Jeff Abbott - Trust Me

If he finds Eric, Drummond could find his connection to me, Henry thought. Keep the lies simple. ‘That’s Luke at the wheel, I don’t know who the other man is. Why hasn’t this photo been released to the press?’

Drummond ignored the question and tapped the photo. ‘It’s not a good enough shot to ID his face, but we’ll find out who he is. I understand the last time you saw Luke was at the Austin airport. We’ll nab all the video feeds from there as well.’

He knew then that whoever employed Drummond and Clifford would identify and find Eric Lindoe; it might just be a matter of hours. Maybe a couple of days. His world was unraveling. ‘This proves Luke is innocent… he must have been forced…’

‘Proves nothing. Innocent of pulling a trigger, perhaps, but Luke drove the car. Someone destroyed the Book Club before. Someone seems to be trying again. You and I shouldn’t sleep too good. Maybe we’re next.’

‘The plane flight – they were collateral damage. Ace Beere’ – the private jet mechanic who had tampered with the plane’s flight system so everyone on the flight died from hypoxia -‘he was trying to get revenge on his employer. Not the Book Club. We weren’t the targets.’

‘Lucky, that you and Clifford and me couldn’t make the trip.’

‘I always thought so,’ Henry said.

Drummond crossed his arms. ‘I need to understand Luke. Then I can figure out what his next move might be.’

Henry saw that the questions Drummond asked might reveal more than he intended. He nodded. ‘What do you want to know? I’ll tell you just to help Luke. You promise you won’t hurt him.’

‘I promise. After his father’s death, Luke Dantry vanished for seven weeks.’

‘He ran away from home. He walked and hitchhiked south.’

‘His mother must have been frantic. Good thing you were there to comfort her.’ Drummond raised an eyebrow.

‘A dear friendship and a good marriage came out of Luke’s running,’ Henry said evenly. ‘Luke went to Cape Hatteras.’

‘It doesn’t take seven weeks to walk or hitchhike from Washington to Cape Hatteras. Where was he during those seven weeks?’

‘Mourning. Hiding from the world.’

‘He was living on the streets.’

‘He was only fourteen. But Warren had taught him to be rather independent. When the police found him he was sitting on the beach at the cape, staring out at sea where his father’s plane went down. He’d been sitting on the sand for two days, watching the sea. Someone noticed him and called the police.’

‘Pining for the dead at this level doesn’t sound quite normal.’

Henry loathed Drummond’s dismissive tone but he decided it might be a goad, a prod to make him talk more than he should. ‘Luke was extremely close to his – to Warren. You know how much everyone loved Warren.’

‘Didn’t we all.’ Drummond tilted his head. ‘Luke never called his mom to say he was safe?’

‘No. He should have. Luke had a tough time of it. He ran out of cash; he’d only taken a hundred dollars with him. His face was all over the Virginia papers then; people were looking for him. He figured out how to blend in, how to hide, how to survive on the run.’

‘I never thought of concealment as a genetic trait. His father was good at staying under the radar, too.’ Drummond rested the knife against his leg. ‘This kid spent seven weeks evading the police and the detectives that your wife hired to find him. All without money or resources. And now he’s hiding again.’

Henry’s mouth thinned. A twist of pride in Luke filled his chest. ‘If he doesn’t want to be found, you won’t find him.’ I will find him first, he thought. And then I’ll have Mouser kill you with your own knife, you insufferable bastard.

‘Are you using this kid to settle old scores? Let’s be honest. You hated me, you hated Warren, you hated everyone in the Book Club.’

‘That’s not true…’

‘Isn’t it? We all thought you hated us.’

‘Hardly. I made the Book Club happen.’

‘Maybe. But Warren Dantry made it succeed.’

Henry shook his head slowly. The words, and the truth, couldn’t hurt him any more. The Book Club was dead and he’d won. ‘Some success. A bunch of thinkers and thugs that no one paid much attention to in the first place.’

‘And now your stepson…’

‘He’s my son!’ Henry snapped. An awful silence descended between the two men.

Drummond’s lips curled in a sneer. ‘You really did step into Warren Dantry’s life. His career. His wife. His son. My God, I guess you got over your hatred for him. How do Warren’s shoes fit you, Henry?’

Henry breathed slowly, counted to ten, etched a half-smile on his face. He had never wanted to kill anyone as badly as he wanted to kill Drummond. He quelled the rage. ‘You know if I knew, I would tell you, because then I could help you find Luke. That’s all I want. Luke to be found and home safe.’

Drummond tented his fingers with the air of a man with a final card to play. ‘I’ll find him. Before the police do. He’s going to talk to me.’ Drummond stood. ‘It might be best, Henry, if you allowed yourself to be placed under my protection.’

If he was kept under watch, the first wave of attacks might fail and then Hellfire would not happen. And no way he could find Luke or Eric Lindoe or the fifty million. ‘Some protection, you with a knife at my throat.’

Drummond laughed. ‘Yes. But no one else would get a knife near you.’

Henry swallowed down the tickle of bile at the back of his throat. ‘I stay here. If he comes here – my son needs me.’ A wave of dizziness flushed through his brain.

‘Stay in touch, Henry. I will.’ Drummond handed Henry a plain white card, with a Manhattan address handwritten in black ink, with a phone number below. ‘Henry. I don’t want to see Warren’s kid hurt, if he’s innocent. But if he’s not, if he killed Clifford, nothing you do can protect him. We just want to know why.’

‘I want to know why, too.’ And it was true.

‘Henry, this has just been great. I love reunions.’ He fixed a steely glare on Henry. ‘If you decide there’s a greater truth you’re not telling me, call me. Because I’m going to find this kid, and I’m going to find out the truth of what he’s been working on. You don’t want me pissed at you.’

Henry said nothing.

Drummond left, this time out the front door. Henry slammed it behind him.

He stayed at the front window until Drummond had driven away. Drummond isn’t going to let this go, he thought. He wondered who Drummond’s employer was – a private concern, he’d said. What did that mean?

Henry dug out his cell phone and called the cabin rental number in Braintree, Texas that he’d gotten earlier from Snow and Mouser. The number was posted on the gate to the road that led to the cabin. If Clifford had rented that cabin – if it wasn’t coincidence, he had to find out who Clifford was freelancing for.

‘Good morning, Braintree Park Rentals.’ A bright cheery voice answered the phone.

‘Yes. Good morning. A coworker of mine said he was renting cabin number three, I believe, and he’s not been answering his cell phone, and I wanted to know if he had shown up there.’

‘Mr Clifford? I saw him at the beginning of the week.’

The very dead Allen Clifford had rented the cabin Luke had been taken to. ‘But not since?’

‘People come out here to escape the world,’ the clerk said. ‘Maybe he just turned his cell phone off.’

‘Did he charge the cabin to the corporate card?’

‘Yes, sir, but I can’t give out details, I’m not allowed.’

Henry didn’t give up. ‘Did he give a billing address?’

‘Yes. In New York. Who is this?’