She probably would have been satisfied to sit there, staring right out her window and not seeing a thing, if Nate hadn’t spoken again.
“Hey, you know, I’ve been thinking about that little girl,” he said. “Amy.”
There was something wrong with his voice. It was just a little too casual. Like he’d been thinking about what to say and how to say it.
“Oh yeah?” Laura asked, looking back around. She reached for the in-flight magazine for something to keep her hands and face busy. Not that there was ever anything interesting in these things.
“You knew exactly where to look for her, didn’t you?” Nate said, his head still tilted back. His hands were resting on his own legs. Very still. As if he was making a study out of not moving.
“I just guessed,” Laura said, shaking her head. Fear tasted bitter in her mouth. It was a familiar feeling by now, but still an unwelcome one. The thought that someone would guess—and the fact that it was someone close enough to really blow up her life—only made it worse. Silently, she begged him to just trust her like he always did. “If I’d have known exactly where she was, there’s no way I would have left her for that long. I’d have gone right to her, believe me.”
“No, I get that,” Nate said. “It’s just, you knew she was underground. You said that to me.”
Laura shrugged. “Did I? It was just a feeling. I thought I saw dirt on his hands and the knees of his jeans when he was walking over to me. I thought he looked like he’d been digging.”
“That’s it?” Nate asked. “The special agent in charge thought you’d gotten some kind of tip from him. Like he’d told you a clue before everyone else caught up.”
Laura glanced up at him sharply. “You know I wouldn’t hold that back,” she said. “I don’t want glory.”
“Right, no, I know,” Nate said slowly.
Laura cursed herself internally. She should have owned up to it. Told him that, yes, she’d heard something the kidnapper said. Hadn’t been able to interpret it right away, but on reflection, she’d realized he was talking about the girl. If she had passed it off like that, there wouldn’t have been any further questions. At least, not any that she couldn’t answer.
“It’s just,” Nate continued, clearly not letting it go, “I mean, we’ve worked together—what? Three years now?”
“A little over that,” Laura conceded.
“And you’re always lucky. I mean, I don’t know if it’s luck, or you just got a real strong intuition, or what.” Nate hesitated. From the corner of her eye, Laura caught him turning his face slightly toward h
er. His sharply chiseled black goatee framed a mouth that was hesitant, a straight line that kept opening and closing without a word. “It’s just—that was some kind of luck. I mean, impossible, really.”
Laura shrugged again. “I don’t know. Call it divine inspiration. Whatever it was, we got seriously lucky. Part of that probably has something to do with the fact we were the only damn agents who thought to give the house a second look, like I said.”
“They would have gotten to it,” Nate said fairly.
“She would have been dead.”
At those words, they both drifted into silence.
“Well,” Nate said, finally. “If that’s all it was.”
“It was,” Laura confirmed, flicking to a new page in the magazine even though she hadn’t read a word on the previous one. She felt tension rising up the back of her neck. If he asked again, she wasn’t sure she had anything to convince him. What would she say?
Wouldn’t it be so much easier just to tell him? Just to let it all out? Like the relief that came with no longer resisting a drink: just stop fighting, let it pour down your throat and ease everything away. Wouldn’t it be better if she just stopped fighting?
But it wouldn’t end there. She’d have to tell him everything. Her father. His death. Nate’s own death, hanging over him like a shroud even now. And she didn’t want to tell him that—not when she hadn’t even come to terms with it herself.
If he pushed again, she didn’t know what she could possibly say to make him stop.
But after that, Nate tucked his head back against the seat again and settled more comfortably, falling into a light sleep. Laura was free to sit in silence and stop pretending to be interested in other things, relief washing over her. She stared out the foggy window, seeing the scratches on the glass more than the view beyond it.
The relief was short-lived. She could only think of one thing: Nate was going to die. She couldn’t stop thinking it, over and over again. He was going to die.
She could only hope that whatever they were about to walk into wouldn’t be the thing to trigger it.
CHAPTER TEN
Laura spotted the sheriff easily: a tall, older man in a tan uniform, awkwardly holding a sign with FROST/LAVOIE printed on it in block capitals. He stood out from the crowd, both because of his appearance and because of the way he was nervously checking his watch—like he couldn’t spare a single moment more before they got started on the case.