Neal put the Mercedes in neutral and let it roll. He didn’t engage the engine until they reached the intersection at the bottom of the steep hill. While Neal drove south on a surprisingly busy PCH towards Carlsbad, Garrett’s mind started doing its hyper, hamster-wheel thing.
31
Neal hadn’t said two words on the drive back to the airport. As he pulled into the FBO and parked the Mercedes, Garrett said, “Promised I’d get you home before dawn, right, Sleeping Beauty?”
Cinderella, you moron, not Sleeping Beauty, and she had to get home before midnight, not dawn.
Barely keeping his cool, Neal shut the car door with a bit more force than necessary.
“How about one for the road?” Garrett said.
Nothing fazed the man. Neal watched the back of Garrett’s head as he strode into one of the offices and sat behind a massive oak desk. There were pictures of someone’s wife and kids set at an angle on one corner, and several plants on the shelf behind him tucked in with technical manuals. His wife probably got him the plants.
Why couldn’t Garrett be happy with Lori? Then he wouldn’t be caught in the middle of all this.
“Knob Hill,” Garrett said, lifting a bottle out of the bottom, right drawer. “Steve showed me where they keep the good stuff.”
Rummaging in the break room, he found a couple of mugs in the dish drainer near the sink. With a flourish, he brought them back and poured them both double shots.
“Here’s to faithless wives and stolen property!” Garrett said.
Neal rarely drank these days, but he halfheartedly raised his mug and downed the bourbon in one gulp. The faster they got in the air the better. He had an appointment with his parole officer in the morning. He just had to hold it together until then. How he hated this man. What in the world had Lauren seen in him?
Maybe he’d let the cops know what Garrett had been up to once his parole was officially fulfilled. Sure, Garrett probably assumed he still had him by the balls, but Neal wore gloves on their little excursion. Garrett didn’t. Still, it would be his word against Garrett’s. And even with fingerprints, who would the cops believe? The wealthy hedge fund, pillar of the community, manager, or the ex-con? No, he’d just keep his mouth shut and move as far away from Seattle as possible as soon as he got clear. They were wheels up in ten. Mainly a commuter airport, the tower was down for the night. Not much traffic at 1:30 a.m.
Soon, they were flying over Orange County. Neal breathed deeply and relaxed into his seat. It looked so beautiful from up here. The peaceful ocean somewhere down below in the dark. Off on the right, a carpet of lights lay glittering. Up here, you could believe in humanity. No human filth. No scrambling for a living. No jail. The only part of this job Neal enjoyed was when Garrett took him up in the Cessna. Such a feeling of freedom, of soaring above it all. It was so peaceful up here.
His arms and legs felt heavy. So heavy. He couldn’t lift his arm if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.
Looking to his left, Garrett was smiling.
“Feeling good, buddy?” he said.
Why was Garrett lowering the landing gear? It wasn’t time to land yet! Even Neal knew that! Giggles bubbled up from somewhere inside. This was so hilarious! He felt dizzy, like he was watching himself and Garrett from the ceiling of the plane. Did you call it a ceiling on a plane...or was it a cockpit inverse platform thingamajiggy? He couldn’t help himself. He broke out in giggles again. That was just too funny!
“That’s right, big guy ... you’re feelin’ fine now, aren’t you?” Garrett said.
Neal tried to focus. None of this made any sense. Was he dreaming or was he awake?
The next thirty seconds rolled by in slow motion.
First, Garrett calmly turned halfway towards Neal and unlatched his seat belt, carefully freeing his arms- just like a mom getting her toddler out of the car seat to go into the grocery store. Then he reached all the way across Neal’s chest and unlocked the door.
Neal’s mind couldn’t keep up. What was he doing?
No longer held up by the safety harness, Neal started sliding down the seat, unable to make his arms and legs work. Garrett flipped a switch labeled autopilot. One of the gauges read 78 knots and was dropping. The landing gear was still down.
Turning completely sideways in his seat, Garrett grinned, braced his back against his door; then lifted his feet up like he was getting ready to do some leg presses.
“Sorry you won’t be getting a piece of Lauren tail; I know you wanted some!” he said cheerfully, “Say hello to the sharks!”
Then, while Neal struggled to sit up, Garrett’s legs shot past his face, and kicked open the door.
Cold air rushed in briefly before the door slapped back again. He didn’t think it shut, though.
What?
Getting into position again, this time Neal felt Garrett’s right foot planted firmly against the left side of his body, while his left foot pushed against the door.
What was he doing?
As if from a very great distance, he heard Garrett inhale deeply and exhale with a grunt, shoving him against the door. For a second, the door held, then with one last, rib-cracking kick, the door opened just enough for Garrett to push him all the way out. He heard the door bang shut.
This couldn’t be happening!
He bounced off something metal. The wing? Lashed by 100-mile-an-hour winds, freezing air snatched and kept his breath. In a few seconds, his plummeting body reached terminal velocity, 186 feet per second. Fortunately, he passed out long before his body broke on the salted steel of the open ocean.
♦ ♦ ♦
Garrett was pleased. He hadn’t been sure how much Ketamine to use.
He usually kept some K on hand for nights when Lauren was less than cooperative. She never felt frisky anymore, but at least it loosened her up. Made it more fun for both of them.
Estimating by weight, to be on the safe side, he tripled the dose for Neal. Had to make sure he was good and out of it. No other way was Neal going to let Garrett throw him out of an airplane 3,000 feet up.
Snapping back, but not closing completely, even the two-inch gap between the door and the body of the plane let in the roar of rushing wind.
Hands shaking, Garrett crawled far enough over to grab the door handle but wasn’t strong enough to close and lock it. He could bring it close, but not all the way in.
Screw it!
Frustrated, he backed into his seat. Loud, but not a huge deal. He’d just have to put up with the noise until he got back. Back over land in a few, from there it was a straight shot to Seattle. He’d be home in time for breakfast. Take a quick shower and be in the office by 9:00. No one would even know he’d gone.
He pushed the throttle to increase power, then attempted to raise the landing gear. Screeching, grinding metal greeted his first try. At the same time, the Cessna steeply yawed to the right. Immediately, he stepped on the right rudder to correct the yaw and lowered the landing gear.
Not good.
He tried again but got the same thing. Neal’s body must not have cleared it - must have hit it on the way down. He could fly with the landing gear down. That wasn’t the problem. Trying to land on partial gear could be. That was a feat he never wanted to attempt. And explaining the damaged gear to Steve. If Neal hit it hard enough to break it or bend it, there could be blood on it, or bits of skin or hair. Steve was still in Costa Rica, though. No one would be at the hangar. He could clean it. Maybe it was only bent, and he could straighten it out.
But there was a bigger problem. With the extra drag, he was going to burn up a lot more fuel. He’d never make it to Seattle. He’d have to land in Medford. And Medford’s tower was full time. Manned 24/7. There’d be a record of his flight and no chance for him to take care of the landing gear without being seen.
He didn’t know why he was worrying. No
one saw him at Lauren’s, he wasn’t driving his own car, and Neal’s body would never be found. No one was going to put it all together and come looking for him. Besides, if he needed one, his lovely assistant would be more than happy to give him an alibi if he asked. He might pay her a visit anyway.
Pushing a button on the yoke, he disconnected the autopilot and pointed the Cessna north.
32
More redolent of warm bodies, hot asphalt, suntan oil, and sandy beaches than the crisp scents of fall leaves and wood-burning fireplaces back East, September in Southern California was one of the hottest months of the year. Summer gave one last push before allowing the mercury to drop a few degrees for what passed for winter in Jasper.
Logan didn’t mind the heat, but appreciated Jasper’s coastal breezes. Even a few miles inland, you felt the difference. The heat was palpable. To escape the stifling temps, Bonnie was bringing her girls out, including her new charge, for an impromptu BBQ later in the day. Logan hoped being here wouldn’t upset Shannon, but Mrs. Croft said as long as they didn’t take her back to her mom’s house, it might even do her some good. Baby steps. The little girl obviously viewed Logan’s home as a safe haven. And she loved Ben and Purgatory.
Since it wasn’t the whole crowd, they were keeping the menu simple. Well, simple for Ben. Simple in Ben’s world meant homemade German potato salad, grilled brats, three different kinds of mustard, four different varieties of craft beer, and a chocolate layer cake with real whipped cream. Logan supplied the coleslaw and some of Jean’s crispy rolls from Tava’e’s. Jean was Tava’e’s French husband. No one had ever seen him. He stayed in the kitchen, baking away. Ben would split and grill the rolls on the BBQ. Bonnie was bringing root beer float makings for the kids.
Logan couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was bugging Ben. For one thing, he didn’t stay over the last two nights. Said he was tired. Since when was Ben ever tired? But he showed up as promised this morning to help her assemble some strawberry pots. Bonnie swore she could grow strawberries year round if she bought Seascape and Albion varieties vs. the June harvest type. Since Logan trusted her friend’s gardening acumen more than her own, she was making one pot for Bonnie, one for Amy, and keeping one for her and Ben. Maybe whatever was bothering Ben had nothing to do with her. Could he be having trouble with one of his jobs?
She had some starter plants and the clay pots lined up and ready to go. If she kept her knee bent at a 45-degree angle, propped up on a folding chair, wrapped in her new ice pack—God Bless Amazon’s overnight shipping—she could reach everything.
Looking as if bitten into, then pulled out by a chipmunk’s two front teeth, at intermittent locations around the outside, each pot sported little pouches anchoring mini-archways, from which the vines would eventually emerge, heavy with sweet, fragrant fruit. Ben was contributing the compost and potting soil. He lugged everything over about an hour ago.
They’d worked companionably side-by-side. Still, he hadn’t said two words since he got here. She was about to ask him if something was wrong, when Taylor showed up. He stopped by on his way back from a 9/11 memorial event down at the beach, to ask Ben if he needed him on Monday.
Once the two men started talking shop, Logan might as well have been invisible. This must be how Ben felt when anyone from Fractals came over, or she, Ned and Sally reminisced about their old gigs or new arrangements for the Otter Festival.
Fair enough. She didn’t take it personally. Brushing the loose soil off the last pot, she grabbed a broom and swept the gardening detritus into a pile against the house, then went inside.
Logan didn’t realize she’d been sweating, until the inside air cooled her forehead and arms. It felt great! She stopped at the sink to splash her face. Reaching blind for the flour sack dish towel she always kept by the sink, she overshot the drying rack, grabbing instead the handle of a shopping bag. She opened one eye.
Oh yeah, the puppy toys for Shannon’s birthday. She’d have to hide that bag in the closet before Bonnie got here with the little girl. She still hadn’t figured out what to do with the stuff if...no, Lori was going to pull through. She had to.
Face dried and dish towel tossed in the laundry, Logan looked at the clock. Almost lunch time. She looked outside. Taylor now had a beer. Long legs stretched out in front of him, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Might as well make lunch. She cobbled together some slices of Black Forest ham, a few carrots and celery sticks (Ben was trying to diet), and a couple of scrubbed radishes. At the last minute, she stole a small scoop of German potato salad from tonight’s BBQ makings. A man has to keep up his strength.
Ben kept the outdoor fridge supplied with adult beverages, but she made iced tea with lemon just in case. It just wasn’t summer without iced tea. She and her dad drank gallons of it when she was growing up.
Her generosity paid off. Even though she didn’t get any alone time with Ben, she could tell he appreciated the snack, and she managed to find out how things were going with Taylor and Iona. Apparently very well. That’s why Taylor was asking Ben about Monday. He and Iona were going camping for a few days. If the man felt an ounce of awkwardness at seeing an older—much older—woman, he didn’t let on.
33
After Taylor left, Ben filled the trash bags while Logan swept the patio and straightened up. When there was no more cleaning up to do, Ben got himself another beer, pulled out a chair, adjusted the umbrella to shade the table and sat down, asking Logan to take the seat across from him. Logan poured the last of the iced tea into her tall glass and sat as instructed.
Something was definitely up.
With the tension in the air, Logan wasn’t sure she wanted to hear whatever it was Ben had to say, but she couldn’t wait for him to say it.
“I ...” Ben paused, then tried again, “I’m sorry about last night (it had been two nights, but who was counting?), but I just needed some time to think through some things.”
He searched the clouds, then looked back at Logan.
“I didn’t expect to feel this way ... to have these feelings,” he said.
God. Had he found someone else? Was he breaking up with her? That would be awkward, living right next door. And why? Things had been going great. She knew he loved her. In every bone she knew it. And she loved him. What was this about? Why did men have to rock the boat??!!
Just hear him out, Logan.
“When ... No,” he stopped himself, “I think I always felt this, wanted this—I just didn’t think I could have it,” he said.
He wasn’t making any sense.
“Let me try again,” he said, “When Julie and I were engaged, she said she just wanted to wait a while to have children. I know now that was just an excuse, but I guess I thought she’d change her mind. The biological clock and all that. I figured every woman had one, but Julie didn’t stand in that line. The truth is, I made Julie into something she wasn’t. She wasn’t the maternal type. Not like you are with Amy.”
Anyway, she just kept moving getting married and having a family down the road, ‘after graduate school, after I make partner’ and then, of course, you know the rest. It all blew up. I don’t think she wanted kids ever.”
Logan held her breath.
Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.
“I love my nephews. I get a ton of kid time with them,” Ben said, “I thought that was enough.”
So far, Ben had been talking to the table, and then to a spot over Logan’s left shoulder. Now, he looked deeply into Logan’s green eyes with his soft, chambray blue ones.
“I didn’t think I’d ever love anyone again, either, but then you came along and I guess that kind of knocked things around inside. The bottom line is, I know now. I want my own children, Logan,” he said.
Filled with intense, conflicting emotions, Logan gathered both his hands into hers, surrounding him wi
th warmth, but didn’t speak. She didn’t trust herself to speak. What could she say? She knew exactly what Ben wanted. She already had that. She had Amy and wouldn’t trade that experience for the world. Of course, Ben deserved to have that, too. If that’s what he really wanted, she wouldn’t stand in his way. She steeled herself for what was coming next.
“And I want to have them with you,” he said simply.
Logan was dumbfounded. She had assumed he meant with someone else. A younger woman. Of course, she was physically still capable of bearing children, but just barely. She was in her early forties—well, closer to mid-forties. Not exactly prime childbearing years.
On the other hand, the thought of having a child with a good, loving man like Ben would be amazing. Why hadn’t she met him twenty years ago? Jack was a fun dad, but not much help when it came to diapers and homework. In hindsight, Logan realized she pretty much raised Amy on her own. Jack was a child himself.
“I know it seems crazy,” Ben admitted, “Why now? I’ve been asking myself the same question. I can’t answer that exactly, except to say that when I saw Shannon on your lap the other night, in the rocking chair, comforting her, and then Shannon hung onto my neck and wouldn’t let go, it just triggered something,” he said, opening and stretching his hands, then letting them fall back onto the table.
“You don’t have to answer now, of course,” Ben said, leaning back in his chair, apparently relieved to have gotten that off his chest, “I just wanted you to know.”
Wow.
Well, at least she didn’t have to wonder what was on Ben’s mind anymore.
34
“Yes?” Garrett said, leaning forward to speak into the intercom.
“Mr. Leo Rudaski for you on line one,” his assistant’s voice came through sounding tinny.
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