The situation was thoroughly discussed over the Chinese takeout. Everyone seemed to think something must have gone mechanically wrong; there had been a weather system that would have produced some rough air, but nothing drastic enough to cause the plane to go down. Cam didn’t make mistakes in the air; he didn’t misread his altimeter or forget how high a mountain was. He didn’t hotdog. He was thorough and calm. So either something had happened that had caused him to lose consciousness, or something had gone mechanically wrong with the plane.
A small plane crash warranted a search-and-rescue operation, but not a wholesale investigation by the NTSB the way the crash of an airliner would. The search wouldn’t even be based out of Seattle, so Bret had no idea what everyone was doing hanging around the terminal, unless, like him, their nerves wouldn’t let them sleep, so they figured they might as well be here.
He knew the routine. The first step was to find the plane. Until the wreckage was located, no one knew what they were facing. No search teams were sent out blind, because the area to be covered was too vast. But waiting was agonizing—waiting to hear, waiting to know for certain.
Around nine that morning, when they were all running on fumes they were so exhausted, Karen fielded a telephone call. Whoever the caller was, her features sort of crumpled before she swallowed and regained control of herself. “It’s for you,” she said to Bret, her voice subdued. “It’s Mrs. Wingate’s brother.”
Bret winced, and went into his office to take the call. “This is Bret Larsen.”
“I’m Logan Tillman, Bailey Wingate’s brother. What the hell is going on?” roared the voice in his ear. “We can’t find out anything here, and when I called Bailey’s house to see if anyone there had any news, her stepdaughter answered and all but laughed at me, said my sister got what was coming to her. What did she mean by that? Do you suspect the plane was tampered with, that this was deliberate?”
The questions came too fast and furious for Bret to answer. He said, “Whoa. Whoa! No one has even mentioned the possibility that the plane could have been tampered with. I don’t know what Tamzin meant, but it wasn’t that.” Out of the corner of his eye Bret saw Karen standing by his office door, not even trying to hide the fact that she was listening. Neither was Dennis, or the two other people currently in the office checking to see if there had been any news.
“She all but came out and said it.” Logan Tillman was furious; his voice blasted over the phone line. “Something about only fools crossed her brother.”
Bret pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tamzin isn’t the, ah, tightest lug nut on the wheel. She says whatever pops into her head, whether it’s based on reality or not. At this point we don’t suspect foul play, or sabotage, or anything else. Ah, where are you now?”
“Denver, where we were supposed to meet Bailey.”
“Have you checked into a hotel?”
“No, we’ve been here at the airport all night, hoping—” Logan’s voice broke on the word.
“Yeah, we’ve been here all night, too. Listen, check into a hotel, get some rest. Wearing yourself out won’t accomplish anything. Yeah, I know, I should take my own advice. Give me your cell number, and I’ll call you myself the minute we hear anything. I’ll give you mine, too. Call me at any time.” He rattled off his cell number, then jotted down Logan’s. “Look, don’t give up hope. Cam, that’s my partner, has come through some tight situations before. He’s the best.”
When he hung up, Bret propped his head in his hands. God, he was exhausted. If only there was something he could do, anything, that would keep him occupied. Waiting was a bitch, yet that was all he could do, all any of them could do.
“It’s a possibility,” Karen said from the door.
Bret raised his head. “What is?”
“That the plane was tampered with. You know Seth Wingate called day before yesterday asking about Mrs. Wingate’s flight, when she was leaving. He’s never done that before.” Her jaw was set, and her eyes radiated fire.
“Be careful what you say,” Bret warned. “There isn’t a shred of proof that anything was done to the plane. If it really had been tampered with, do you think Tamzin would be telling people about it?”
“Like you said, boss, she isn’t the tightest lug nut, now is she? She could have been under the influence of any number of substances, legal or illegal, when she said it. That doesn’t mean it isn’t the truth.”
Boss. The word hung in the air like a flaming sword. That was a title she’d reserved for Cam, the better to skewer Bret in their long-running joust. Bret’s hands clenched, and he turned to stare blindly out the window.
THEY HAD DOZED off and on all day, emerging from the shelter only when necessary, to get more snow to melt or to take care of their physical needs. Every time Bailey woke it seemed as if Justice was making her drink water, though she insisted he drink his share, too. At some point he also insisted that they swap places in the shelter, that she take the side against the wall, while he was in front of the lopsided opening. She didn’t see what difference it made, but she crawled in first and let him take the other side.
She realized the difference it made when he was the one to crawl out to get more snow.
“I should be doing that,” she protested when he returned. “Swap sides with me again.”
“No,” he said calmly. “I’m okay, just weak. You should stay quiet, let your body adjust to the altitude.”