Page 147 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“Five contacts in each phone. Ten is A. Myles is B. I’m C. You’re D. Theo’s burner is E?—"

“How come Ten gets to be A?” I ask.

Max rolls his eyes at me. “Don’t make other calls from that phone. We’ll call home from another phone that I’ll proxy through a cell tower in Milford, New Jersey. Three men matching our descriptions are going deer hunting in Stokes State Forest. They’re each going to bag a white tail. Hope youlike venison because Myles’ deal with them is we take one carcass.”

Max’s grimace shows what he thinks about dealing with a deer carcass.

Myles chuckles from the front seat, where he’s sitting next to the silent driver. “Venison for Thanksgiving. You’ll eat it and you’ll like it.”

Fairly sure my baby doll already has a massive turkey in the downstairs freezer ready for Thanksgiving. Or maybe it’s a goose. Whatever it is, it’s ridiculously huge. Maybe she can do venison steaks as a side dish or something.

Max squeezes one eye shut and sticks out his tongue to illustrate what he thinks of that suggestion. “Anyway. The phone’s not connected to the internet. You need to access an app or something, tell me and I’ll figure out a way.”

I nod. “I want to check on Emmy, Cappa, and Lucy while we’re gone. Through your app.”

“No problem,” Max says. “You can do that from my phone which is pinging through Milford. On our way back, I’m going to get an injury which I’m going to have treated at the Lehigh Valley ER.”

“What kind of injury?” I ask.

“Max is going to have a close encounter with a tree branch. Nasty slice and a big bruise. He might need a stitch or two. Happens when you’re chasing after deer in the woods all the time,” Myles answers.

I’ll take his word for it.

“There’s a private airfield ten minutes away from the hospital. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours,” Max says. “Happy so far?”

I nod. Max is fucking thorough.

“As for ouractivitiesduring the next three days.” Max pauses and shoots a meaningful glance at the driver, from which I takeit that he thinks we need to watch what we say. I can’t imagine Myles using a driver he didn’t absolutely trust but I nod so Max knows I’ll be careful. “We’re flying to meet A. I’m going to text him now so he knows we’re on our way. Probably be there by midnight. From now on we only use cash. We don’t use names.”

“Got it.”

“Get some rest,” Myles says. “Ninety-minute drive to my plane. It’s going to be a long night.”

I take his advice. I tuck the burner phone in my pocket, tip my head back on the head rest, and close my eyes.

Holding an image of Emily smiling up at me, her eyes soft and trusting, I let myself drift.

forty-one

LOGAN

Between Max’s planning and Myles’execution, the op runs smoother than many I ran in the Navy. I can only admire how meticulous and methodical the two of them are. Their time in England, as much as Max bitched about it, made them a team. They anticipate what the other is going to do; they finish each other’s sentences.

By the time we land in Bangor around one in the morning, Ten still hasn’t responded to Max’s text. Max unrolls a couple of sleeping bags and stretches out on the floor of the plane. Having napped through an hour of the plane ride and nearly the whole of the flight, I’m not sleepy. Myles paces around outside, probably wired from the two hundred cups of coffee he’s had.

When I see him unpacking an unusual-looking gun through the open door of the plane, I climb out of my seat and join him.

He sets up a small target on the gray wall of the hanger, paces back to me and moves the steel case back a few feet. “Ever used one of these?” he asks me.

“Not sure I’ve ever seen one of these. What is it?”

He picks up the gun, which has a normal looking grip and then two very strange, long, skinny barrels. Beneath the two barrels is a tube that looks like a scope except it’s on the bottom of the gun. No way to look through it.

“Dart gun,” Myles tells me. “Hundred-foot range. Quiet and effective. Fires a thirteen-millimeter dart.”

He shows me how to load the dart, which is a needle and syringe with a pink fluff on the end.

When he fires it, there’s a puff of vapor. The dart sticks to the middle of the target; the pink fluff quivers. We both chuckle, watching it.

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