Page 38 of Concerted Chaos

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Iarrivehomein a sour mood, which worsens when I see who is sitting at the kitchen table with Powell. No, thankfully, it’s not Xander, who I’m sure is off to the most exclusive club he can find, where he can treat waitresses like servants and pick up lonely fans to take back to his hotel. Instead, it’s Ethan, the investigator from the NTSB. If he is here, he can’t be bringing good news.

“Sit and have a drink,” Powell suggests.

There are three whiskey glasses on the table. The one in front of Powell is empty, the one in front of Ethan is half-full, and a full one waits in front of an empty chair. I feel like a very adult Goldilocks.

“After the evening I’ve had, Iprobablyshouldn’t.” I sit, but I don’t touch the glass. Tanner has got me all twisted up inside. I hate this feeling.

“Xander being Xander again?”NormallyPowell would make a joke, but his mouth is set in a grim line and furrows are etched into his forehead—he might want to talk to somebody about those before they become permanent.

“Among other things. What’s going on? Is there an update?” I realize that’s a stupid question. There’s no other reason an investigator from the NTSB would be sitting in my kitchen. This isclearlynot a social call.

“I came here because I thought this news was best served in person,” Ethan says. The glance he exchanges with my brother tells me Powellalreadyknows. Maybe I do need whiskey for this. “We’ve determined the cause of the crash.”

“Do I want to know?” I ask. No, please, I don’t.

Ethan sighs. “This is important. There was a small bomb hidden on the underside of the console. Overall, the device was rather unsophisticated, but theycleverlyused an altimeter as the trigger. Once the helicopter reached a certain altitude, it detonated. The explosion wasn’t capable of bringing the chopper down by itself, but it destroyed part of the control panel and incapacitated the pilot.”

“So someone targeted Jace?” I don’t want to think that, but the alternative is more horrifying.

“No. We believe it was meant for Powell.”

That’spreciselywhat I didn’t want to hear. They’d suspected it before, but I held out hope that they’d find a mechanical failure or pilot error. I down half the whiskey, feeling the fiery liquid burn my throat. It’s not strong enough to burn away the pain.

“You can’tknow that for certain.” I say this as a declarative statement, as though loud denial will erase the horrifying possibility.

“Your phone call to Jace occurred about four hours before the flight. The bomb was placed earlier that morning.”

“How can you tell?”

“We’ve tracked down the person who installed it. He was a mechanic who worked for the heliport.”

“Why don’t either of you seem happy about this?” I look from Ethan to Powell, both of whom have frowns on their faces. “He’s in jail, right? Powell is safe now?”

“He’s not in jail. He died under mysterious circumstances a few days after the incident.”

“But that means it’s over, doesn’t it? If he’s dead he can’t make another attempt.” I’m sure I sound naïve, but I am going for hopeful. I don’t want to spend my nights lying awake and wondering if someone out there wants my brother dead, someone who doesn’t care how many innocent victims he has to take out to kill Powell. Jace, the pilot, the two videographers, they were all collateral damage.

“The mechanic wasn’t the mastermind. Someone wired him money. A lot of money. The FBI is trying to trace the origins of the deposit. But no, Powell isn’t safe.” Ethan stares deeply into my eyes, a serious expression on his handsome face. “And neither are you, Cassidy.”

“Me?” I don’t see what I have to do with it. I’m not the famous one.

“You’re his roommate. If the killer wasn’t concerned about the other people on the helicopter, there’s no reason he’d be averse to killing you if you happen to be nearby.”

“I’ve contacted a security company,” Powell tries to reassure me. “We’ll be protected. Finish your drink.” Before I can pick it up, he tops off my glass and pours another for himself as well.

Drinking when I’m upset is a bad idea. Drinking when I’m shaky from all that happened tonight—fending off Xander, Tanner kissing me, me liking it, and now finding out my brother is being targeted by a killer—is a worse idea. I’m becoming fragile and needy, and I don’t like being in that state.

Powell reactsdifferentlythan I do. Whereas I want companionship, he wants to be left alone. Heabruptlyswallows down the rest of his whiskey and disappears to his music room to pound out his sorrows on the piano. That’s his way of dealing with frustrations and fears—I expect he’ll be playing angry music tonight.

But I’m still in the kitchen with Ethan, and I’m starting to feel warm and lonely and craving human touch.

“Do you think your brother is okay?” Ethan asks, looking in the direction Powell went. He’s not aware of my brother’s habit of wandering away from conversations.

“He’ll be fine.” And I know he will,partiallybecause he sort of drifts through life, expecting everything to fall into place around him, and it always does.

“Do you think he’s coming back?”

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