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How did they know Sebastian would be on the plane?
It was Wolfe Capital’s private jet, but I was the one who was traveling back to England. Sebastian had been taken into custody by Interpol. His lawyers didn’t get him out for hours, and it wasn’t public knowledge. How could anyone know he would hijack the plane at the last minute to get to me?
They couldn’t. It doesn’t make any sense.
Which means Sebastian wasn’t the target of the explosion…
It was me.
13
AVERY
“Welcome to England.Are you traveling for business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” I reply, trying not to flinch as the border agent glances at my fake passport, up to my face, and back again.
There’s a brief pause, and then he slams down the stamp. “Enjoy your stay.”
But it’s not the thought of a fun vacation that drives me on, moving with determination to baggage reclaim.
No, I’ve got unfinished business here alright. And I’m determined to get answers this time.
It didn’t take me long to put the pieces together, once I realized the bomb was intended for me, not Sebastian. After all, he may have a list a mile long of people wishing him harm, but me?
Nobody cares if I live or die. I can think of only two people who have been interested in who I am, and what I’m doing: Sebastian…
And his uncle, Richard.
Looking back, it seems obvious now. He was the one who suggested I take the jet back to London. Insisted on it, even. He had a convenient excuse why he and Sebastian’s mother weren’t flying with me that evening, so I would be all alone in the cabin. And as the new head of Wolfe Capital, he had full access to their jet. It would have been easy for him to gain access to the hanger, and plant something on-board. Or, more likely, pay someone else to do it.
But why would he want to kill me?
That’s the question that drove me back to my apartment to pack a bag, and book a flight to London, leaving ASAP. It may be crazy to fly back,towardsthe danger. I have a chance to walk away, and let Richard think his plan was a success. But something in my gut is telling me, I won’t ever be able to relax until I know what the hell is going on. This story isn’t over yet.
Why would he want me dead?
I’m not a threat to him. In fact, I’ve done everything he wanted. When I investigated the past and exposed that Sebastian was the one really driving in the accident that killed his father, I handed control of the company to Richard on a silver platter. He may have covered up the truth about the crash back when it happened, but that was to protect his investments, and the future of the family. There’s no love lost between him and Sebastian, and I can only imagine how he’s celebrating, now there’s nothing standing in his way.
So why come after me? The truth about Sebastian was already splashed over every website and newspaper in the world.
It doesn’t make any sense.
That’s why I’m back here in England, to try and figure out what I’ve missed. I spent the flight going over every detail I’ve discovered on this mission: the police reports, and cover-up, looking for a clue. Charlie’s tip, tracking down the forensics guy, is pretty much my only new lead, so I start there: Hailing a cab outside Arrivals, and directing him to the man’s address.
It turns out to be a leafy suburb, on the outskirts of London. The house is large and set back from the road, with a lush front yard. I can hear the sound of kids playing in the back, and when I ring the doorbell, a lanky man in his fifties answers, dressed in a rumpled sweater and corduroy pants.
“Brian Kendall?” I ask. He nods. “I really need to talk to you.” I say firmly. “It’s about a case you worked, fifteen years ago. The death of Patrick Wolfe.”
I’m braced to have to charm my way into the house. Everyone else I’ve talked to about the accident has wanted nothing to do with me, but Brian seems to deflate right away.
His shoulders sag. He lets out a weary sigh. “You better come in then.”
I blink. “Really?”
He stands aside, beckoning me in. “I suppose a part of me has been waiting for this day,” he admits, as I step inside the warmly decorated house. “Call it a sign of a guilty conscience.”
“Brian, what’s going on?” a female voice comes from the hallway, and I find a pleasant looking blonde woman, wiping her hands on an apron.
