Page 26 of Cruel Dreams

The quiet floor where we’re meeting the NTSB agent feels like that.

A slim woman wearing a taupe pantsuit, a blush pink camisole, and beige heels greets us, shaking our hands firmly. “We haven’t had inquiries about this crash in several years.” She leads us to a small office, and model airplanes and trains cover every available space. The blinds are closed, hiding the view out her window.

“I’m writing a story for theKing’s Crossing Chronicle,”Max says, holding out his business card. “Max Cook.”

“Patty Klein. Pleased to meet you.”

She nods at me but doesn’t ask my name. I don’t offer it.

“Why are you investigating the crash?” Patty asks, lowering into the chair behind her desk. She’s pretty. Younger than I thought she’d be. I pictured us speaking to a crusty old man, bored with his job, bored with his life. Patty’s neither and a curious gleam lights her eyes.

“You know we live in the same city as Zane and Zarah Maddox,” Max says, sinking into a chair. “There’s always been a mysterious quality about the crash. People betting it wasn’t an accident. People believing it was a storm and nothing more.”

“What doyouthink?” she asks.

“I know Kagan and Lark Maddox were on that private plane alone. I know the senator who was supposedly on the flight is, in fact, living a quiet, and not quite anonymous, life, in Cabo San Lucas with his kids’ nanny and not Lydia Graham, who is still hosting poker parties for LA’s rich and famous if the Feds cared to look. I know the pilot’s family came into some money after his death. What I want to know is why a lowly reporter knows these things, but no one else does.”

Patty tips her head in speculation. “The FBI took possession of the box.”

“You weren’t supposed to tell me that.”

She blushes. “True, but you know we found it or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Then why isn’t anything being done?” Max asks, resting an ankle on his knee. He’s used to questioning people. He was a good choice.

“Maybe there’s nothing to do,” Patty says.

“Maybe I can sell you a bridge.”

“Planes crash, unfortunately, all the time. Nothing sinister about it.”

“Then I guess we’re wasting our time...and yours.” Max rises from the chair and my heart sinks. He couldn’t be giving up this easily. Patty could have told us this over the phone.

“I didn’t say that.”

Max sits. “Then whatareyou saying?”

“I’m saying we’re not supposed to have the recording that was retrieved from the box, but my boss hates the FBI and kept a copy out of spite. The fact that we have it in our possession is classified information.”

“Do you know what’s on the recording?” Max asks.

Patty bites her lip. “Yes.”

“Is it as bad as we think it is?”

She swallows. “Yes.”

Max jiggles his leg. No one wants to hear that recording, but we need to. “Will you let us listen to it?”

“Who’s she?” Patty asks, like I’m not in the room and can’t hear every single thing she says.

Max pauses. We didn’t exactly invent a good backstory for me. He flicks me a glance and tells Patty the truth. “Zane Maddox’s fiancée.”

She smirks. “I’m disappointed you think you can lie to me. I watch TV and read the rags just like everyone else. Nathalie Barton is engaged to Zane Maddox, one of the richest men in the world. She was a stripper and he fell in love. Whether you believe that’s romantic or not isn’t the point. I know this woman isn’t his fiancée, and you can’t convince me she is.” She stands. “I think we’re done here.”

Max blinks and calmly waits. Annoyed, Patty meet his eyes, and he says, “His real one.”

I squirm. He’s being too accommodating, too trusting. He’s betting Patty wants to help us and will in exchange for exclusivegossip, but I’ve been living real life. I know people are only in it for themselves, and the minute we leave, Patty will call the FBI. We’re not far from their headquarters in Quantico. The asshole working for Clayton could see to it we don’t make it back to King’s Crossing.

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