CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Beaufort, South Carolina
December 13
Dressed in worn jeans and a fisherman's sweater, Miles Buchanan stood before Nathan and Emily Bishop's refurbished Victorian home and took in the scene. On the front lawn, there was a child's toy that popped balls under a plastic dome when pushed by its long red handle. A small sneaker sat beside it. Dormant peonies lined a path that led to a wraparound porch. A coffee mug sat on a small end table next to a porch swing. This was a home.
Miles loped up the front steps, but before he could knock, the door swung open. Nathan Bishop greeted him wearing lounge pants and a henley. He whispered, “Everyone is napping. Let's head around back.”
Miles hiked the strap of the leather messenger bag over his shoulder and followed Nathan around the porch to a patio bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Nathan took a seat at the teak dining table, and Miles joined him opposite. Uncomfortable with personal small talk, Miles ventured, “Family good?”
If Nathan noticed Miles's awkwardness, he ignored it. Nathan Bishop had a way of putting those around him at ease regardless of the situation. “Charlie climbed the shelves of the refrigerator earlier. Pulled down a dozen eggs and a pint of blueberries.” He shook his head with a laugh. “That kid.”
Miles laughed too. “That was me. Miller was the lookout. He was always way more concerned with right and wrong when we were kids. The idea of getting into trouble terrified him. Meanwhile, all I did was get us into trouble.”
Nathan chuckled. “That sounds about right.”
“Especially considering how we turned out.” Miles shook his head in amusement.
Despite the ease and flow of the conversation, Miles was eager to share his ideas. He reached into the bag and withdrew a leather-bound book. “How does that look?”
Nathan nodded. “Nearly identical to the actual journal.”
Miles pushed the book across the table. “I had a bit of fun filling it in. If Musgrave bothers to read the thing, he’ll never know it's fake, but the contents are gibberish. Fake names, dates, I threw some Nirvana lyrics in there when I got bored.”
Nathan flipped through the pages. “This is a fucking work of art.”
“Thanks.”
Nathan fished a flash drive out of his pocket and handed it over. “Here's the copy. I’m not sure what The Conductor thinks is on this footage. It's just the arms dealer Cam was tracking, two security men, and a couple of party guests and topless women sunbathing on the deck. Other than the name of the ship, The Maestro, there doesn’t appear to be anything incriminating in this video.”
“Maybe just the name of the yacht is enough.” Miles took the drive and tucked it into the spine of the lookalike journal.
“All right then,” Nathan clapped once. “Let's sting a senator.”
The top half of the Dutch door opened, and Emily Bishop leaned her forearms on the ledge. “I was going to make some tea. Can I get you anything?”
Nathan leapt up as if an alarm had gone off. Miles failed to see the emergency until his host pushed open the door's bottom section to reveal his wife's pregnant belly.
“You sit, Emily, love. I’ll make the tea. Are the boys still asleep?”
Emily yawned. “One of them.” She jerked her head to indicate the unnoticed toddler holding two of her fingers and going to town on a pacifier.
Nathan swept Jack up into his arms. “Come here, buddy.” He turned back to Miles. “Something to drink?”
His first instinct was to decline and be on his merry way, but something had him smiling up at the little family and saying, “Sure.”