Chapter 10
What am I missing?
I’ve been staring down at this map and studying Paul’s flight logs for the last six hours. And so far, I don’t see any suspicious patterns. For all intents and purposes, he’d been flying the same routes for nearly seven years.
Boston to Seattle.
The occasional trip to Washington, D.C., just like Beckett said.
Same clients.
Same routes.
Every way I split this, it looks the same: Paul was a good pilot who made a fatal mistake on his pre-flight checklist.
Except, I know that’s not the whole truth.
It’s possible he filed false flight logs, but I won’t know that for sure unless I can track down the real ones. For which I would likely need a warrant, and I’ve already been told that I won’t get any help, that looking into this and getting caught means losing my badge.
It’s only because I called in a favor that I have copies of the flight logs pertaining to the case. The rest of the files are out of reach for me. My captain made sure of that.
Frustrated, I run both hands over my face and straighten.
As I lift my coffee mug, I realize it’s empty, so I carry it into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot.
My mom left a few hours ago, leaving a refrigerator full of leftovers and taking Trigger with her for the company. It’s not unusual for her to keep him for a few days. He’s honestly as much hers as he is mine, though my house always feels so empty without the little guy.
Even though the lawyer currently napping on my couch is an all-consuming presence all her own.
As soon as the coffee pot is started, I leave the kitchen and head into the living room. Beckett’s legs are curled up beneath her, and she’s fallen asleep with a notebook in her hand. After grabbing the throw blanket off the back of my couch, I set her notebook aside and cover her with the blanket.
She takes a deep breath but snuggles in closer, head resting on her curled arm.
I swallow hard as I study her.
Without the bold red lipstick that has been her signature for as long as I’ve known her, she looks softer. More vulnerable. Freckles so light they’re nearly invisible dot her nose and cheekbones, only adding to that softness.
Man, she’s beautiful.
She’s got me completely torn in two all over again. And I know, when this is over and she returns to Boston, it’s going to hurt. Badly. I mean, it hurt the first time, and we’d only had one date.
With that sober reminder, I get to my feet and head toward the back door for some fresh air. I desperately need space to breathe. To think. Because, if I can’t solve this, then it doesn’t really matter whether or not she’s got me twisted up inside.
Because Beckett Wallace may not survive what’s coming if I don’t. I may not have many answers, but I know that.
The night air is cold, but I don’t bother with a sweatshirt as I step out onto my back porch. Crossing my arms, I take a deep breath and run through what I do know.
Which is a whole lot of nothing.
Aside from the fact that I know there’s something I’m missing, I don’t have anything else to go on. Whoever covered this up did a great job. Which leads to my gut feeling that we’re looking at a police cover-up. And that makes me sick to my stomach.
The door slides open behind me, and Beckett steps outside, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say as I avert my gaze from her and out toward my grassy backyard.
“You didn’t,” she replies with a yawn. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
“Don’t be. You needed it. Oh, my partner called. They didn’t get anything on the surveillance, and they weren’t able to recover any prints that didn’t belong to you or the maid who cleaned your room before you checked in.”
“I didn’t think they would. He was careful.” There’s disappointment in her voice.
“I’m sorry.” I turn toward her now. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Beckett turns her face up toward me. “I know you won’t.”
A moment passes between us, that sizzling connection that’s been there since we first met across an interrogation table. My gaze drops to her lips. Lips that I’ve been desperate to taste since I first saw her standing there in my interrogation room two years ago.
I turn away.
“You made coffee?”
“I’m not ready to step away yet,” I tell her. “There’s something I’m missing, and I need to find it.”
“Don’t you need sleep, too?”
“Not my first all-nighter,” I reply with a half-smile as I turn and head back inside. I close the door behind her, and she shrugs out of the blanket, laying it on the back of the couch as she does.
“Same. And that power nap was amazing.” Beckett retrieves the notebook and her empty mug, then joins me in the kitchen as I pour both of us cups of fresh coffee.
“I was going over everything I remember, and there wasn’t anything that seemed off.
” Her frustration is evident in her expression and the sharpness of her voice.
“This is why I stopped looking before. Even though I knew there had to be more to the story, I kept hitting roadblocks. And now I’ve dragged you down with me.
” She looks up at me. “I’m sorry, Shawn. ”
“Hey, I jumped in all by myself,” I say, hoping to alleviate some of the guilt I see she’s carrying on my behalf.
“And we’ve only been looking into this for a day.
Give it some time. I’ve got a friend trying to narrow down where that photo was taken, and as soon as she gets back to me, we’ll have another lead to follow. ”
“Yeah?” she asks, hopeful.
“Yeah,” I repeat. “She’s good, too. Finding places is her job.” And because I can’t help myself, I reach out and brush some of the hair from her shoulder. When she stiffens beneath my touch, I withdraw my hand. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She smiles then takes a drink of her coffee. “So, your mom is great. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that earlier. But, she really is.”
“She is,” I agree with a smile.
Beckett chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “It must have been hard. When she was sick. Is that when she stayed with you?”
She’s fishing for information. Trying to understand me better. So, the question I’m facing now is—do I let her in?
Might as well. “She was diagnosed two years ago.” I take a deep breath. “The afternoon of our date, actually.”
Beckett’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
Nodding, I cross my arms. “Yeah. I got the call about an hour before I met you at the restaurant.”
The horror is evident on her face as she likely pieces everything together. “Then why didn’t you cancel on me?”
“The truth?” I run a hand over the back of my hair. “I liked you, and I needed the distraction to keep me from spiraling. I lost my dad when I was nine, so my mom is all I have.”
“Shawn.”
“Looking back, I should have cancelled, but in the moment, I wasn’t really thinking clearly. I just knew I didn’t want to be home, and I couldn’t face her when all she was trying to do was make me feel better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“If I had?”
“I would have understood why you were so distracted. We could have talked through it.”
She would have, too. Beckett Wallace would have held my hand and talked me through everything. Even though, up until that point, we’d only had tension between us.
“You barely knew me. And the interactions we’d had up until that point weren’t exactly great,” I remind her.
She laughs. “It was a bit combative, that’s for sure. But—” She trails off. “There was something there, wasn’t there?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “There was.” Is.
I stare back at her, trying to think clearly when all I want to do is pull her in and wrap my arms around her. This connection I feel makes absolutely no sense. But it’s there. Explainable or not.
Beckett isn’t just under my skin.
She’s in my blood.
Tattooed on my brain.
Clearing my throat, I force my attention away. “I’m sorry for how I acted that night. I know I wasn’t the greatest company.”
“You weren’t. But now that I know why, it’s okay. Seriously. I wish you would have told me, Shawn.”
“I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted everything to feel normal for at least one more night.”
She’s silent for a moment, but I can see that she understands.
That’s another thing I noticed about Beckett Wallace when we first met. As tough as she was, it’s only because she believes in honesty. In justice. She understands the needs of her clients, and she executes against those needs—not her own agenda.
It’s more than the money for her. She cares. Which is unlike just about any other lawyer I’ve ever met.
“She’s okay now?” she asks.
I nod. “She’s been in remission for six months. Insisted on moving back into her house four months ago despite me telling her that she should stay with me. I even offered to sell this place and move in with her.”
“What did she say to that?”
I smirk, remembering the conversation. “That I didn’t need to take a step back. She actually refused to let me move in.”
Beckett smiles widely, and my stomach twists. “As I said, she’s great.” She steps forward and touches my arm with her fingertips. “I am sorry that I misjudged you.”
“I didn’t give you much of a choice.”
Beckett doesn’t move her hand from my arm, and my hands flex down at my sides with my desire to touch her.
To pull her close and hold her, even if I’ll face heartbreak when this is all over.
God, please grant me the strength I need to get through this and keep her safe. Please.
Clearing her throat, she pulls away. “Shall we get to it, then?”
Disappointment surges through me at the termination of this moment, but I force what I hope is a friendly smile. “Let’s keep looking.”