The Last Flight(74)

And I wonder what she’d want me to do with it.

I stare at the wall, though I’m looking beyond what’s in front of me to the image of Eva, laughing and running away from me, backlit and growing smaller the farther away she gets. I watch her until she’s just a dot. Just a nothing. Almost gone.

I trace the edge of the thumb drive with my finger, certain there are secrets there Rory wants to keep hidden. I just don’t know what they are.

But Rory doesn’t have to know that.

As if Eva were whispering in my ear, an idea begins to unfurl, outrageous and bold. But it will require me to come out of hiding and confront him. To pick up a phone and dial his number, telling him what I have, embellishing and fabricating across the blank spots, weaving just enough of a story to make him believe I know more. Not just about Charlie, but the contents of the hard drive, wrapped up and ready to deliver to the media and authorities. Unless he gives me what I want.

And yet, the idea of calling him, of hearing his voice on the other end of the line, like a hook drawing him toward me, makes me shudder. Because if I’m wrong and this doesn’t work, it will make everything worse.

I pick up Eva’s cell phone, glad I brought it with me, a way to contact him without revealing my exact location. But I hesitate before turning it on, my instincts still snagging on how Danielle managed to track down the number, and what else they might already know. Whether she’s out there waiting for me to make another mistake. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then power it on.

Immediately, another voice message pops up, along with a text. My finger hesitates, unsure which to click on first, before deciding on the voicemail.

Mrs. Cook, it’s Danielle again. I don’t blame you for not trusting me, but you have to believe I’m trying to help you. Mr. Cook is on his way to California, and I’m fairly certain it’s because he knows you’re there. I’m texting you a recording from yesterday. Use it. I’ll back you up.

I stare at the phone, my mind traveling in twenty different directions, picking through her words, trying to see the trick. What she really wants me to do. Because after all the times she’d looked away, stayed silent when she could have spoken up, I have a hard time believing she wants to help me now.

I open the text, which is a voice memo file titled Recording 1. I grab the remote and mute the TV, then press Play.

Muffled voices fill my motel room—arguing—and I realize it’s Rory and Bruce, though I can’t make out their words. Then there’s a knock on a door and Rory’s voice calling, “Come in.”

Danielle’s voice, closer, says, “Sorry to bother you, but I need your signatures on these forms.”

“Of course,” Rory says. “Thank you, Danielle, for handling all of the details with the NTSB. I know how much you loved and respected Mrs. Cook.”

“There’s so much I wish I could have done differently,” Danielle says.

I hear the rustle of papers, then Rory’s voice again. “That should do it. Please close the door on your way out.”

Danielle’s voice sounds farther away as she says, “No problem, Mr. Cook. Thank you.” Then an opening and closing door.

I expect the recording to end there, but it doesn’t. Rory’s voice speaks again, a shade colder. “What have you found out?”

Bruce finally speaks. “In 1996,” he says, as if reading from a file, “Charlie Price—or rather, Charlotte, as she prefers to be called now—was arrested for possession with the intent to sell. They couldn’t make it stick, and the charges were dropped.” I hear a page turn. “She moved to Chicago, where she worked as a server. Seemed to stay out of trouble. She still lives there.”

Charlotte? She? Charlie’s a woman?

“Anything else?” Rory asks.

“Not really. No husband, boyfriend, or girlfriend. No kids. Family seems to be either dead or estranged. Nothing we can use as motivation.” Bruce’s voice grows softer. “Nothing we’ve said so far has swayed her. Not money, not threats. She insists on telling the truth.”

Rory’s voice is low and dangerous, sending a chill rippling through me. “And what does she claim to be the truth?”

“That you and Charlie were having an affair behind Maggie’s back. That you were there when Maggie died, and you timed the fire to start after your departure. That you showed up at Charlie’s apartment, frantic and shaking like a leaf.” A pause. When Bruce continues, I can barely hear him. “She doesn’t care about the NDA she signed. She doesn’t care about anything we’ve offered.”

“That’s not acceptable!” Rory yells, and I recoil, as if he were in the room yelling at me. “This will derail everything. You have two days to make this problem disappear.”

I hear Bruce gathering things, collecting papers, the snap of a briefcase latch. “Understood,” he says.

Footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing. Then silence. I’m about to stop the recording when I hear another knock on the door.

“Enter,” Rory says.

Danielle again. “I’m so sorry to bother you. I think I dropped my phone somewhere. May I come and look?”

A grunt from Rory.

“Here it is. It must have fallen—”

And the recording ends.

I sit on the bed, stunned. There’s so much I wish I could have done differently, Danielle had said, the words spinning a different meaning, now that I know she was saying them to me. Offering an acknowledgement, and perhaps also an apology.