Page 150 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“Grab whatever you need for the day. Wheels up in five,” Myles tells us.

I slept in my clothes, as did Max. I take a minute in the plane’s tiny bathroom so I’m not stinking out the team, grab my go-bag and the gun case, and meet Myles at the bottom of the plane ramp.

He takes my bag and the gun case and stores them in the large, midnight blue SUV that’s parked at the mouth of the hangar. He hands me a plain black hoodie. I shrug out of my jumper and put the hoodie over the long-sleeved Henley I’m wearing for warmth.

The hoodie’s noticeably heavier than a normal sweatshirt.

“Body armor?” I ask.

Myles, who is wearing his own black hoodie, nods. “Move around and get a sense of the weight so it doesn’t throw off your aim.”

I do as he says. It’s like wearing a wool coat and nothing like wearing Kevlar.

“What is this?” I ask as I windmill my arms. “Much too light to be steel mesh.”

“Spider-silk? Space-age polymer? Fuck if I know,” Myles responds as he slides behind the wheel and fiddles with the dashboard. “It’ll stop most blades and low-caliber bullets. That’s all I care about.”

Seeing the sense in that, I nod.

“We get into a firefight, pull the hood over your head,” Myles says. “Same material.”

“Do you anticipate a firefight?” I ask.

Myles shakes his head. “Never say never. Until we’re able to do some recon, I’ve got no idea what Selman has or what he’s capable of. But run most predators to ground, and they’ll turn and fight. I’m not assuming anything because he’s decided to run. This may be a safe house he established a long time ago full of guns, ammo, and cash. I’m not assuming fuck all.”

I take a deep breath. Over the smell of oil and a tang of disinfectant, there’s the smell of Maine: pine trees and the brine of the ocean. “I spent two summers at sports camp here when I was in high school,” I tell Myles. “Have you spent any time in Maine?”

Myles shakes his head. “I’ve passed through a few times.”

“People in Maine are a different breed. Resilient. Secretive. Anti-authoritarian. You can count on most of them to mind their own business. But if Drew’s known here and we’re outsiders, that won’t go well for us.”

Myles finishes whatever he’s doing and sits back. He pulls his hair back into a ponytail and fastens it with a black tie from around his wrist before putting on a pair of sunglasses. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “I’ve programmed the club’s GPS location into the car’s sound system. It’s the first playlist. Be sure to delete it if you end up having to drive the car to meet up with them, although they’ll probably torch it just to be safe.”

“Okay,” I agree. “You’re thorough.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“No. I saw how well you took care of C.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time,” Myles says. “That I’m not dead or in jail should tell you all you need to know.”

I grunt in acknowledgement. “Any thoughts about retirement?” I ask.

“Lots,” he admits. “But the people who still call me are persistent bastards. Hard to tell them no. I understand one of them called you.”

Remembering the call from the deep-voiced gentleman on the D.C. number, I nod. “Persuasive guy.”

Myles chuckles. “I can imagine what he threatened you with.”

“Smell the audit.”

“Uh-huh.Hehits mandatory retirement age in two years. He’s grooming a successor; he’s already tried to rope me into jobs for her and some of his otherfriendsbut they don’t have the direct connection to me that he has. He can guilt trip me into taking jobs. They don’t have that kind of leverage. Thing is—” Myles takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Once I’m no longer on the payroll, so to speak, I won’t have any more excuses to wriggle out of my family responsibilities. I figure you’ve investigated me, so you know what those are.”

“Yeah,” I admit. “No love lost between you and your old man?”

“No. Fucking monster,” Myles responds. “C better not be taking a dump. What the fuck is taking him so long?”

I chuckle. With Max’s ever-perfect timing, he pokes his head out of the plane’s open door and gives Myles the finger. “I’m cleaning up your messy fucking internet signature, dickhead.”