Night Watch (Kendra Michaels #4)(15)

Lynch shook his head. “Damn.”

“What?”

“I’ve practically made a career of disliking that man. Then he goes and pulls a stunt like that.”

“You mean being decent.”

“Yeah, the nerve of that guy, huh.”

“Yeah, some nerve.” Kendra smiled and turned to walk back down the hallway.

He fell into step with her. “What now?”

“I guess we wait.”

“Like hell. I know you better than that, Kendra. You’re not going to twiddle your thumbs while you wait for the lab to do its thing.”

“No, I mean … You’ve done what I asked you to do.”

He sighed. “And now you’re done with me? How cruel.”

“I figured you have better things to do than traipsing along with me on a case that may not be a case.”

He stepped close to her. “Haven’t you noticed I enjoy traipsing with you? It’s always an experience. It’s the most fun I’ve had in the past couple of years.”

“You have a strange idea of fun.”

He flashed that million-dollar smile at her again. Was he trying to be irresistible, or did it just come naturally to him? He was trying, she decided, though he didn’t have to try very hard.

“I mean it,” he said. “Where do we start?”

“I’m going to the mountains. Big Bear.”

“Why?”

“I could tell from Waldridge’s shoes and tires that he’d been in snow recently. They were frosted with rock salt. That doesn’t leave much of Southern California left. And he had a tag on his suitcase labeled L35.”

Lynch nodded. “Big Bear City Airport.”

“You knew that off the top of your head? I had to Google it on my phone when we were driving here.”

He shrugged. “I get around.”

“Anyway, I figure I’ll drive up there and ask some questions.”

“Now?”

“Like you said, thumb-twiddling isn’t my style.”

“I don’t like the idea of driving. It’s getting dark, and the roads are icy and slick up there. I think it would be better if—”

“Ha! You’re just afraid of getting that Ferrari dinged up. No problem. Take me home, and I’ll get my—”

“I was just going to say, why drive, when we can fly? Especially, if we’re going to the airport anyway.”

“It’s a little late to try and arrange a charter.”

“Who said anything about a charter?”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Don’t tell me you have your own plane?”

“No, I’ve done very well for myself, but those things are tens of millions of dollars and I wouldn’t use it enough to make it worth my while.” He motioned for her to follow him toward the elevators. “I’ll borrow one from a friend.”

She snorted. “But who’s going to fly it? You?”

“Yes. Unless you’d like to take a whack at it. But I’m afraid my friend would insist that your CE-525-license rating be up to date.”

“Seriously? You can actually fly a plane?”

“I guess you’re about to find out.” He pulled out his phone as they walked. “I just need to make a quick call. It’s always nicer to have the jet warmed up and waiting when we get there.”

She just stared at him. “Warmed up and—?”

He spoke into the phone. “Greetings, Giancarlo. It’s Adam. I have a favor to ask…”

*

KENDRA SPENT THE TWENTY-MINUTE drive to Montgomery Field Airport in a state of disbelief that abated only slightly when Lynch drove through a group of small hangars toward a small, low-winged jet with a rear T-tail. A high-pitched whine emanated from the plane’s engines.

Lynch parked a few yards away. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Kendra pointed toward the plane. “You didn’t say it was a jet.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s a Cessna Citation Jet. This one’s configured for eight passengers, so the two of us should be very comfortable.” He opened his car door. “Shall we?”

She followed him out of his car and across the tarmac to the plane, where Lynch shook hands with a ground mechanic. They boarded the few short steps into the cabin. Kendra ducked into the doorway and froze.

“Is everything all right?” Lynch asked.

She surveyed the main compartment, which was over twenty feet long. With plush leather chairs, a large coffee table, and a sectional sofa, it was decorated more like a sumptuous living room than a corporate jet.

She shook her head in amazement. “This is nicer than my condo.”

“My friend hates to fly. This takes the sting out of it for him.”

“I guess it would.”

He moved toward the cockpit. “My seat is up here. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll find the bar stocked with some of the nicest wines you’ll ever taste. I recommend the ’89 Grand Puy Lacoste.”

“Give me a break. Don’t pile all this fine living on me at once. Is there room in the cockpit for me?”

Lynch shrugged. “There’s a copilot seat, but I guarantee you it’s a lot less comfortable than that sofa.”