Cam shook his head. “Believe it or not, I’ve talked more about them with you this week than to anyone else in the entire past year. Maybe it was wrong or disrespectful of their memories. It’s just sohard.”
“Yeah,” Cort agreed ruefully. “Really damn hard. But maybe it’s time to talk about those hardthings.”
“Maybe it is,” Cam said. He paused for a moment, then continued, “I never doubted they loved me. And I know they knew how much I loved them too. But I just sort of wished I had the chance to hear it from them one last time, to tell them one last time, so… I wanted…youto…know.”
“There’s no right or wrong way to grieve and process,” Cort said after a short while. “They’d be so proud of you. I know Iam.”
His hands sifted through the hair on Cam’s head, and Cam fell into a pleasant kind of exhaustion, like he’d done hardlabor.
“Cam?” Cort said a moment later. “Iwantyou to tell me these things. I want you to know, youcantalk tome.”
He said the words solemnly, as though he was making a promise. Cam sat up, twisting around to look into Cort’s serious greeneyes.
“Okay,” Cam responded. Cort seemed hesitant, an unusual look for him, which made Cam need to ask, “Areyouokay?”
Cort nodded, and his hand reached up to stroke Cam’s cheek. “You have so many heavy burdens and I want… I want you to give them to me. Not because you can’t handle them - you’ve already shown youcan,maybe better than me. But you shouldn’t have to handle things alone. I want you to trust me with this, the same way you trust me with yourbody.”
Cam blinked, but didn’tinterrupt.
“You’ve shown me so much trust already,” Cort continued. “It’s time I did the same foryou.”
Cort reached over and grabbed the small flip phone from the nightstand, placing it on his thigh where Cam could see it. His arms tightened around Cam, as if he was afraid Cam was going to escape, to run from him once he began talking. Cam tensed, his heart beating faster. How bad would thisbe?
“Damon Fitzpatrick is my foster brother,” Cort said, and Cam frowned. He remembered feeling the faint niggle of familiarity when Cort had said that yesterday. Cam hadn’t paid attention to it then, but this morning, he focused on it. Damon Fitzpatrick…Damon…
“The pilot who caused the crash?” Cam whispered, feeling his entire body growcold.
Cort shook his head, his arms still holding Cam tight. “Hedidn’tcause the crash,Cam.”
“The NTSB said differently,” Cam said stiffly. His breathing was ramping up, and suddenly Cort’s comforting embrace felt restrictive. “What does this have to do with anything? With the case you’re workingon?”
“I’m not working on a case,” Cort said softly. “You accused me of it yesterday, and you were right. I’m here because Damon is alive, and I need to helphim.”
Cam sat up, pushing Cort’s arms aside. “Alive? Cort, it’s not possible. There were nosurvivors.”
“It’s possible. I have photographic proof in my bag,” he said. “But you can take my word for it. Damon survivedsomehow.”
Disbelief warred with hope in Cam’s chest. “Were there other….?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the wordsurvivors, but Cortunderstood.
He shook his head quickly. “I don’t… I don’t think so. Nothing identifying Damon was ever recovered,” he reminded Cam. Whereas Cam’s parents’ remains had been found at the crashsite.
Cam ran a hand through his hair. “He’s alive? And he wants you to help him dowhat?”
Cort winced, then his jaw hardened. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but the things they say he did - getting drunk before a flight, failing to do the pre-checks, that’s not Damon. It’s not the kind of man he was…is.” He laid a hand on Cam’s thigh, holding him in place, while he explained the clues Damon had been sending him, the facial recognition picture he’d got from the security camera which had led him to St. Brigitte, the way things had gone down with his superiors, and the burner phone he’d got through the mail on the morning theyleft.
The words flowed into Cam’s brain, but he could hardly make sense of them. His whole body was being pricked by pins and needles, like a numb limb coming back to life. Cort had lied, outright and by omission, to Cam, to his FBI teammates, toeveryone.
“I still don’t understand,” Cam whispered when Cort finally fell silent. “He sent you pictures of Sebastian and me, things about Seaver Tech.Why?”
Cort hesitated. “I’m notsure.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Cam sneered, pushing up off the bed. The phone clattered to the floor, but Cam left it there and reached for his clothes, which still lay where he’d dropped them the previous night, before everything had changed. “You clearly suspect someconspiracy or you wouldn’t behere.”
“I don’t have any proof,” hehedged.
“I haven’t heard proof foranyof this,” Cam retorted. “So why stopnow?”
“Because I don’t want to hurtyou.”
