Flight Risk

by Cara C. Putman

  She snorted and didn’t care that it wasn’t prim and proper. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked you between the eyes.”

  “Then help me.”

  She glanced in the car. Addy hadn’t moved, a vacant expression on her face. “I have to get Addy away.”

  He stepped toward her, and she had to fight to stay where she was without moving away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. “Call me.”

  “I already have one.”

  A ghost of a smile slipped across his face. “Now you can’t claim you’ve lost my number.”

  She took the card, and he held on a minute.

  “I’m not the enemy.”

  Part of her wanted to believe him. Why? She had no idea, but before she could formulate any sort of reply, he tipped his chin toward her SUV.

  “Do me a favor and call me the minute you turn the car on.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged in a nonchalant yet tension-laden way. “Call it a hunch that there might come a time you need help.”

  “Why would I call you?”

  “Because you need options.”

  “Fine.” If that’s what it took to get him to leave her alone and return to the shadows, she’d do it.

  He didn’t slip away until after she called. Then she realized she’d given him her private cell number. Brilliant move, Daniels. She sighed, but put her car in gear. Time to get Addy to safety and figure out how to help her.

  Addy curled into the passenger door and didn’t say anything. She also didn’t move. She looked like a ghost.

  Should she try to pierce the cloak her niece had pulled around herself or give her space until they reached Savannah’s town house? Right or wrong, she opted for waiting, praying for her niece as she wound her way back home.

  Constructed when the Pentagon was built during World War II, the historic neighborhood had once served as officer housing but now was filled with civilians. When she’d bought her end unit tucked in a back corner a couple of years out of law school, she’d shared expenses with a roommate. Today she cherished her privacy. At the same time, she knew the families near her and the widow next door. They were a surrogate family who helped one another. In a city of military and government jobs that tended toward transience, she appreciated finding a pocket that was more constant. Watching for kids on bikes and scooters was a reasonable price to pay to feel removed from the hustle of the city while remaining a short drive from Old Town and the city.

  But Cherry Blossom Estates didn’t feel homey and safe tonight. Instead, as a cloud slid in front of the moon, it felt like whatever had happened at Dustin’s had followed her car.

  She pulled into the parking lot in front of her unit. Maybe she should have asked Jett to follow her if for nothing else than to convince her they were safe. She shook the thought off. She didn’t need a man to ensure she was all right, but there were days it would be nice to have someone to lean into.

  After parking, she turned to her niece. “What can I do, Addy?”

  “He’s dead.” Addy’s voice was as lifeless as the words.

  She wanted to offer her niece hope, but couldn’t. “I’m sorry.”

  “There was so much blood.” Addy threw herself across the console until she was sobbing against Savannah’s shoulder.

  Savannah hugged her fiercely but wanted to get her inside, somewhere sheltered where her niece could sob as long and hard as she needed. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. You should never have been there. I’m so sorry I gave you a ride.” She stroked Addy’s long blonde hair while the girl sobbed. “Let’s get you inside where you’ll be more comfortable.”

  “What am I going to do?” Addy pushed back far enough for her gaze to search Savannah’s face.

  “Live one moment at a time until you can go one hour at a time.” Savannah opened her door and then walked around the car to help Addy from the vehicle. “And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Later, after Addy had fallen into an exhausted sleep on the couch with her head resting against Savannah, Savannah’s mind wouldn’t release the image of all the lights and emergency vehicles, or the intense spurt of adrenaline she’d felt when she’d known Addy was somewhere in there . . . alone.

  What was she supposed to do with all the thoughts and emotions flaring through her?

  She needed information. Needed to know what had happened so she was prepared to help Addy or get her professional help. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two cards. She set Jett’s aside and punched in the detective’s number.

  The phone rang so long she was about ready to hang up when he answered.

  “Jensen.”

  “Detective, I’m Savannah Daniels. The woman who picked up her niece at the apartment.”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there anything you can tell me about what happened tonight? My niece is hysterical but can’t tell me much other than there was a lot of blood.”

  The man sighed. “There’s not much I can say while we’re in an active investigation.”

  “Detective, anything will help.” She didn’t want to sound so desperate. “I can’t hear about whatever happened on the news. Is her father dead?” She froze at the blunt words, and glanced at Addy, who didn’t even shift.

  “Yes. Looks like he slit his wrists. Now I have to go. Call in the morning to set up the time to interview your niece.”

  She stared at the phone after he hung up.

  Dustin was dead. Suicide?

  That did not match with the man she knew at all. But why else would a man slit his wrists?

  She felt the weight of the implications. She toyed with Jett Glover’s card and studied the number. Could the reporter help her figure out what had happened?

  It was worth considering, though she decided not to make another call while Addy slept against her. But she could text.

  What happened?

  It took a few moments, then three dots started flashing on the screen. He was responding.

  Still unclear. Suicide?

  Impossible. There was no way the man she’d known would have done that. Surely the police aren’t buying that.

  Actually, they seem to be leaning that direction. At least right now.

  She frowned at the phone as if he could see her. Push them. He would not do that with his daughter in the next room. He would never let her find him.

  He didn’t reply. She set her phone down and leaned her head against the couch. It was all too much. How could she help Addy accept that her father was gone? How could she cover the ache in the girl’s heart too?

  It shouldn’t matter to Savannah that he was gone. But it did. She wanted to believe it was because she loved this young woman who had filled a hole in her heart. A hole her father had a direct hand in creating.

  But she knew it was a lie.

  There was a part of her heart that Dustin still inhabited. She hated it, but what was she supposed to do with it? He hadn’t loved her in fifteen years. If she was honest, he may never have loved her the way she loved him. That reality made her sick and mad and angry.

  Savannah eased Addy’s head up and then slid aside as she tucked a couch pillow beneath the girl’s head.

  Savannah picked up Rhett, who stiffened, then snuggled in with a purr as she headed to her small kitchen to make a mug of tea. Did Jett have a pet? It wasn’t like it mattered. He wasn’t any concern of hers, and she needed to remember that. But on a night that had surreal overtones, she wanted to think about something normal.

  Even if her heart whispered there could be more.

  No. Maybe she wanted there to be something more.

  That made her a fool.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ted wanted a story for the online edition, so Jett poured a coffee, opened his laptop, and pounded one out. After emailing it in, he opened a search engine. It had been too late last night to look for Light Comes After Darkness, but now he could. The first page of results was links to pages of q
uotes about light or darkness. He kept clicking. Then came a page of eclectic links to sermons, songs, and other random pages. This wasn’t working.

  Next he popped over to the Virginia Secretary of State’s website and searched for a business with that name. Nothing. Same after searching in Maryland and the District. He sank back. Time to let a cub reporter take this on.

  A quick call to Chase Matthews had the kid agreeing to visit the other secretary of states’ websites as well as GuideStar to search through 990s from recognized nonprofits.

  A quick search for Bernard Julius wasn’t any more productive, unless a German spy the FBI caught helping the Japanese during WWII had some clue to offer.

  Jett would have to get creative.

  Time to call a police contact about Tate’s death. Detective Ethan Lorenze had hung in his group of friends in high school, but this morning that didn’t seem to count for much. Jett pressed.

  “Let me take you to coffee. We both need it after last night.”

  “Are you trying to get me fired, Glover?”

  “Nope. I’ll only take ten, fifteen minutes. I’ll buy breakfast.”

  “Fine.”

  An hour later Jett stood outside the Arlington police headquarters on Wilson Boulevard. He’d spent the night thinking of Savannah’s niece and what she’d seen. Few people understood that trauma like he did, so he was here at eight a.m. to do what he could for her. Addy Jo Tate didn’t know him from Adam, but fortunately he knew the value of truth. And he would get that for her if it was in his power.

  Ethan strode across the lobby toward him, face haggard from what had likely been a sleepless night. His wrinkled suit indicated he hadn’t made it home yet. That meant Jett needed to ask his questions fast and let the man go before his patience expired. The detective stopped in front of Jett and looked him up and down. He’d aged in the job.

  He made a follow-me gesture and exited the building. “You owe me a good cup of coffee. Looks like you need it too.”

  Jett nodded and fell in step with his acquaintance. “Can you tell me Dustin Tate’s cause of death?”

  The detective opened the door to Bayou Bakery. “Coffee first.”

  “I can live with that.”

  After the detective ordered and Jett paid, he led the way to a booth by the plate glass window. A minute later a young man brought a black coffee and a plate of beignets to the detective. Jett’s Americano arrived next with a breakfast bar. Jett waited to see how the detective wanted to proceed.

  Ethan downed half his mug in a long drink. Then he set the mug on the table and closed his eyes. He leaned forward and closed the space between them. “Off the record?”

  “Sure.” It was too soon to have more than a direction. “What’s your gut about Tate?”

  “Early signs are suicide.”

  “In front of his daughter?”

  The man shrugged but met Jett’s gaze. “It’s early. I wouldn’t report that.”

  “This is off the record.”

  “Good.” Ethan took another sip. “Glad to know you haven’t forgotten.” He sighed and picked up a spoon to stir his black coffee. “Look, it’s not my case, but a couple things make us suspicious.”

  “Like . . .”

  The detective sighed and then his bass voice dropped lower. “There’s nothing official, but the assistant medical examiner said it wouldn’t be a quick turnaround on the autopsy.”

  “Any word on when they’ll release the body?”

  The detective snorted. “Really, Jett? The man hasn’t been dead for twelve hours. It could be suspicious. It’ll be a while.”

  “If he was killed, how did the girl survive?”

  “It’s a good question.” Detective Lorenze paused. “Look, I can’t say more, but we’ll be talking to her today.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  The detective shook his head. “You reporters are all the same. Always think we’ll have results as fast as one of the TV shows. You’re lucky I gave you that. It’ll take weeks to have all the tox screens back.”

  “You think drugs are involved?”

  “He did it with his daughter in the apartment.” As if that said it all.

  And maybe it would, if Jett hadn’t seen what he had as a twelve-year-old.

  The man met Jett’s gaze unflinchingly. “Look, it’s too early to know one way or another. Suicide. Accidental death. Murder. It’s all in the mix until we know more.”

  Jett slid his card across the table. “Call when you can say more?”

  “Not likely. I don’t have time to babysit the press.” He leaned back against the seat.

  All right. Jett clearly got that the detective wasn’t fond of media. That was fine.

  As Jett walked away, he couldn’t shake the image of Addy clinging to Savannah. She would live with the image of her dead father imprinted on her mind for the rest of her days. If God was kind, it would fade to a hard moment, not a permanent shadow over her days.

  Maybe he could help.

  He needed to try. The question was whether he should call first or drive over and ask for forgiveness after.

  Half an hour later he entered Cherry Blossom Estates, noting the stately trees lining the sidewalks. He’d always liked the all-brick facades of the town houses and condos and had considered purchasing one, but the prices had accelerated beyond what he could afford.

  Savannah’s unit was on a cul-de-sac at the bottom of a hill. A male cardinal twittered from the crepe myrtle near her front stoop, his bright red feathers standing out against the bare branches.

  The house looked quiet, but it was a little after ten, so he hesitated only a minute before rapping on the door.

  Nothing.

  He rapped again, then glanced around to confirm her car was there. The gray Mazda crossover SUV rested in the spot closest to her sidewalk. She must be home.

  He knocked again, a bit firmer, then stepped back when he heard footsteps coming from inside. A moment later a haggard Savannah opened the door. Her brunette hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail bun that somehow looked elegant, and she wore a pair of yoga pants and flowy top. It was so different from her professional attire, and he liked seeing this side of her, even as he regretted the reason for the circles under her eyes.

  She leaned against the doorframe and considered him. “What are you doing here? How did you get my address?”

  “I have my sources. I wanted to check on Addy.”

  “Why?” Suspicion tightened her eyes, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Mama Bear had arrived.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” He tried to cajole a smile from her. Even a grimace would work. “You don’t want to let all the cold air in.”

  She shivered at his words. “No. I can’t.” She disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a coat.

  He rubbed a hand over his heart. “Ouch. I thought we’d decided to work together.”

  “I don’t have time to spar right now.” She glanced back inside, and he noted the crack in her strong facade. The woman was about to break. “Addy’s whole world was upended last night, and I’m still trying to figure out how and why.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “Please go.”

  “I can help her.”

  This time when she looked at him, there was fire in her gaze. She stepped onto the porch and her breath puffed out. “You can’t. You’ll only hurt her more. She’ll draw the connection that you wrote the article about Dustin. I can’t guarantee what she’ll say when she does.”

  “I know.” His words were much softer than he’d intended. He’d try a different tack. “I found my dad.”

  His four words landed like twenty-five-pound weights in the space between them. As a softness replaced her anger, he wished he could go back to her disdain. That was better than sympathy.

  “I’ll come back later, but let her know I’ll talk if she wants to. She can call me on the number I gave you last night. Any time of the day or when the nightmares come in the middle
of the night.” No need to mention that they still chased him from bed on occasion. “I’ll get out of here, but I want to help make this right if I can.”

  “There isn’t a way to do that.”

  “I have to try.” He turned to go, feeling the weight of his foolishness in coming.

  * * *

  There was something almost endearing about his uncertainty as he took the three steps from the small porch to the sidewalk. The snow had melted over the weekend, and now the grass looked dead and abandoned. She should step back inside, close the door, and let him leave, but instead her mouth opened of its own prerogative. “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  Her heart wanted to go out to him, but she knew he hadn’t come for her sympathy. In his own way he was offering understanding to Addy, and Lord knew the girl needed it.

  “You can come in.” He turned around in an instant and she held up a hand, palm out. “There are conditions.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t make her say a thing. If she wants to be silent, she is.”

  He nodded and took the steps to the small concrete porch. As she held the screen door open, she could feel the heat from his body. Could she really let him in? The man she barely knew? A reporter who might say anything for a story? She started to close the door but hesitated.

  She swallowed but met his gaze. “She’s so broken and wounded, and I’m not sure how to pull her back from wherever she disappeared to last night.”

  His blue eyes were serious as he studied her. “Has she cried?”

  “Buckets.” Savannah had felt more helpless with each tear.

  “Good. She’s letting herself feel. I didn’t cry for more than a month.”

  “What changed?”

  “My hamster died, and that triggered me. My counselor had a heyday with the idea I couldn’t cry about my own dad, but could about a tiny piece of fluff.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and there was something vulnerable in the action.

  “And you grew up to be a productive member of society.”

  “Most of the time.” There it was again, the slight, self-deprecating shrug. If he kept it up, she’d let him in and ply him with coffee and cookies in an attempt to take care of him. Something he did not need and wasn’t asking for. She needed to create space. Fast.