by Linda Bond
“I had.” She stepped out of his embrace. “But while I was away, I dug up some new information.” She bounced on her toes, having a hard time keeping her excitement in check.
“What kind of information?”
“I think I’ve found a possible link to Scott Fitzpatrick. Did you know that before he died he was about to stand trial in New York for ripping off investors in his company?”
The disgusted look on his face said he did know. “Yeah, real scumbag. Fitzpatrick also left thousands of employees without their pensions.”
“Which means,” she raised a finger for emphasis, “a lot of people could have wanted to kill him.”
Zack nodded but dropped his focus to the ground. “I need to tell you something. I would have told you sooner but…”
She gently touched his arm. “Just tell me.”
“Michael Flint, the guy who died diving off the east coast?”
“The waitress’ lover? I remember.” The man with a backpack that had a Semper Fi patch on it.
“Flint was working for New York’s Bureau of Criminal Activity. He’d been looking into Fitzpatrick’s death at the time of his own supposedly accidental death.”
“Holy shit!” She stepped back. “Now, that can’t be a coincidence.”
“The FDLE is on it, but we haven’t been able to find proof of any foul play in either case.”
“Which is why you’re here?” It was all making sense now.
“Officially I’m off the case—too close to it, apparently. But I’m not going to stop until I find proof of what’s going on here and find out who is pulling the strings.” He took a step toward her. “You said you found a link to Fitzpatrick? What kind of link are you talking about?”
“Have you heard of Robert Fitzpatrick?”
“Robert? Robert Fitzpatrick?” He let out a low whistle.
Just the reaction she’d been hoping for.
“How is he linked to Scott Fitzpatrick?”
“I pulled up pictures of Scott Fitzpatrick online.” She felt a little breathless as she recited her find. “Had to go through about three pages of them. Most of the pictures were court or news related, but I found one that looked like an old family picture. Like the Kennedys at Hyannis Port. Fitzpatrick had the trophy wife next to him, a couple of kids, and another man standing to Fitzpatrick’s left, just behind him. Robert Fitzpatrick.”
“Finally!” Zack drew her in for another hug.
“Finally what?” she whispered with the little air left in her lungs.
“A connection,” he exhaled into her ear. “I did my own digging into Scott Fitzpatrick’s background after my uncle died, but never investigated his family members.” He pulled back and stared deep into her eyes. “Here’s the connection you just made. My cousin is deaf, and I know a little sign language. My uncle signed the name Robert to the camera before he died.”
Wait. “The last thing your uncle did before he died was sign the name Robert?” Her jaw practically hit the dirt.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I assume that’s who he thought messed with his equipment—the person he believed got him killed. Or something else really suspicious. Why else would he try to tell us the name? He hoped the police would eventually get the footage from the head cam.”
All this information was making her dizzy. “But why would Robert Fitzpatrick, and we’re assuming it’s the same Robert, kill your uncle? Did he even know Jackson?”
Zack shrugged. “I’m not saying Robert tampered with my uncle’s tanks, but it’s a clue and a connection we didn’t have before.”
“I was thinking maybe Robert might be here doing what we’re doing, digging for info on why his brother died.”
“Maybe, but either way, we need to talk to him. Wait a minute.” Zack grabbed her shoulders with both hands. “You said here. Like here, right now?”
She nodded. “Robert was in sunglasses and a hat in the family photo, but there was something familiar about him. I think he might be on this adventure vacation.”
Zack made a choking sound bordering on disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
She opened her mouth, but quickly shut it as Monica, a Thunderbird pilot, and George walked up. George aimed his video camera at them. He was probably rolling, and she didn’t want him to catch anything about Robert on video.
“Ready for the ride of your life, Zack?” Monica purred as she moved between them, brushing her body against his.
Nothing like subtlety.
Zack froze for a split second, then smiled and said, “Samantha, we’ll finish this conversation as soon as I’m done.”
“I’m sorry, did I interrupt something personal?” Monica smiled sweetly. She might have been speaking to Zack, but she was eyeing Sam.
A ripple of worry ran down Sam’s spine. Had the interruption been deliberate? Was Monica involved in these deaths, too? What did she know about them? Or Robert?
“Why did you leave so early the other morning? You didn’t even call me.” Monica was speaking to Sam, but she threw a coy glance at Zack. “Did our client here hurt your feelings?”
Sam sucked in a breath. “No, of course not.” Monica had a smile on her face, but venom in her eyes. What was her deal? Was she into Zack and just jealous, or was she onto their investigation?
“Samantha left at my request.” Zack took a step away from Monica, who was clearly in his personal space now. “I had a favor I needed taken care of, and she wanted to check in on her mother. She was kind enough to do both while she was gone for the past two days. No big deal. She’s back and we’re still on. In fact—” He turned to Sam, that twinkle lighting up his features.
Uh-oh. Her hand fluttered nervously at her heart.
“In fact?” Monica prompted.
“In fact, I’ve been wondering how Samantha can authentically report on these adventure vacations without actually participating in an adventure herself, so I am giving up my seat on the F-16 to her.”
Her stomach hit the ground. What the hell? He knew she didn’t fly.
“Holy shit!” George’s voice boomed. “This is your lucky day, girl.” He turned the camera her way.
“No, no, no. I c-can’t possibly let you d-do that,” she stuttered.
“I agree.” Monica’s face tightened. “Besides, it’s too late to switch now.”
Zack whispered something to Monica, but Sam was standing close enough to make out his words. “An extra ten thousand dollars says it’s not.”
“No really, Monica is right. I don’t…um…” She couldn’t bring herself to say she was afraid. Make that pee-her-pants terrified. She wouldn’t let Monica know she couldn’t get in that jet even if ten grand—or her life—depended on it. Her feet had turned into concrete boots.
Zack, still jovial, addressed the group. “Could you give us a minute?”
The pilot, who’d been quietly watching from behind Monica, stepped forward. “Perhaps I can help you make a decision. I’m Captain Dan Dorway.” He stuck out his hand toward Sam. “You’re a reporter, right?”
He could probably feel her hand trembling as he shook it.
“Not just anyone is allowed to ride with the Thunderbirds. You’ll need to take a thirty-minute preparation course and pass a short physical given by our Thunderbird paramedic. But still. Would you really want to pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity?”
“Yes.” She dropped his hand, and raised hers in protest. “You don’t understand. I don’t fly. Ever.”
Zack cut her off. “She’ll be in the locker room in ten.”
After the pilot dragged a reluctant Monica away, Sam threw up her arms. “I know you probably think this ride is a way to thank me for finding info on this Robert guy, but I don’t need a thank you. We’re good.” She backed away from Zack. “And to think I was so excited to see you today.”
“You were?” He grinned.
In her effort to put more distance between her and the jets, she teet
ered backward across the tarmac on her high heels.
He reached out to steady her. “Don’t lose your cool. You’re going to fall on your cute little ass again.”
“Funny.” She glared at him, hoping he could feel the fear in her stare. “You can’t just throw money around and steamroll me into taking a ride I don’t even want.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You’re serious? You really don’t want to ride in a United States Air Force F-16? Are you joking? Look, I know you’re scared to fly, but—”
He did think he was doing her a favor. Oh boy. She heard and felt each beat of her heart, drumming in her chest and at her temple. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom.
He pulled her into him and held her so tight, she couldn’t move. Not that she could have moved anyway. She was totally paralyzed by fear.
“Okay, maybe I do want to thank you. But I’m not going to tell you what to do.”
“A damn miracle.” The words were muffled against his chest. She glanced up.
“My uncle always used to tell me to face what frightens you the most. And then you’re free. You’re always strung so tight, and that anxiety is holding you back from life. From being your best possible self.”
He ran one hand up and down her back in a gesture he probably thought comforted her. Wrong. Panic attack, here I come.
“You can’t move forward until you do this…or something like it,” he murmured. “Surprise yourself. Surprise me.”
“I can’t.” Her adrenaline must have been spiking, because she suddenly felt nauseous.
“You can’t or you won’t? There’s a difference. Take a chance and go on this little adventure.”
“Little?” she squeaked.
A firm hand jerked her out of Zack’s arms. “Are you out of your damn mind?” George demanded.
Apparently, he wanted her full attention. George put his camera on the ground, and, as she backed away from both men, she almost fell over it.
“Fucking A, if your skinny ass doesn’t get in that jet and fly with the Thunderbirds, I’ll never work with you again, you big, fat, chickenshit.” George got right up in her face. She could smell the Doritos he’d downed on the ride to MacDill. “You know how many people would kill for this chance to fly in a fucking F-16?”
Both she and Zack gawked at George. “Poor choice of words,” she finally said. “Why don’t you take the seat, if you’re so excited?”
“You know I would.” George glanced at Zack, who stood with his arms banded over his chest. “But lover boy is buying this ride for you.”
An image of her mother lying like a corpse in that hospital bed materialized in her mind. She couldn’t do it. A tremor rippled through her, and her fingers started to go numb. Oh, boy.
“You don’t have to do this.” Zack’s gaze bore into her. “But you’ll stay stuck in your head, in your fear, if you don’t.”
She wondered how he knew her so well when he’d just met her. Flying was her biggest mental wall. And the therapist wasn’t helping. She’d always known that eventually she’d have to find a way over it. She’d never get a better chance than now. “All right.” She had to physically fight back the panic. Zack was already smiling as if he knew what she was about to say. “I’ll do it.”
This time when he swooped her into a bear hug, she was prepared. She threw her arms around his neck and held on as he twirled her around. Her head fell back, the air rippled through her hair, and she let out a loud shout.
Ohmigod, this felt good.
A sudden thought brought her crashing back to Earth. Her feet hit the ground and she spun out of his hold.
“Samantha?” She felt him even though he wasn’t touching her anymore. “What is it? Are you dizzy?”
A sick feeling washed over her. She bent at the waist and attempted to suck in air.
He put his hand on her back and kept it there until she stood up.
She turned to him, shaking. “We think someone intentionally screwed with Maxwell’s parachute, and we know someone messed with your uncle’s dive tanks.”
“Yeah…” Zack eyed her.
She swallowed a nasty mixture of stomach content and fear. “What are the chances someone could get access to and tamper with a United States Air Force F-16?”
Chapter Thirteen
First, Sam’s face flushed. Then, her fingers turned icy. “Why did I agree to do this?” she muttered.
Her heart thumped against her rib cage as the canopy on the Thunderbird closed. She could still back out. Trying to swallow the panic, it jammed in the back of her throat like a thick fist. She felt for her cell phone. In her jumpsuit pocket. Like she could call for help at thirty thousand feet.
A lock clicked. No turning back now. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. She blew out air in short puffs and gripped the hose attached to her oxygen mask. Her other hand grasped the edge of her flight seat as the F-16 taxied toward the runway. Even before her mom’s plane crash, Sam had never had the courage to take this ride before, despite getting the offer a couple of times. After the crash, she’d refused to fly commercial, much less an Air Force fighter jet.
“Ready?” Pilot Dan Dorway’s voice streamed through a speaker in her helmet, calm and controlled.
The exact opposite of her voice as it wobbled out like a baby taking its first steps. “No. I’m terrified.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you a heads up before I pull any maneuvers. You’re going to love it.”
Yeah, because she really loved sweating, throwing up, and humiliating herself. Perspiration already beaded on her forehead, but with a helmet and flight gloves on, she couldn’t brush the drops away. She couldn’t believe she’d strapped into a jet that flew twelve hundred miles per hour—twice the speed of sound. How was she supposed to get through this flight without passing out? Or worse.
Could one die from fear? Maybe Robert didn’t even need to sabotage the jet…
A robotic-sounding voice from the control tower buzzed in her helmet. “Quick climb approved. Thunderbird seven, clear for takeoff.”
What the heck was a quick climb? Had she agreed to that? Was that the paper she’d signed after the so-called safety class? Shit. She held her breath and closed her eyes.
“Ready to hit the clouds?” Pilot Dan sounded jacked up and ready for flight.
Freaking playboy adventurers. They’re all crazy. “Hell, no,” she whispered, peeling her eyes open.
The pilot let out a cross between a confirmation and a whoop. The engines roared, and the jet shot forward.
Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!
“That’s three-fifty…four-hundred…four-hundred-fifty. Here we go!”
She couldn’t tell when the jet lifted off the ground. But she knew the instant the T-Bird shifted into a vertical ascent, flying straight up, climbing effortlessly into the clear, blue Florida sky.
She sucked in the oxygen being pumped into her mask as if it were liquor. Maybe it would have the same effect and numb her. Please.
“Wanna fly upside down?” Dan asked.
She shook her head, unable to form a word.
The jet rolled over in one smooth, quick motion.
She hung in her seat, the lap belt her only anchor to life and limb.
“That’s 4 gs, right there.”
She tilted her head back and managed a gasp. The frameless canopy of the jet offered a perfectly clear, perfectly terrifying view of MacDill Air Force Base. Upside down, the whole campus was laid out like a board game below her, the two long runways the only things she could actually identify.
“You okay back there?”
“I…oh! The blood is rushing to my head.”
“Okay.” The pilot chuckled as he whipped the aircraft back into an upright position.
The summer sky stretched out as far as she could see. Except for the muffled roar of the engine, it seemed as if the two of them were encased in a bubble of total silence, slicing through the atmosphere like a warm knife through soft Brie.
A t
ense laugh escaped her. A mixture of genuine fear and excitement rushed through her veins and heated her up. She’d never felt more alive than in this moment, teetering on the verge of a different type of ecstasy. She was flying again, and actually enjoying it.
She was. Enjoying it.
Right?
“How ’bout some turns?”
“I— I—”
With a whoop, Captain Dan rolled the jet through an escalating series of twirls and spins. The ground flashed by in a blur as if the jet itself wasn’t moving, but instead the earth and sky were spinning out of control.
That was when nausea slammed into her. “Oh,” she grabbed her stomach. The nasty taste of bacon coated her mouth. She swallowed, determined not to puke. Zack would never puke.
“Samantha, why don’t you take the jet?”
She blinked. “Take it where?”
Captain Dan laughed. “Take control.”
Did the man have a freaking death wish? She could barely keep breakfast down, and he wanted her to take over? “I don’t know how to fly a plane.”
“There’s nothing to it, and I’m right here. Flying will take your mind off the nausea. Trust me. Grab the stick.”
How did he know she felt like puking? She stared at the thin lever between her knees. Her fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, reached out and wrapped around the knob. Fine. Here goes…
“What happens if you move it forward? Oh!” The jet took a nosedive, screaming toward the earth. Her stomach stayed at fifteen thousand feet. “Shit! I’m sorry.”
“Pull back. Gently. The stick is very sensitive.”
No shit! She did as instructed. “I’ve got it.” She loosened her grip. Tried to relax her cramping muscles. “I’m really flying this F-16?” Adrenaline coursed through her, but her fingers had stopped shaking.
“You are.”
A moment of clarity washed over her. She had gotten through all of this without a full-fledged panic attack. Or even a sign of one.
She let out a rich, full-bodied laugh, instantly addicted to the confidence that came with this new high—literal and mental. If she could face this inner terror, she’d easily be able to get over others.
She’d crossed a line, and Zack had given her the push she’d needed.
