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19
AUSTIN
After what just went down, I hate leaving Carly with her dad all pissed. Even to talk to my mom. So I don’t. I tag her hand when she thinks to step away from me and wrap my arm around her. She looks up at me but stays quiet.
The guys already know about my mom. The last time she and I talked—we texted a few times since—I was in Chance’s truck headed into town.
Carly knows about Mom’s illness. This call though, isn’t about that because…
Fuck.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Sure that Greg secretly works for Sea-Air and has been taking on our flights to steal our transport clients? Yes. I’m sure.”
Greg was hired to be my fill-in while I’m in Montana, to take all the routes I usually fly. That includes passengers who reserved travel through our website, and also cargo—like the day Shankle showed up and I was shuffling oysters to a client.
“How many?”
“So far? Five.”
“Five?” I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling.
Five transport routes gone.
“Who’s the owner of Sea-Air again?” I ask.
“Frank Parcell,” she replies.
“Right. The asshole hears about me going to Montana and… what? Decides to finish us?”
I hear her frustrated sigh through the miles.
“He knows I’m sick. That’s not news at this point. I don’t know how he learned about your father’s will though.”
I think on it. “It’s got to be Ed.”
“From the dock?” Surprise laces Mom’s words.
I nod even though she can’t see me. “He was there when Shankle showed up. I can’t remember how much Shankle shared before we took off, but I do know he overheard that Jonathan Bridger died.”
“So he put two and two together.”
“I did leave within the month,” I remind her. “I doubt Ed did anything on purpose. He probably just mentioned my situation to Frank in passing. I mean, we’ve known him forever.”
Mom is quiet for a minute. “What are we going to do?”
“You’re not going to do anything. Not even worry,” I say.
She laughs.
Carly, Chance, and Miles are staring at me, concerned.
“Is your mom okay?” Carly whispers.
I put my hand over the phone. “She’s fine. The fucker we hired to fill in was a mole and stole our routes.”
“You’re not alone,” Mom says, apparently realizing I’m updating the others. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
