"But you walked to the parking lot by yourself, as if you didn't want anyone to see you together."
She sighed. "Because Erica had ordered me not to talk to him."
"You should have followed that order."
"You told her you saw me with him, didn't you?"
"Actually, I didn't. I wanted to speak to you first."
She didn't know if she believed him. "Why?"
"Because I didn't want her to fire you. You may not believe a word I'm saying, but I do actually like you, Dani. I think you do good work, and I know Erica can be vengeful. I don't want you to lose your job."
"Well, I appreciate that."
"You need to cut your ties with Kane." He put up a hand as she started to speak. "Don't tell me if you're going to or not; just think about it. If you are going to help him, be careful." He got to his feet. "And just for the record, if I have to choose a side between you and Erica, I'll choose Erica. I like my job, and something tells me you don't like me quite as much as I like you."
"I don't know you, Stephen."
"Well, maybe someday we can change that—if you want to. The ball is in your court." He tossed a tip down on the table. "I'll see you back in the office."
After he left, she let out a breath and wondered what the hell had just happened. She had no idea what to think about Stephen Phelps. Had he been trying to be a friend? Or was he playing her? It had been a lot easier in Texas to figure out who the bad guys were.
Twelve
Dani was happy to get back to work after lunch, and for the next few hours she concentrated on pending legislative reports. But she kept her phone handy, expecting to hear from Patrick at some point. His call came just after three. "Hello?"
"Can you talk?" he asked.
"Not really." She had little privacy in the office.
"Then listen. I've got two leads. I found the pilot who was supposed to fly the plane before he got sick. He lives here in DC, and I have his address."
Her pulse picked up at his words. "Are you going to talk to him?"
"Yes. I'm hoping you'll come with me. Ann also set up a meet at six near Union Station in regards to her source. I think we should go by the pilot's house first, maybe four thirty, then go to the meet."
She wanted to go. She was getting as caught up in the mystery as he was. She also wanted to know what he and Erica had talked about at lunch, but she couldn't ask him about that now. Still, leaving the office that early could raise some suspicion.
Oh, what the hell—they were suspicious already
.
"I'll go with you," she said, giving in to probably a really bad impulse.
"I can pick you up at work."
"I'd rather meet you. Text me the address."
"It's coming now. See you soon."
She set down her phone and tried to finish up some work, but she couldn't concentrate. She was too tense and now having second and third thoughts about going with Patrick.
Finally, the hands on the clock made it to four. She left her cubicle and managed to get out of the office without anyone stopping her. She took the metro across town, then walked four blocks to the address of the home that Patrick had given her. The house was a modest two-story home near Rock Creek Park. Patrick got out of his car as she walked down the street.
"Hi," she said, wondering if she'd ever stop getting butterflies in her stomach when she saw him. Today, he wore jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, a pair of sexy aviator glasses. It was ridiculous how attractive he was.
"Thanks for coming," Patrick said.
"Is he here?"
"There's a man inside. I saw him go into the house about fifteen minutes ago. I got here early to check things out. His name is Matt Walker. He's fifty-three years old and ex-Navy, like your dad. He still flies for the same charter service that my mother used."
"Do you know what you want to ask him?"
"Somewhat," Patrick said. "Let's see where it goes."
"You like to wing it, don't you?"
"Sometimes the best information comes from the most unexpected moment, comment, or question. I try to remember that when it doesn't feel like I'm getting anywhere."
They walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A moment later, a man answered. His gray hair was cut very short. He had a square face, a strong jaw, and sharp eyes. He looked ex-military, Dani thought. He also looked annoyed.
"I'm not buying anything and I'm not interested in changing my religion," he said.
"We're not selling or preaching," Patrick said quickly. "Are you Matt Walker?"
"Who wants to know?"
"My name is Patrick Kane. My mother was Jackie Kane. She died on a plane that you were supposed to pilot eight years ago."
The man tensed, the blood draining out of his face. "I told the investigators everything I knew."
"I know," Patrick said. "I'm not here in any official capacity. I just want to understand what happened to my mom's plane, and I haven't been able to get many people to talk to me about it."
"I wasn't there. I don't know any more than the investigators, who had far more access than I did to all the data."
"Could we come in for a minute?" Patrick asked.
Matt hesitated a long minute, then said, "I suppose."
"This is Dani Monroe," Patrick added, as they walked into the house. "She's a friend."
He gave a nod and led them into his living room.
As they settled into their seats, Matt said, "What is it you think I can tell you?"
Patrick leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "You were sick the day of the flight. What happened? When did you know you weren't well enough to go to work?"
"I got ill a little after midnight—stomach flu. The flight was scheduled for ten a.m. I called the dispatcher around two in the morning and said I couldn't do it."
"Did you know the pilot who took the flight?" Dani interjected.
"No, I had never met him. He had recently joined the company. He'd only flown one or two charters before that, but he did have a lot of experience. He was former Air Force."
"Did you read through all of the investigative findings?" Patrick asked.
"The ones that were made available to me," Matt said. "I was stunned when the aircraft went down. I'd flown that plane and that route a dozen times. However, the storm conditions were difficult, and it appeared that there was a power outage that took out several important navigational systems." He paused. "I'm very sorry about your mother. I had flown her several times, and she was a very nice woman, very kind to all the people who worked for her and with her."
"I appreciate you saying that," Patrick said.
When Patrick seemed at a loss for words after Matt's comment, she jumped in. "You said you had the stomach flu—but I thought there was speculation that it was food poisoning."
"I had eaten take-out from my favorite Vietnamese restaurant that evening, so it was possible, but I'd eaten there many times before that without any problems. Not that that matters, I guess. You can pick up a bug anywhere." He paused. "It sounds like you think I had a reason for not getting on the flight, that I had some knowledge of what was to come. It's not the first time that's been suggested to me. The FBI agents who spoke to me surfaced that theory as well. But it's not true. I was sick and that's the only reason I didn't get on that flight."
There was not a hint of evasion or insincerity in his eyes. She didn't know if he was a practiced liar or completely innocent, but it was difficult to doubt him. "You said you ordered take-out from this restaurant quite frequently."
"Yes, several times a week. My wife worked a lot and I was never good in the kitchen. But I was very good at calling out for food."
"Did you call the restaurant directly or did you use a service?"
"I used a meal delivery service—Kincaid's. The FBI also spoke to them. The delivery person had delivered food to my house many times in the past. They couldn't find any evidence that someone poisoned my food." He gave them a tired, sad smile. "I don't know what you're looking for or why you're looking now, but the FBI did their job. I think it was just random luck that left me at home and put Carruthers in the cockpit."
"There were a lot of conspiracy theories about the crash," Patrick put in. "Did you think any of them had merit?"
"There wasn't as much hard data as I would have liked to have seen," Matt admitted. "Carruthers shouldn't have had problems with that storm. The plane shouldn't have lost power. Whenever we flew high-level passengers, there were extra layers of security. Do I have questions? Sure. But I also don't see anything I can disagree with. I wasn't on the plane. So I don't know what they were facing, and that's the problem for all the investigators." He paused. "What do you think happened?"
"I don't think it was an accident," Patrick said.
"But you don't have any proof it was anything else?"
"Not yet. But I'm not done looking."
"I wish you luck then. If there's something to be found, I hope you find it. That crash has haunted me for years. I've wondered a million times if I'd been the one at the controls, would I have found a way to change the outcome. But who knows? I might be dead, too."
"Thanks for your time," Patrick said, standing up.
"We appreciate it," Dani added, shaking Matt's hand, before leaving the house.
They walked out to the car and got inside before uttering a word to each other.
"I don't think it was just random luck Matt wasn't on that plane," Patrick said to her.
"Really? He seemed pretty confident in his answers, and he definitely knew why we were asking the questions."
"That did make him seem honest," Patrick agreed. "He was very smooth, very charming, disarming."
She frowned. "I think he was telling the truth."
"Well, you might be right."
"What do you know about the replacement pilot?"
"Not much. Sean Carruthers flew for the Air Force and had recently gotten into commercial aviation. As Matt said, Carruthers had a lot of experience. He was certainly well-trained."
"But he was new to the company," she pointed out, that little fact sticking in her head. "And here's something else to consider. MDT has a history of hiring military-trained pilots to test their products. My father's former friend, who almost killed my sister, was one of their test pilots after he left the Navy." She paused. "I wonder if we should try to figure out if Jerry had any connection to Matt or to Carruthers."
A gleam entered Patrick's eyes. "That's an excellent idea. Maybe there's a link to your father, too," he suggested.
She didn't like that idea. "I doubt that."
"Why? Your dad was in the military and in private aviation, same as these guys."
"I think I'm going to regret what I just said. Actually, I already regret it."
He gave her a compassionate smile. "Too late to take it back, Dani." He started the car. "We'll have to work on this later. We need to get to the convenience store where Ann is apparently leaving me some sort of message."
"She's not going to be there?"
"She said I should see the man at the counter and ask if I can borrow his phone."
"I think Ann has seen too many spy movies."
"Or her source has. But I'm going to play it out, see where it takes us."
"Let's do it," she said, fastening her seat belt.
* * *
As he drove across town, Patrick thought about Dani's suggestion that the pilot could be a link to MDT. As soon as they were done with the next meet, he intended to do more research on the man who had been in the cockpit.
Although, there was an obvious question: Why would the pilot, who had gotten the job only a few hours before the flight, be willing to die himself? If he was going to sabotage the plane, why hadn't he saved himself?
Unless he hadn't known what was coming. Maybe he'd been duped himself—a double cross. Something else to think about.
When they entered the convenience store near Union Station, there were a bunch of teenagers at the counter, so they moved down the aisle to wait until the line cleared out.
He grabbed two bottles of water out of the refrigerator section. When the counter cleared, he approached the clerk. The man tending the register appeared to be in his late thirties, with thinning brown hair and a notable scar across one eyebrow. He looked like the kind of man who knew how to fight and might even enjoy it.
Setting the water bottles down, he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. "Is there any chance I could borrow your phone?" he asked.
The man's gaze sharpened. He looked around the store, then pulled a phone out from under the counter. "You can take it. I don't need it."
"Thanks."
As they walked out of the store, he took Dani's hand so he wouldn't lose her in the crowded pedestrian traffic. He wanted to see what was on the phone, but he also wanted to get back to the car and a little more privacy.
As they moved down the block, he felt like someone was watching him. He cast a glance over his shoulder more than once, but no one stood out. Maybe he was just being paranoid.
"Everything okay?" Dani asked quietly, also casting a look over her shoulder.
"I hope so," he muttered.
"Sometimes you're a little too honest, Patrick. A better answer would be
everything is fine
."
"Everything is fine," he said, trying to take the worry out of her eyes.
But clearly she didn't believe him. They finally reached the car. They got inside and flipped the locks. He gazed down the street they'd parked on. He didn't see anyone sitting in a car or looking out of place. He opened the phone. "There's one number in the contacts." He connected the call and put the phone on speaker.
A man answered a moment later. "Hello?" he said in a deep voice.
"This is Patrick Kane. Who's this?"
"That doesn't matter. You're looking for information on your mother's death?"
"I am. Do you have any?"
"The last people I spoke to about this are dead."
"Was that my mother?"
"And the senator."
"You met them the night before they got on the plane," Patrick said, feeling a sense of excitement that he was getting close to something.