Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Zane
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Not because I told Stella I love her—though that may have been a little premature on my part. All I know is she gives me peace, and that weighs more with me than what her favorite food is or if she’s allergic to cats. She anchors me, and I clutch her hand under the table.
To her credit, she doesn’t flinch. I could break her fingers, and she wouldn’t cry out. She’s here to support me, and she’ll let me do whatever I need to do.
I have to be careful never to abuse that power.
In one of the smaller meeting rooms, Stella, who appears to be more my girlfriend than assistant, and I are sitting with an admiral of the United States Coast Guard, an FBI special agent, and an agent from Homeland Security. The National Transportation Safety Board, or the NTSB, dropped out of the meetings. Their job is to search for the black box, and that search slowed months ago as newer crashes and investigations pulled manpower away from my parents’ crash.
Pictures of the NTSB field officers salvaging the scant debris flash on the flat screen TV anchored to the wall in front of the conference table. My father’s corporate jet was an average-sized plane, and the storm had swept away most of the remains.
“While the NTSB is still searching for the cockpit voice recorder, we’ve moved on to investigating who was on board,” says Special Agent Banks, a greying man in his late forties or early fifties, if I had to guess. He wears fatigue well, and he sips a cup of coffee as if it’s a magic potion. An open file lays in front of him. “Unfortunately, because it was a private plane, those on board were not required to sign in on the flight manifest. We have a list of passengers, though it may be incomplete. Anyone could have boarded that aircraft if they cleared security with a valid passport.”
This is new information, and I straighten. “Are you saying the storm may not have caused the crash?” I thought they were going to update me on the search for my parents’ bodies, the debris, and the black box, not turn this into a homicide investigation.
“We’re looking into every possible angle, and we haven’t ruled out simple pilot error during the storm. You may have to reconcile with the fact the weather caused spatial disorientation, but if the CVR is never recovered—and at this point we may have to consider it never will be—it will entail months of investigation before we reach a definitive conclusion. We’re looking into Lark and Kagan as well. Do you know if they had any enemies?”
My answer is immediate and firm. “No. I don’t know anyone who would have wanted my parents dead.”
Banks squints. He doesn’t believe me. You don’t make the kind of money my dad did without stepping on toes, and lots of them. I understand that—I’m prepared to do it myself—but he didn’t run his company the way the Blacks run theirs. Aggressive. Cut-throat. Needing to win at any cost. Kagan Maddox wasn’t that kind of man, and neither am I.
“We need to be sure. Otherwise, someone may have had a vendetta against a passenger flying on that plane. We’ve been working with the French police and interviewing staff at the airport, viewing tapes, that kind of thing,” Special Agent Banks continues, but he’s distracted, looking around the meeting room.
He’s searching for more coffee, and I nod at Stella who rises and retrieves a full carafe off the sideboard. She pours, her hand steady, and Banks looks at her as if she were a goddess conjured out of thin air. The expression on his face matches how my heart flutters when she’s near.
She refreshes my mug as well and pushes the cream and sugar to me. She doesn’t know yet how I drink my coffee.
I control the trembling in my hand and add cream.
The guy from Homeland Security chimes in—I didn’t bother to remember his name. I found it unlikely my parents’ deaths were linked to a terrorist attack and didn’t understand why he was involved. My father kept his nose out of political affairs and never publicly supported a presidential campaign with either his influence or monetary assistance. Up until this meeting, I hadn’t considered another passenger on the plane could have been a target. My parents didn’t tell me they were traveling with anyone, but this proves how short-sighted I am, how buried under grief I’ve been. “Because a US senator is listed on the manifest, we have not ruled out the possibility of this being a terrorist attack against the United States of America.”
I’m frustrated, and I’m not afraid to let them know it. “If it’s that serious, then why is it taking so long to make any headway?”
“There’s a lot of red tape when it comes to this kind of thing,” Banks says, grimacing. “And we’ve run into some snags.”
“What kind of snags?” I ask, confused. “Is he dead or not? And why am I only just now being told about this?”
Banks coughs, and the Homeland Security jerk smirks. The admiral checked out a long time ago, and he’s been eyeing Stella when he thinks I’m not watching. Asshole.
“Mr. Maddox, it’s classified information, and we’re offering it to you now as a courtesy.” Banks’ voice is politely condescending. “It seems the senator was having an affair, and his camp is making our investigation difficult. His mistress was rumored to be with him on the plane, which could lead to motive. She was head of one of the largest gambling rings in LA, catering to some of the biggest celebrities, and yes, they’ve been missing since the crash. We need cooperation, and no one is giving it to us. They’re too busy trying to keep the senator’s reputation clean while his devastated wife prepares to assume his seat in Congress.” He scoffs. The senator’s wife isn’t that devastated her husband is dead.
“My parents were killed because a senator was having an affair?” I squeeze Stella’s fingers harder, and she lays a hand over mine.
“It’s never that simple, but you should be prepared for something that trivial. I’m sorry, Mr. Maddox. We’re doing what we can, but no matter the cause, their deaths are a tragedy.”
My parents were killed for nothing. That’s what I take away from our conversation.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.
When I open them, Stella is escorting everyone out of the conference room. In a spurt of anger, I want to snap at her, but she’s right. There’s nothing more to say. The FBI is doing what they can. Homeland Security is doing their part, and the Coast Guard can’t do anything more than keep searching for debris with the cooperation of the NTSB.
Stella shuts the door, and the voices and the clicking of keyboards fade. She should have escorted them to the elevator and told them to have a nice day and to travel safely. They flew to King’s Crossing specially for this meeting to accommodate me. Hopefully Harper intercepted them and said goodbye on my behalf. I’ll need to ask her to teach Stella professional etiquette, and I tuck that into the back of my mind. Stella possesses such grace I forget she’s not one of us.
“Can I get you anything?” she asks, twisting her fingers in front of her.
“No, I’m okay, but thanks. Their lack of progress isn’t a surprise.”
“Then I should get back to my desk.”
“Give me a minute.” It’s comforting to be alone with her. I have a lot of catching up to do if I want to run this company half as competently as my dad did. His vice presidents have done a good job as far as I can tell—and that isn’t saying much because of my inexperience—but my father held the reins. Time and again he told me he wouldn’t give up control and that’s the way I need to run the company, too, but I don’t have the knowledge to take his place. For the next little while, I’ll be putting in long hours. Denton and Cramer said they’d give me whatever I need, and I have no choice but to accept that offer. They’ll regret it by the time I’m done.
She sits in my lap and rests her head on my shoulder, the scent of her hair invading my nose.
Even after the disappointing meeting, I’m hard. There’s no time to indulge, but it doesn’t stop me from stealing a few quiet moments. Promoting her so I could be near her was the right thing to do.
“I’m sorry they didn’t have more to say,” she whispers into my ear.
“It’s what I expected, but they’re still digging and that’s what counts.” I pause. “When I woke up yesterday morning, my boxers were twisted around my hips,” I say, fishing for information and skimming my hand up her leg. I want to know if we fucked and it’s a beautiful dream I don’t remember.
“You were having a nightmare. I wanted to calm you down, and I gave you a blowjob. I was glad you were able to fall back asleep. You looked so tired at Temptations.”
I try not to blush in embarrassment. I thought the nightmares stopped. Maybe I’ve gotten better at sleeping through them, or I’ve quieted down enough I don’t bother Zarah anymore. She used to burst into my room, my thrashing and screaming freaking her out.
“I’m sorry I bothered you, and that I missed something so spectacular.” I wish she would have woken me. Our first intimate act, and I wasn’t conscious. “I would have returned the favor.” I nuzzle her cheek. “Thank you.”
She brushes her lips against mine and slides off my lap. “You sounded like you were in a lot of pain. I wanted to take it away, but I know I can’t.”
“You’re helping. Know that.”
Stella runs her fingers through my hair. Her nails scrape my scalp, and I want to lean in like a cat. “I do. I better get back to work. I need Harper’s help with a few things.”
“Dinner tonight?” I ask before I think things through. She doesn’t have to babysit me, and didn’t I just say I needed to work? Seeing her sitting behind her desk every day is going to have to be enough for the next few weeks.
Her lips part—she’s going to say no.
“Never mind,” I say, standing more forcefully than I intended. “I have a lot of work I need to do.”
“I can’t—”
“You don’t have to explain, Stella. You have your own life, but I hope you let me share a little bit of it.”
She smiles, and for a brief moment, I’m on top of the world. “You can. I’ll see you later. Harper and some of the others invited me to lunch.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
“Thanks.” Stella turns and walks out the door. She doesn’t close it behind her, and I watch her ass twitch as she glides over the carpet to her desk.
Promoting her is the smartest thing I ever did.
She’s worth her weight in gold, and she cares about me.
That makes her priceless.
I drum my fingers on the conference table near Banks’ empty coffee mug. There were passengers on my parents’ plane who are unaccounted for. Missing because they’re dead? Or did they use the crash as a distraction to go underground? If I find out, maybe I can move the investigation along.
Money talks.
After the meeting, Denton, Cramer, and I hole up in Denton’s office. We order in dinner, and I don’t let them leave until nine that night.
Since my parents died, I feel like I finally accomplished something.
It’s a start.