“Felix has a plane,” Fiona told Gemma. “We'll take it to New York. As soon as possible. If you're able to drive to Rockland Airport right now, you can go with us.”
“I'll meet you there.”
When they disconnected, Fiona relayed the basics to Burke in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“What can I do to help?”
“I . . . need to tell Jeremiah and Felix. Then I need to get to the airport to meet up with the others.”
“Do you want to stop at your house and pack a bag first?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll drive you to the airport,” he said, “while you make calls.”
* * *
Max didn’t let himself spy on Sloane’s social media very often. Once a month or so, ordinarily. But since Jude had told him that she was moving back to Maine, he’d been scrolling her feed more often.
He was sitting in his expansive office, feet crossed on his desk, paused on a picture she’d posted yesterday to Instagram. In it, she was staring into the camera with a small smile, straight brown hair highlighted with shades of caramel. Long eyelashes. Wide mouth. There was a sweetness to her face. She didn’t look like anyone’s enemy, but she was his. And he was already planning how best to bring her into his orbit when she returned.
Finally, he was going to get closure from her. She’d never allowed him that and over all these years he’d never stopped wanting it.
His phone alerted him to an incoming call from Jeremiah.
Slightly unusual. Jude called him much more than the oldest Camden sibling. He answered. “Jeremiah?”
“Jude’s in surgery. He was shot during an FBI operation in New York.”
Max’s feet hit the floor as he sat upright. “Shot? How bad is it?”
“The bullet caught the edge of his lung. I’m worried.”
Max swore.
“Can you get to the airstrip in the next twenty minutes? We’ll take Dad’s plane to New York.”
“I’ll be there.” He ran toward the parking garage, ignoring the startled questions of his employees.
Jude was the best friend he’d ever had. He’d go anywhere, do anything necessary, for Jude.
* * *
Gemma rushed into the waiting area for the operating rooms of Manhattan Valley Hospital like a steamship at full speed, eyes narrowed, red hair flying around her shoulders.
Dixon and Shannon were there, conducting a hushed conversation with numerous other people. All FBI, no doubt. When Dixon saw Gemma arrive flanked by Felix, Fiona, Jeremiah, and Max, he broke away and crossed to them. He introduced himself and told them Jude was still in surgery.
It had taken Gemma and the others only an hour in the air to travel here on Felix’s private plane. Everyone had been grim and mostly silent both on the plane and in the limo that had been waiting for them when they’d landed. Gemma had wanted to meet Felix and now she had, but that event had barely penetrated, given the circumstances. Felix had a plane. And she’d been invited onto it. That’s what had been relevant today.
Dixon answered the Camdens’ questions the same way he’d answered Gemma’s earlier. No new information to report. And almost zero information about who had shot Jude or why. Dixon could not, he explained, share any active investigative information with the family.
Gemma perched on an indestructible-looking chair, separate from the Camdens, separate from the knot of agents. Alone. Terrified.
When a nurse entered to say that the surgery was going well and that she’d be back in forty-five minutes with another update, Gemma excused herself and sought out the hospital’s chapel. It had a large skylight and a round stained-glass window that glimmered behind the altar.
