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We all fired to our feet.
Monck asked the feds. “You guys carrying?”
Both nodded.
“Locked and loaded,” Reid said.
Monck’s tone to me allowed not a millimeter of wiggle room.
“Your ass goes back to your condo.”
Fast as a heart attack, Monck was out the door.
9:00 P.M.
The uniforms dropped me at Villa Renaissance just past nine.
Sleep was out of the question.
I sat on the terrace, nerves on edge, willing my phone to ring. Hoping the steadythrumof the surf would calm me.
It didn’t.
I felt angry that Monck had barred me from the action. Miffed that he was right. Totally useless.
And terrified for Ryan. On a flight that might be programmed for disaster.
I’d agreed not to warn Ryan. Anyway, how could I? By the time the ransom email landed Ryan’s plane was already in the air. And if I could have gotten word to him, would my action have been morally defensible? Could I have justified placing hundreds of other lives in danger?
Thinking of Ryan made me think of tea.
I went to the kitchen to brew a cup. Back outside, I checked the screen of my iPhone.
No missed calls. Of course not. Less than thirty minutes had passed since Monck and the feds raced off to Bugaloo’s.
I took a sip of tea—followed by several deep breaths.
A small, sand-colored bird circled low and close to the balcony, appraising. Its beak and legs were orange. Black feathers ringed its throat and ran in a narrow bar from eye to eye. I guessed it was a plover.
Seriously, Brennan? You’re playing ornithologist while Ryan’s life hangs in the balance and Monck and the feds are taking down Cloke?
Good with the appearance of the terrace, and with my presence on it, the maybe plover landed on the top of its low wall. Grateful for any distraction, I went as still as my shaky hands would allow and watched.
A full minute, then I whispered, “Would you like a treat, little guy?”
The bird cocked its head to eyeball me more closely. Stayed put as I slowly set down my mug and eased from my chair.
Back to the kitchen, this time for bread.
When I returned, the bird was still there. Ever so gently, I tossed a few morsels of crust toward his feet.
Hop-turning, he eyed me again, then my offering. Went for the latter.
I felt like Jane Goodall making her first breakthrough at Gombe.
I was doling and my avian pal was noshing when suddenly the bird startled and darted off in a flurry of wings.
I looked to see what had frightened the plover. Nothing down below. I turned toward the condo.
