path, up the slight incline to the park as the water, icy gray, crashed over rocks and tumbled wildly down. Water spray mingled with the falling snow, the roar intense as Connell caught up with him.
Five-eight and fit, Connell was dressed in jeans, hiking boots and a down jacket. A baseball cap covered most of his brown hair, and sunglasses covered his eyes. Several days’ growth of beard covered his jaw and he was, as always, all business. “Okay, what’s this all about?” he asked without preamble and they walked, side by side, the path winding through tall evergreens with drooping, snow-covered limbs.
“I need your help.”
“Surveillance?”
“Yeah.”
Connell shot him a glance. “You know, I’m out of the business.”
“I heard.” But Tate wasn’t convinced.
“I’m kind of into God and country, helping out those who are . . . you know, less fortunate.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He nodded. “Got involved with wounded soldiers—veterans who’re coming back to the States.”
“And so you’ve given up surveillance.”
Connell smiled. “I’ve given up walking that thin line that separates legit from non-legit. Too tricky of a balancing act. And it was time for me to give back a little.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Then we’re okay.”
A beat and the waterfall’s deafening roar filled the silence. Connell made his way to an ancient rock wall that had been reinforced and heightened by a steel railing. He leaned over the barrier, seeming to study the roiling river below. “So I won’t be breaking any laws?”
“Look, same deal as before. No questions asked.”
“You’re sidestepping the questions.”
“How you do your job is your business.”
“Job?” He let out an amused huff. “Business? Haven’t you been listening? Didn’t I just say that I’m done with all that?”
Tate nodded. “I heard. Let’s just say this is for the greater good, all right?”
“So it’s not personal?” Connell couldn’t hide the skepticism in his voice. He knew Tate, had known him for years. Their fathers had worked on the force together and though Connell was in his fifties, nearly a generation older than Tate, they’d known each other when Tate was a kid, and he had reconnected with Tate a few years back. “This isn’t like a personal vendetta. Right?”
“Nope.” That was the truth. For the most part.
“But there’s a personal element to it,” Connell surmised, and Tate didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Connell would see right through it. Not only had they been close so he could read Tate like a book, but Connell was sharp, supposedly had a genius IQ, and possessed skills to go with his brains. Skills possibly honed by the CIA or NSA, though Connell never admitted as such. Nonetheless, they were skills Tate needed. Above all else, Connell had connections and could keep his mouth shut. “So let’s cut to the chase. What is it you want, Wes? I’m guessing it has something to do with Jonas McIntyre’s release.” He stopped then, where the path had serpentined back to the river, just above the falls, sharp hazel eyes assessing. Daring Tate to try and lie.
“I need to find out more about that night.”
“What? You know more than anyone—maybe even the cops.” Connell’s eyebrows drew together. “I helped you with this before.”
