Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(21)

“Yeah, it wasn’t good enough, was it?” he says. “I know she doesn’t blame me. Kind of makes it worse, man.” He glances at me, then away.

“Well, I left them,” I tell him. “How do you think that makes me feel? You were there for them. And I wasn’t.”

“They love you,” he says. “You made them believe in the idea of having a dad again. Don’t shove that off, it’s important.”

It is. It’s also scary as hell. I don’t want to hurt them, not ever, and right now . . . right now I can’t see a way of avoiding that.

I don’t expect the call Mike mentioned to come quite so fast, but it does, right then. I step outside to take it. Another unknown number, but this time from Florida. Miami, it looks like. I accept the call and say, “Sam Cade.”

“Mr. Cade,” says a calm woman’s voice on the other end, “please hold for Mr. Winston Frost.”

I don’t know the name, but he sounds like he thinks he’s important. It’s only about thirty seconds of silence before the line clicks and a voice with a London West End accent says, “Mr. Sam Cade, hello, very good to speak with you. Thank you for taking my call today.”

“Sure,” I say. “What’s this about?”

“Mr. Lustig mentioned that I’d be calling?”

“He said someone would be.”

“Well, the thing is, I happened to have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Lustig recently, and he heard that I was seeking a pilot for our corporate jet. He thought you might be interested in the opportunity. I understand you’ve taken some time off from the business, though, so—”

Flying. I feel a little jump in my pulse rate. It isn’t deliberate. I don’t want to react this way. But I’ve missed flying in ways I didn’t even realize until this moment. “There have to be a lot of other pilots out there who’d kill for a slot like that,” I say. “You’re calling all the way to Tennessee for a man you’ve never met? Whose records you haven’t even reviewed?”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

“Trust me, those records would show my flight hours aren’t exactly current.”

“You’re speaking like a man who isn’t interested in coming back to the pilot’s chair.”

I am, and it’s a lie. I want to get back to flying about as bad as I’ve wanted anything. As bad as I want a home? A family? A life with Gwen?

It rips me inside to even ask myself the question.

“Let me get back to you,” I say. I’m aware that means no, most likely. I expect him to tell me to go to hell.

Instead, he says, “Of course, you’ll need time to think it over; you’d need to move to the Miami area, of course, in order to be on call when we need you. The salary will be somewhere on the order of one hundred fifty thousand per year. The usual full-benefits package. We’re not in any hurry, and I do realize that in order to recertify your standing, you’ll need to devote some time to retraining. That is not an issue for us. We’re happy to hire you conditionally while you complete that program.”

The salary is suspiciously high, considering I don’t even have real private-jet experience, though I can easily get it in training. “Would I be your only pilot?”

“No. We employ three pilots on standby at all times. Your position would be salaried, plus overtime should your flying time exceed eight hours in a day. So regardless of flight time, your compensation is secured.”

I pause, and turn to stare off toward the horizon. “What kind of company?”

“Sorry?”

“What kind of company keeps three pilots on standby at all times and pays that much money as a starting salary?”

“A profitable one,” he says. “You’re more than free to research me and the company, of course. My assistant will be in touch in the next few weeks to hear your decision. Thank you for your time, Mr. Cade.”

“Thanks for calling,” I say. He’s already gone by then, and I stare at the screen until the power goes off.

Who the hell did Mike recommend me to? And what am I going to do about this? Take an interview? Lie to Gwen? Leave Stillhouse Lake?

Honestly, in this moment, I don’t really know. But one thing’s for sure: I’m checking this guy out.



Winston Frost research takes five minutes of time sitting in the cab of my truck with my cell phone. He’s the CEO of Frost Industries, a major manufacturing outfit with plants around the world. Based out of London, but with a second home in Miami and a third one in Shanghai. Pictures of him all over the web, mostly at charity events; he has the usual detractors, but he seems to be legit.

I send Mike a text about it, but I don’t get one back, at least not immediately. I want to know exactly how Mike knows this guy, and what he knows. Winston Frost’s number tracks back to the Miami offices, so that’s legit. I even redial and get the same cool-voiced assistant, thank her, and hang up.

Frost wouldn’t be the first rich, evil businessman I’ve run into since meeting Gwen.

But damn. A steady job, steady pay, flying.

I don’t want to want this, but fact is: I do.





4

LANNY

I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptop open, waiting for Dahlia to pick up my Skype call. It rings and rings. And I start freaking out, the way I always do. What if she woke up today and doesn’t love me anymore? Is that why she’s not talking to me?