Page 107 of Only the Devil
“For?” he grunts.
“For insisting on coming with me. For caring.”
“Always.” His eyes stay on the road as he rolls his arm and opens his palm, fingers wiggling in invitation. I take the hint and slide my hand into his, threading our fingers together.
Chapter 35
Daisy
The road is one of those rural routes with wide ditches on both sides. We pass a massive data center, its parking lot sprawling wider than the building itself. Beyond the complex, the trees return, hemming the road on both sides.
Up ahead, the headlights catch a chain-link fence, and beyond it, a tall metal building with a sliding door. On the concrete in front of the building there’s a small plane. Light poles along the perimeter of the building bathe the area in light and a dirt runway cuts through straightaway past the concrete carport.
Jake pulls to a stop just inside the fence and squeezes my hand.
“Let’s do this,” he says, and I hear the resignation underneath the residual anger. He’s not happy with me—at all.
“It’s going to be fine.”
The sound that comes from deep within his chest is more bear than human. We both open our car doors, and I notice he leaves the headlights on.
I hop out of the Jeep, glancing once toward the tree line in the distance. Thanks to the floodlights around the metal hangar, the tree line’s draped in darkness. When I inhale, the sharp scent of freshly cut grass fills my nose. Seconds later, I’m sneezing.
“Daisy, you okay?” Thompson’s friendly, laid-back voice makes it feel like any other day in the office.
Except it’s well past sunset, the sky’s black, and we’re standing in the middle of nowhere beside the smallest plane I’ve ever seen. The plane has a propeller on the front—that’s how small it is. No wonder Weaver’s suggestion was to fly him to New York then to board a bigger plane.
“I’m fine,” I say, slightly surprised Thompson is here. I sniff, checking, but the initial sneezing fit seems to be over. “It’s that grass.”
“Yeah, looks like they trimmed it today,” he calls back.
Given the grass comes up past my ankles, I’m guessing “trimmed” means they left plenty of height.
Phillip Sterling exits the hangar in the same suit from earlier, the floodlights giving his white hair an eerie glow. Through the wide sliding hangar door I spot a large stainless-steel suitcase that I presume is Sterling’s.
“Daisy, thank you.” He looks to Jake as he walks, and says, “Jake, should’ve known you would come too. Thank you both. This is all unexpected. I greatly appreciate you bringing me everything.”
I hand him the folders and the cords which I placed in a small tote bag. On the way over, I flipped through the files and snapped photos. The files he had me get were all business contracts and agreements, and to be honest, I’m mystified as to why he asked me to bring them, as I’m certain they’re accessible online. But they appear to be the original signed contracts between Sterling Financial and subsidiaries. Copies of property deeds are included in one file, but the addresses mean nothing to me, and again, I’m certain he likely has access to the files online. Chargers can be purchased anywhere, but I didn’t share my thoughts on the drive over, as Jake might’ve turned the car around.
“Thank you.” He looks down at the canvas tote bag in such a way that it wouldn’t surprise me if he strode to the nearby metal circular trash can and dropped it inside. “I didn’t want to share much on the phone, as there’s always a chance it’s tapped.”
No problem is the automatic response that almost slips out, but then I snag on the bit about him having something to say to me that he doesn’t want anyone to hear. That’s why he has me out here. The device tucked inside my bra digs into the side of my boob, and I wish we’d run a test to ensure it’s working.
Thompson’s expression is unreadable, but there’s something off that gives me pause. He’s not unfriendly, but he’s not friendly. His eyes, dark in this light, feel off. Cold. Dead. Goosebumps prickle, and the urge to spin on my heel and run back to the Jeep intensifies. He spits a stream of tobacco juice on the ground, and I’m reminded, it’s just Thompson.
“Jake,” he says with a nod in his direction.
“What’re you doing here?” Jake asks, stepping closer to Thompson, acting like it’s a typical office day. “Thought you headed home.”
“Nah. I’m flying Mr. Sterling to New York.”
“I didn’t know you had your pilot’s license.”
“It’s a hobby that brings in a little extra. But I’ve never flown this plane before. Never been to this hangar either. Sterling’s got me paranoid after today’s events. I heard movement out by the tree line. Could be nothing, but with everything that’s happened…you mind clearing the area with me before we take off?”
There’s something off about Thompson, but I can’t put my finger on it. Brie’s comment about trusting my gut comes to mind.
* * *
