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“No.” He didn’t have to think about that one.
Her eyes narrowed. “Because?”
He searched for an explanation that didn’t involve the truth. “We don’t know these local cops. What if one of them is the bomber? Letting on that Jay’s missing might get them thinking he’s out investigating the case. We’d be putting a potential killer on his tail.”
Her body tensed, making him wince. He hated being the one to imply her close-knit community might hold some sinister characters, but she’d be safer knowing she needed to watch her back.
Tai plated the food and they sat around the table. The minute he finished saying grace, Jane pounced. “Where do we start with the pastor’s case?”
Bridger served himself a heaping portion of country potatoes. Tai slid the hot sauce his way. “We’ve got a few people to question. I’ll let you know when we need your help.”
She snorted. “No, you won’t.”
Tai laughed. “Lady’s got your number, dude.”
Yeah, she did. And she had his big friend wrapped around her little finger, too.
Ignoring his manners, he planted his elbows on the table and stared her down. The look melted most people, but Jane just narrowed her eyes and stared back, completely unintimidated.
Which was exactly the problem. She should be concerned, if not about him, about the case. Questioning folks about the pastor would stir up trouble.
Jane waggled a slice of bacon. “There can’t be many people in town who know about Pastor’s past.”
“An excellent point.” He could afford to give her that. “I’m not saying it’s someone in town, but if it was—”
“Do I have any guesses?” She completed his question and chewed on her bacon, eyes on the ceiling. “None,” she said finally. “It’s possible someone could have gotten the info from his last church, but I can’t imagine it would have stayed secret long. Pastor Zack’s been here six years already.”
“What about the old guy, the one who hired him?”
“Warren King. No way. Besides, he’s been dead for two years.”
Another good point. “Anybody come into a slug of money recently?”
She snagged a second piece of bacon. “Nobody except the Manolos. But they sold a ranch that had been in the family for generations. Other than them, I can’t recall anybody.”
So if the blackmailer was a local, they were smart enough to keep their head down. That didn’t sound like someone angry or desperate enough to plant a bomb.
Bridger dug into his meal, letting his gaze wander over the montage of photos on the wall across from him. These were family photos, many sun-faded, none of the artistic quality of the larger works professionally displayed around the house. People of all ages smiled down at him, many with Jane and Jason’s wide, ready grin.
His attention kept circling back to one shot. Jane and Jay as kids in the cockpit of a vintage P-51. The wide, toothless grins showed how little the kids cared that the dented, dust-streaked fuselage was far from flight-ready.
The plane in Jay’s hangar. Restored, it would be worth millions, but he doubted his friend had money in mind. Clearly, the Mustang was a family heirloom. He wondered what had steered Jason into the Army instead of Navy flight school.
Jane’s rich voice interrupted his musings. “We Reillys come by our love of flight naturally.”
“Are you a pilot?”
She reached for the last piece of toast. “Used to be.”
Bridger looked from the photo to Jane. “Why no more?”
She shrugged. “Time, and money.”
“I hear you. Flying’s not a skill you can let rust.”
“You fly?”
“Used to.” He echoed her words.
