Chapter 28 #2
THE MORNING AFTER THE standoff, Colton found Susan Marsh waiting for him at the airfield, sitting on the same concrete barrier where he’d sat the afternoon Harvey discovered the counterfeit filter.
Her field case rested at her feet, the tablet on her lap.
She’d traded the windbreaker for a navy blazer.
“Davis.” She stood to greet him. “You look like hell.”
“Two hours of sleep. My girlfriend brought bear spray to a gunfight and won.” He lowered himself onto the barrier, legs heavy. “Do you have good news?”
“You could say that.” She opened the tablet and tilted the screen toward him. “Lab analysis on the counterfeit fuel filter confirmed it was manufactured from off-spec aluminum sourced through a surplus dealer in Butte. The dealer identified the buyer from a credit card receipt. Zeb Rader.”
Colton exhaled. This thread connected all the uncertainties and loose ends.
“The sugar contamination from the first incident matches samples recovered from the cabin,” Marsh continued. “Chain of custody is solid. The fuel evidence supports federal tampering charges independent of the kidnapping.”
“And the finding? For Precision?”
She closed the tablet and met his eyes. “Deliberate sabotage by a third party with insider access. I’ll need you and Ace McGillicutty for depositions, but the forensic case is locked. Precision Aviation is cleared of negligence.”
“Fantastic. My employer will remain intact.”
Relief washed through him. He raked both hands through his hair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, drawing the first calm breaths he’d taken in days.
Weeks of dread. Hours of Marsh’s pointed questions. The looming threat of a fleet stand-down that could have bankrupted the company he’d devoted his career to. It all disappeared with six words.
Precision Aviation is cleared of negligence.
“The formal report goes to Washington tomorrow,” she said. “Your insurance claims will process without holds. McGillicutty’s medical coverage and his tanker’s payout should move forward within sixty days.”
“Thank you.” His sentiment seemed inadequate.
Marsh tucked the tablet into her case. She paused, taking in the tanker, the mountains, and the residual smoke hovering over the Copper Creek drainage like a bruise refusing to fade.
“I owe you a confession, Davis.”
His head snapped up.
“After the second incident, when I interviewed Harvey separately, I was convinced you were involved.” She said it with the same flat delivery she’d applied to all of her findings.
“Two events, same fleet, same pilot at the center. You had the most to gain from an insurance payout, along with mechanical knowledge. And you had ended a relationship with a woman who turned up working for the other side.”
A sour taste flooded his mouth. “You thought I staged the sabotage for the insurance money?”
“The more I dug, the less it held up. That’s why we call it an investigation.
What convinced me otherwise were your meticulous maintenance logs.
Not the kind a man keeps when he’s planning to burn down the world around him.
” She paused. “Also, Harvey’s statement when he said something I’ve not heard a mechanic say about a pilot. ”
That piqued his interest. “What did he say?”
“That you loved air tankers more than people loved their children,” said Marsh. “He said if he finds the jackasses who did this, he’d need bail money. That’s when I checked the ground crew access records and found where Zeb Rader was embedded.”
He pictured Harvey in the interview room, grease under his fingernails, coffee mug in hand, defending Colton to a federal investigator with the same stubborn loyalty he gave the aircraft.
Skip the beer. I’m buyin’ that man a case of the good bourbon.
“The federal prosecutor is building the tampering case separate from the kidnapping charges,” said Marsh. “Your testimony on both incidents will be central.”
“Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”
She extended her hand, and he took it. Her grip came firm, nothing like the impersonal formality of their first handshake in the Helena hangar.
“You run a tight ship, Davis. Get your security sorted and keep your mechanic. Men like Harvey Boone are worth more than the planes they maintain.”
“I keep telling him that. He wants Precision to give him a raise.”
“Take care of that for him.” Marsh picked up her case and walked toward the sedan, gravel crunching under her boots.
She turned back. “Heard about your girlfriend and her stunt with the bear spray inside a cabin. That incident report will be an entertaining read.”
Colton shook his head with a laugh. “I’m sure it will. Life is never boring with Deanna. At this rate, she’ll have her own file cabinet for her vast collection of incident reports.”
“Knew I liked that woman.” Marsh climbed in and shut the door. She lowered the window. “Take care of yourself, Davis. I’d rather not return to Anaconda this season.” Her white sedan disappeared through the gate, heading toward I-90.
Colton stood on the tarmac, the morning air carrying the remnants of a fire season that had tested all of them, especially the woman he loved.
He grabbed his phone and called Ace. When he answered, Colton announced, “Rise and shine, you mother-clucker.”
Ace yawned. “You’re a laugh a minute, Davis.”
“That’s what my mother always said when she woke me to feed our chickens every morning. How’s Kylie?”
“Sleeping. What’s up?”
“NTSB cleared us along with Precision Aviation. Sabotage finding. Your insurance claim will go through, and medical bills will be covered.”
Ace released a breath like a man surfacing after being held underwater. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.” Colton studied the tanker, her cowling sealed tight, Harvey’s handiwork keeping her whole. “We’ll be okay, brother.”
“Yeah.” Ace’s voice cracked on the single syllable. “Yeah, we will.”
“Marsh did a good job. She came through for us,” said Colton.
“She did. Later, bro.” Ace’s relief mirrored Colton’s.
Colton pocketed the phone as the light moved across the Anaconda valley. The smoke had thinned for the first time in weeks. The sun cleared the Pintler peaks, granite walls bright and steady above the haze.
He walked to the tanker and put his palm on Dash’s fuselage, cool aluminum under his hand. “We made it, girl,” he said. “All of us.”
Then he climbed in, ran the preflight checklist, and taxied toward the runway. The fire still needed fighting. And he had work to do.