Flight Risk

by Cara C. Putman

  They walked across the parking lot, her hand tucked in his, and she didn’t try to tug free. Instead she sank into the protected feeling.

  The apartment building looked different since the last time she’d been here.

  Tuesday evening the strobes from the police and emergency lights had colored the scene with a blinding effect. Now the complex was transformed back to typical three-story brick apartment buildings with green space flowing between each one. They were only steps from Dustin’s building.

  The door opened as they approached, so Savannah waited until they climbed to the second floor to reach for her set of keys in her purse. For a moment she considered pretending she couldn’t find the keys, but that would only delay the inevitable. She had to go in there, and she was surprised to realize she’d rather go in with Jett’s presence and support.

  When she pulled out the key, Jett gave her a sideways look. “Dustin give you that?”

  “This one is Addy’s.” Savannah slotted the key in the lock and then hesitated. She felt Jett behind her before she twisted the knob. It didn’t feel quite right having him join her, but she couldn’t imagine a better way to show him Dustin wasn’t the person he’d described.

  She twisted the key in the lock, jiggling it a bit, and the door squeaked open.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The apartment felt . . . empty.

  Like the rooms knew the man who’d inhabited them wouldn’t be back. The only thing that could make her enter was the idea that Addy Jo would be harmed by the lies spread about her father. And she needed the life insurance if it existed. The mama bear in Savannah couldn’t stay away, even if the wounded twenty-six-year-old hiding inside wanted nothing more than to flee. She wasn’t a runner. That had been Dustin’s role.

  “Dustin lived here alone?” Jett’s voice caused her to jump.

  “Yes.” Her voice squeaked, so she swallowed and tried again. “Yes.” That sounded better. “He was in and out erratically. Said it was too much to expect a roommate to put up with his schedule and he liked his privacy.”

  “You okay?” Jett’s voice was quiet, concerned.

  She wanted him to see her as strong and invincible. Not weak and cowering in the doorway. She forced herself through the door, pulling on all her courage. “Let’s see what we can find. First order of business is his life insurance policy. I’m not sure who his carrier is but Stasi said he had one.” As a pilot the profession was too dangerous not to have a strong policy. “We need to find his will too, if he has one.”

  “Any idea where he would keep it?”

  “No.” The practical question annoyed her. She lifted her chin and gazed down the corridor, then she entered.

  It was stark.

  White walls.

  Nothing like the colors she’d painted her home.

  The furniture was functional but looked like leftovers from a frat house trunk show. While her place wasn’t immaculate or perfect, it had character in the lines of the vintage furniture mixed with newer pieces.

  Jett stood in the small living room, and she wondered what he saw. Dustin hadn’t taken much time to make the apartment more than a man cave. She was sure if she opened the fridge, she’d find yogurt and not much else. The cabinets would hold easy fare like Ramen noodles and cereal. Dustin had never enjoyed cooking, instead preferring takeout. There would also be four cups, four plates, and four bowls. The silverware would probably be plastic, the easier to clean or throw away. That minimalist vibe carried over to the living area, where he had a small table with two chairs, a pleather couch, and a coffee table that looked like he’d kicked his feet on top of it all the time. The TV was almost bigger than the wall, and his priorities were clear. When he was home, he’d watch a game or movie, maybe play on one of his gaming sets. That was it.

  Jett stepped ahead of her, hands in his pockets as he strolled back to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and let out a low whistle. “Guess he didn’t believe in eating.”

  Savannah glanced around Jett at the jar of mayonnaise and wilted bag of spinach. Several containers of Greek yogurt lined the bottom shelf, but that was it. “Why buy groceries if you won’t be home to eat them?” She frowned because the words didn’t feel right. “He was going to be home.” She stepped closer, nudging Jett to the side as she opened a couple cabinets. Boxes of macaroni and Ramen lined the shelf. “Some things never change.”

  Jett snorted. “You mean he didn’t outgrow college.”

  “This was his idea of convenience food. Get hungry and eat ten minutes later.” She shut the cupboard and turned to the living area. “At least there isn’t much to clean out.” The small folding table with two chairs looked like it hadn’t been wiped off in weeks. “The police have been through everything, right?”

  “Probably.” Jett shrugged. “But if they were convinced it was suicide, there might not have been much of an investigation. Why?”

  “Something isn’t right.” Savannah shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and took a moment to soak in the room’s atmosphere. What was wrong? “It seems too neat. Where’s the blood from his suicide?”

  Savannah felt along the wall for the hall’s light switch, since the sun had set and the apartment was dark. She toggled the switch up, but nothing happened. She frowned, then felt for the next switch. A small light illuminated the hall.

  She looked at his bedroom door. Did she want to go in there? “I didn’t hire a cleaning service, and I doubt the management company would have come without permission from the family.” Wait. Stasi. She pulled out her phone and called her sister even as she wondered if the woman would have been listed as a contact on the lease. When her sister answered, she launched straight into her question. “Did you have someone clean Dustin’s apartment?”

  “Sure. When the management company called, I told them to do it. I didn’t want to, and I can’t imagine you did either.”

  “Okay.” She paused. “How did you pay for it?”

  “Told them to bill it to his account. That has to be paid from the estate, right?”

  “Makes sense.” In a Stasi kind of way. At least she hadn’t asked for Savannah’s credit card.

  “Where are you?”

  “At his apartment. We need to talk, but I’ll call you later.” She hung up, then sighed and strode toward his bedroom. She didn’t want to go in there, but it had been cleaned and she needed to find Addy’s things. If she wanted to find anything that indicated it hadn’t been suicide, it would be in there. What could she locate that the professionals hadn’t?

  She stood in the hallway reluctant to enter. The bedroom looked sterile like a hotel room, only without the bland art on the wall. The bed hadn’t been slept in, which made sense if a cleaning service had been in and out.

  Behind her she heard Jett turn on the wall-sized TV.

  Jett’s silence worried her, and she turned to catch his expression. It wasn’t vacant, more fascinated in a I’m-watching-a-train-wreck kind of way. “I should take photos to show my mom. She’d stop complaining about my lack of interior decorating skills after seeing this place. How much did he travel?”

  “It was his job.” Savannah shrugged, then turned back to the bedroom. “I got the sense from Addy he was in the air a lot. For some of the trips, he’d be gone a week or more.”

  “That matches what I found during my investigation.”

  An aroma held her at the door. It felt stifling, cloying, spicy, but unlike the cologne Dustin had favored. What was it? Cleaner? She sniffed but couldn’t place it. With all that had happened in the apartment, she shouldn’t be surprised that it smelled off. But she expected an industrial, hospital smell. The kind that seemed extra clean but felt dirty underneath. She steeled her will and then entered the bedroom.

  A shadow shifted, and she froze.

  Before she could do anything, a force pushed her against the wall with a jolt and the air rushed from her lungs. She felt a slice of pain along her upper arm.

  Inst
inct rose and she kicked out. Flailed against the body.

  Must be a man, based on size. He grunted, and she kicked out harder.

  She was not prepared to grapple with someone as he pulled her farther into the room.

  She tried to scream but couldn’t as she flailed against him, all her energy focused on escape.

  Where was Jett?

  Why didn’t he hear and come?

  Her thoughts swam in a murky morass as she tried again to push the man off her. His weight pressed her against the bedroom wall, and she scratched with all her might. Then he yanked her hair, and she screamed.

  She bit down on the arm pressed against her face, and the grip loosened.

  She gasped. Stomped hard. Slid down the wall as he stumbled back.

  With a desperate thrust she scrambled into the hallway and screamed again.

  Jett was there. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a man in there.” She trembled as she rushed toward the living room.

  “Stay here.” Jett slid around the door.

  A gust of frigid air came through the room, and she sagged. The man must have escaped through the window. It would be a drop to the ground, but not too far.

  She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped it to life. Then she dialed Detective Jensen. “I’m at Dustin’s apartment. A man was just in here, and we need help.”

  “On my way. You okay?”

  “I don’t know.” She slid to the floor as the adrenaline seeped from her and wetness dripped down her arm.

  Chapter Thirty

  She looked so pale. Fragile.

  Jett whipped out his phone but saw she already had hers out. “Who are you calling?”

  “Detective Jensen. He’s on the way.” She grimaced, and he noticed red running down her arm.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I guess I am, Captain Obvious.” She tried to smile, but it looked more like a pain-filled smirk.

  “We need to get you checked out.”

  Her jaw squared. “Not until the detective arrives.” She touched her arm as if assessing it. “I don’t think I’ll die today.”

  “While I’m glad, you still need to have it examined.” He knelt beside her and turned on the flashlight on his phone so he could examine the wound. “Looks like he sliced you cleanly, but it’ll need stitches.”

  “I’m not leaving until Detective Jensen gets here.”

  Jett didn’t know whether to strangle her or go along. The cut was bleeding but if he could find some gauze to apply to it . . . no, that was crazy. She needed to have a professional check it out. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m taking you.”

  “Not a chance.” She moved as if to get up from the floor, then groaned. “Thanks to you I spent time yesterday at the hospital.”

  “You give me too much credit. I think the other driver was to blame.”

  “You called 911.”

  “After you called me.”

  “We’re wasting time.” This time the stubborn woman did make it to her feet, though she ignored his hand.

  “I could have helped you up.”

  “No, you want to help me to the hospital. Let’s find his office.” She wobbled her way down the hall to the second bedroom. He ducked into the bathroom and grabbed a wet washcloth and rummaged around until he found Band-Aids.

  The office was tiny, maybe ten by ten, typical of apartments in this area that cut separate living spaces out of cramped areas. A set of gliding doors covered a closet on the far wall. The room was barely big enough for the large wood desk. He found her leaning her hip against the desk.

  He waved the Band-Aids and washcloth. “Before you poke around, we need to get this cleaned up. The moment it bleeds through the bandage, you’re headed to the ER if I have to carry you.”

  She huffed but didn’t stop him as he leaned closer to examine the cut. “We should cut your sweater sleeve off.”

  “What?” She frantically turned to look at it, as he grabbed a pair of scissors from a holder on top of the desk. “You can’t do that. Do you know how much this cost?”

  “It’s already been sliced.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Go ahead. Just hurry so we can look around before the detective gets here.” Savannah’s gaze shifted everywhere but her arm.

  The moment he finished bandaging her as well as he could, she picked up the framed picture of Addy from the corner of the desk.

  The woman’s jaw clenched so tightly she could crack a tooth. Honestly, Jett was surprised it hadn’t happened already. Savannah carried her tension internally, and as far as he could tell she didn’t have a mechanism for releasing it.

  “Let’s see what’s in here.”

  His words seemed to jar her from wherever her thoughts had taken her but didn’t ease the tension locked in her jaw.

  “All right.” Her words were resigned rather than engaged. “I think the file cabinet is in the closet.”

  “I’ll start there.”

  “Okay.” Savannah eased onto the edge of the desk chair. She didn’t want to be here. It was etched in the way her feet shifted and her gaze flitted about the room. He admired the way she squared her shoulders and went to work anyway. “Where did Addy stay when she was here?” She frowned. “I thought he had a bed for her.”

  Jett glanced around, then noted a twin Murphy bed up against the wall. “This must pull down somehow.”

  “Hmm. It’d be tight.” She wore her discomfort like a coat. Her shoulders were uncharacteristically rolled forward, and she couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. Each told Jett more plainly than the words she couldn’t find that this woman wanted to be anywhere but here . . . and with anyone but him. It hit him.

  “You still loved him.”

  She startled and looked at him. “What? No!” But telltale red climbed her neck.

  “The way you looked at him in the hospital. It makes sense now. He must have been your first love. No other reason you’d still be single otherwise.”

  “What? You’re insane.”

  He shook his head. “You can deny it. But I was there and overheard him telling you he made a mistake. Must have fanned the flames.”

  “He left me fifteen years ago.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You still love him. That’s why you can’t stand to be here now. Especially with me.”

  “Now I know you’re crazy. If the article you wrote wasn’t enough, this confirms it.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. “Is this how you write? Draw random conclusions from two unrelated data points?”

  “Everything I write is well-researched, and—”

  “I know, fact-checked. Well, if you want to stay, lay off the bologna that I was still in love with Dustin.” She turned away from him and took a couple of deep breaths. She relaxed while he watched. “I suppose you’ll say the fact I’m planning his memorial service for Addy is proof I love him. If I could, the man would not be remembered by my family. But I love Addy, so I’m planning a service on Monday for the man who left me. Addy’s the one I love. Not him.” She punctuated the words with a finger stab.

  “Defensive much?” He regretted the words as they left his mouth. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  She stared at him, then turned away. “I have documents to find. You know where the door is if you need it.”

  He went back to the four-drawer file cabinet crammed in the corner of the closet. It was an industrial-style unit, something that could have been a government reject from some Korean Conflict–era office. The battered gray showed years of wear. There were no labels above the handles, so he started with the top.

  It held file folders stuffed with bills. There could be a treasure trove of information on each credit card statement if he examined them. The next drawer had a collection of correspondence and what looked to be invoices. He’d riffle through each of those folders just in case he found anything related to Thailand. The thir
d drawer was mostly empty, which didn’t make much sense considering the fourth drawer was filled with years’ worth of tax records, and at the back of that drawer he hit pay dirt. One file labeled Will, and next to it, Life Insurance.

  He pulled them out and opened the top one. He quickly scanned the thin document and then offered it to Savannah. “I found something.”

  “What’s that?” She didn’t bother to turn from the drawer of files in the desk that she was perusing.

  “His will.”

  She spun around in the office chair. “Really?”

  “I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

  “I don’t want anything from him.”

  “Well, he wants something from you.”

  She shook her head. “I highly doubt that.”

  Jett handed her the file. “He named you his executor.”

  “No.” The word’s brevity punched.

  “Yes.”

  He watched for the moment reality hit.

  “No, no, no. I don’t need this right now. There’s no reason for me to be listed. He must have changed his will since our marriage.”

  Jett nodded. “He did. Look at the date at the bottom of the last page.”

  Her hand went to her throat as if that would protect her. “Six months ago.”

  She tipped back in the chair but kept reading. The will was all the proof he needed that there had still been something between them. She might claim the niece was their only connection, but she was wrong. Dustin at least still trusted Savannah.

  He turned back to the file cabinet rather than watch her read. That was too much like watching grass grow when there was so much waiting right here.

  A sniff pulled his attention from the files to the desk. Savannah’s shoulders were tense, and her head angled away with her chin tipped down so her hair fell like a veil around her face. Please don’t cry. He was all thumbs and awkwardness in those moments.

  A knock at the door sounded. She squared her shoulders, then swiped under her eyes. “That must be Detective Jensen.”

  “I’ll get it.” As he passed her, he squeezed her noninjured shoulder.