“She gave me the lion’s share of what food and water we had, to keep me alive,” he said. “And she did without. So, yeah, I call her Bailey now.” That was true, at least for the first day. After that, he’d tried to make damn sure she was eating and drinking as much as he was.
He saw the sudden fierceness in Karen’s eyes and knew she had mentally added Bailey to the list of people she cared about, which meant Bailey would eat if Karen had to sit on her and stuff food down her throat. Considering Bailey had been eating nonstop all day, he didn’t think it would come to that.
He went over to Bailey, touched her arm to get her attention. “I’ll be talking to Bret for a few minutes,” he said.
She gave his fingers a brief squeeze, giving his face the same assessment he’d been giving hers, taking care of him. He supposed that habit would ease after a few days, but right now they were still too close to their ordeal, still in survival mode, which meant taking care of each other.
He caught Bret’s eye, made a brief motion of his head. Bret’s office was closer, so they went in there. Cam closed the door behind them, maybe the first time that door had been closed since they’d started the business.
He turned to his best friend, the man who’d been like a brother to him for years, and said, “Why’d you do it?”
Bret collapsed in his chair, closing his eyes and dropping his head into his hands. His face had aged a lot since Cam had last seen him, taking on lines that hadn’t been there six days ago. “Fuck,” he said wearily. “Money. It was money. My ass is in a big fucking jam, with some badass people—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I knew you’d figure it out. When we got the word this morning that you were alive and had walked out of those damn mountains, I knew. There was no way you wouldn’t have poked around, examined the wreckage, no way you wouldn’t have looked for the reason you went down.”
Cam held his rage under control with an iron will. As much as he wanted to beat the hell out of Bret, literally tear him to pieces, he wanted answers more. Grief was waiting for him, he knew, grief for the loss of the friendship they’d had, but it would have to bide its time. “I thought it was Seth, until MaGuire told me about the transponder and radio. That was way too complicated, too involved, more than he could have done. You overplayed your hand.”
“Yeah, I have a habit of doing that.” Bret lifted his head, the expression in his eyes stark with regret. “It was an impulse. When Seth called that day, I saw a chance, and I was desperate so I took it.”
“How’d you make yourself sick?”
“I’m allergic to cats, remember? I stay away from them, won’t even date a woman who owns one. So I went to an animal shelter, picked a cat up and petted it, rubbed my face against it.”
Cam had known Bret was allergic to cats, had known it for so long he didn’t think about it; Bret was so careful in avoiding them that Cam had never seen him suffering from a reaction until the day he’d taken Bailey’s flight in Bret’s place. Even if he’d immediately thought of cats, he wouldn’t have been suspicious, because allergic reactions happened.
“I didn’t let myself think about it,” Bret said tiredly. “I just did it. It was a way out. The money from your life insurance for the business would have bailed me out of some big-time trouble. It was like…that was all I could think about, getting that money. But when Karen told me the plane was missing, all of a sudden it was real. I’d killed you. I’d murdered my best friend. It hit me, and all I could do was puke my guts out.”
The odd thing was, Cam believed him. Bret was impulsive, tending to focus on short-term goals.
“I thought the plane would burn,” Bret went on. “There’s always a few gallons of unusable fuel left in the tanks. Even if there was some evidence left, I knew Seth would be the one suspected, because of that stupid fucking phone call, but other than that there was nothing to tie him to the plane. I didn’t figure he’d ever be arrested.”
“MaGuire said you’re the one who pointed out that the plane hadn’t taken on enough fuel.”
“Yeah. I thought that if I was the one who pointed it out, no one would suspect me of being the cause.” Bret rubbed his hands over his face, then met Cam’s gaze. “What now?” he asked, standing up. “When I thought you were dead, that I’d murdered you, I did what I could to cover my ass. But you’re too damn good a pilot to die easy, aren’t you? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when we got the word. I guess I did both. But I’ll go along with however you want this to play out. I’ll turn myself in, if that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.” Cam didn’t bend. There was no going back, no letting years of friendship and good times soften him, because some roads you just couldn’t travel again. “Attempted murder, insurance fraud…you’ll do time.”
“Yeah. If my ass isn’t bumped off before then. Whatever.” Bret had the look of a man who would never forgive himself. That was okay with Cam, because he’d never forgive him, either.
“One thing,” he said.
“What?” asked Bret.
Cam punched him in the face as hard as he could, putting everything he had into it, rage slipping its leash like a cougar attacking. Bret’s head snapped back and he crashed backward into his chair, overturning it and his wastebasket. He ended up sprawled on the floor amid the scattered trash.