Page 58 of Cruel Hearts

She sighs. “Okay. Call me tomorrow? I know you have a lot of shit going on, but don’t forget about me, Stella, I mean it.”

“I promise. Goodnight, Quinn. Get some rest. I’m going to hold you to your offer.”

Her voice drops. “Yeah. I love you, Stella.”

I fight back a wave of bitterness. I can’t love her the way she loves me, but I wish with all my heart I could. “I know. I love you, too. Bye.” I end the call. I’m tired, and I can’t offer her any more than what I already have. “Her bullet wound is infected,” I tell Max and Denton as I pass Max his phone. “She’s on antibiotics, and they won’t release her for a couple more days.”

“Richard told me who you were talking to. It’s probably for the best,” Max says. “How do you drink your coffee?”

“With milk, if you have any. Thanks.”

In Max’s tiny bathroom, I wash my face and hands. I look horrible, and I need more than a shower and change of clothes. I need a good night’s sleep and a massive dose of painkiller.

When I come out, Max and Denton are sitting at the kitchen table. A huge pizza and a takeout container full of droopy salad are placed in the middle.

I force myself to nibble on a warm slice of pepperoni, and the little bites soothe my stomach.

“Now tell us about the black box,” Denton says, biting into his own piece of pizza, the cheese dripping grease onto his plate.

Max chews and swallows a mouthful of lettuce. He’s cute, in a dopey sort of way. His curly brown hair is cut into a mop, and paired with his respectable clothing and his gold-rimmed glasses, he looks more like a graduate student or a university professor’s teaching assistant than a reporter. I wonder if his wholesome, boyish looks entice people to talk to him.

Denton pats my hand. He’s happy I’m eating.

Max doesn’t miss anything, and his gaze darts between us for a moment before he speaks. “The NTSB—”

“What?” I interrupt, confused.

“The National Transportation Safety Board,” Denton explains.

“Right,” Max says and starts again. “The NTSB actually found the black box from Kagan and Lark’s plane the same month they crashed.”

“How do you know that?” I pull a piece of pepperoni off my slice.

“I’ve done a lot of digging, going to press conferences, talking to the right people...and the wrong ones. I never believed the box wasn’t recovered. Sometimes boxes aren’t found for several years after a crash, but Kagan Maddox was a very powerful, influential man. He had friends in high places, and they wanted to know what caused his death.”

“The box was intact?” Denton asks.

“Yes. And the last two hours of the flight had been recorded.”

“What caused the crash, then?”

“The pilot.”

“The crash really was an accident.” Denton deflates, and his skin turns a sickly pallor. He’s been mourning his friend’s death and had committed himself to finding Kagan’s killer and making him pay. He’s wasted five years trying to avenge a death that didn’t need it.

Max sips his coffee. “I didn’t say that. What do you know about the crash?”

Denton shakes his head. “Nothing. At least, nothing solid. I was trying to do some of my own investigating and Clayton Black found out. He discredited me in the news and spread rumors in our social circles to throw me off the trail. Zane validated his claims firing me from my own company. Even if I had the money to pay for information, which I don’t, I doubt anyone would cooperate or trust me enough to talk. My reputation is ruined and has been for years.”

Max turns to me. “Stella? You worked as Zane’s assistant for a while. You two were in a relationship, and you were friends with his sister. Were you privy to any information?”

I think back to the meeting Zane let me sit in on. I was so new to the position, dazzled by him and our love. I’d felt turned around, my life suddenly on the fast-track all because Zane fancied me. It hadn’t felt real. I should have listened to my instincts. “An FBI agent, and I think someone from the Coast Guard and Homeland Security came by Zane’s office. He let me attend the meeting, to give him support—”

Max scoffs. “I doubt they told him anything that was the truth.”

I shrug. I’m more cynical now. “Honestly, they could have been anybody. I don’t remember if they showed Zane ID or not, but he spoke to them as if they’d been in contact before.”

“Jesus. They played him, and he let them. I bet he believed every goddamned word they said,” Max mutters.

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