The Last Flight(51)

Dex slouched down in his seat, his gaze leaping from one thing to another, never landing, never still. “Fine,” he said. “It was a joint task force, DEA and locals, looking to grab Fish. Which they’ve been trying to do for years. The whole thing got disbanded two weeks ago.”

“How is it possible Fish can call off a joint task force?” she asked.

Dex squinted across the field where the band launched into a version of “Funky Cold Medina.” Finally, he said, “It costs a lot of money to run surveillance, and you weren’t giving them anything. They can’t keep watching you forever. Higher-ups pulled the money, and with no evidence pointing anywhere, Fish’s friends inside the department began rumbling about better uses of resources and bitching about the budget. They had no choice but to fold.”

“Listen to yourself,” she said. “Federal agents. Joint task forces. And you’re telling me not to worry?”

“I’m telling you this topic is closed. You need to drop it.”

She studied his profile, softer around the contours of his jaw, laugh lines framing his eyes and mouth. She’d known Dex for twelve years. And something was off about him today.

Just then, the cannon fired as the Cal team burst out of the north tunnel, and next to her, Dex nearly leaped out of his seat. He covered it by rising along with the rest of the crowd as the band launched into the fight song, but Eva wasn’t fooled. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as they sat again and the first quarter started. “Just a little rattled.”

“You just finished telling me all was well. What the hell, Dex?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Just, Fish is looking into that guy I told you about. My friend who referred Brittany.”

“Are you in danger?”

Dex gave a hollow laugh and looked at her, his eyes sad. “When am I not?”

At halftime, they headed back into the mezzanine. As people made their way toward the bathrooms or the concession stands, Eva led Dex toward the doors labeled Stadium Club. She handed her badge to the guard at the door, who scanned it and waved them through. The noise of the stadium faded as she led Dex up a set of stairs and into a large room that overlooked the campus, all the way to the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge in the far distance.

“I’ll get drinks,” Dex said, leaving Eva to stare out the window and think about another time, an office with an almost identical view, the ghost of Wade Roberts still following her.

*

It had been the nicest office Eva had ever seen in all her years at Berkeley. Set high on the hill at the top of campus, its window offered sweeping views all the way to the Golden Gate and beyond. In a corner, a clock ticked, measuring Eva’s fate in seconds. The dean had flipped through her file, and she’d glanced at the door again, wondering when Wade would show up and deliver the pardon he promised.

“I see you’re a scholarship student.” The dean looked up, waiting for her to confirm. She stared at his nose, a sharp beak that propped up a pair of bifocals, and said nothing. He resumed his reading. “You came from St. Joe’s in the city?”

The first glimmer of sympathy. She could almost time its arrival. When people found out she grew up in a group home, they either took a step back or a step forward. But it almost always changed how they viewed her. She’d shrugged and looked at the door again. “It’s all in the file.” Her tone was more abrupt than she’d intended, and she wished she could reel her words back in and start over. Tell him how attached she’d grown to her life as a student, that Berkeley was a place where potential seemed to shine down and touch her shoulders. But Eva had never been able to offer honesty like that. So she said nothing and waited for the rest to happen.

“It seems foolish to throw it all away by making drugs in the chemistry lab,” he’d said.

Eva was saved from responding when the door swung open and the dean’s assistant ushered Wade in. The breath Eva had been holding released. Wade had promised her he would tell the dean that making the drugs had been his idea, and would assume all of the blame. As the quarterback of the football team, he’d get a slap on the wrist, maybe a one-game suspension, but nothing that would ruin his career.

But her relief quickly vanished as Wade was followed by Coach Garrison. Eva had only seen his picture in the paper, or once as a tiny, pacing ant on the sidelines of the only football game she’d ever been to, at Wade’s behest. I want my girlfriend to watch me play. It had been the word girlfriend that had done it. Eva had never been anything to anyone—not daughter. Not friend. Certainly never girlfriend. She had felt foolish that the betrayal struck her so deeply, that she’d allowed herself to believe Wade might be different.

*

“All they had was white,” Dex said, handing her a small plastic cup of wine. Eva tore her eyes away from the view and refocused on the present. She’d believed she’d risen from the ashes, making a life for herself. But it had all been an illusion. A delusion. Nothing had changed at all. Dex had stepped into the space Wade had vacated, and things continued as they’d begun, only on a much larger scale.

Dex drank from his cup and grimaced. “How much do you pay every year for the privilege of drinking shitty wine?” he asked.

The last thing Eva needed was a recording filled with musings about bad wine. “Sometimes I wonder whether I’ve ever encountered Fish and not known it. Like, maybe he’s one of those high-rolling donors over there.” She pointed to a group of older men, clustered near a trophy case, clad in dark blue and gold. “It makes sense, really. For him to hide in plain sight like that.” Dex stared at her over the top of his plastic cup and she continued. “You know him. What’s he like?”