Ach. I’m never gonna fecking live that one down.
Time to wake my wife and tell her what we’ve learned.
Stopping to make some coffee, I carry in a mug for her, too.
Except, she’s not there. The bed is empty. Ripping open the closet, I see her new backpack is gone, along with my wallet.
The coffee mug shatters against the wall, sending a long stream of caffeine down the white paint.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
In which the concept of trust is still apparently an alien one to Sloan.
Sloan…
Here’s the thing about being on the run for the last eighteen months. I’ve met a lot of people doing the same thing, and every one of them taught me something.
Travel, for instance. How do you get on an international flight without a passport or any ID?
You hire a private pilot with a private jet and a willingness to do anything for a giant roll of cash. And while stealing Ethan’s wallet makes me feel like the worst human on the planet, I have no other way to get enough money. It’s amazing the size of a cash advance they’re willing to give on Ethan’s black American Express card. I book a pilot within thirty minutes, which is a miracle.
I wasn’t sleeping when Ethan took the call.
I heard everything, though the only part that matters is that Gavin knows where Nate and Carmella are. Or he will soon enough if his hackers are as talented as Ethan’s. I have to get to Puerto Limón before he does.
Sliding out of bed, I changed as quietly as I could and stuffed a few things in a backpack, including one of Ethan’s guns, a Glock 42 with some extra ammo clips. There was cash in the top drawer of his dresser, over three thousand pounds but I’ll need more.
Feeling like complete shit, I slipped my husband’s wallet in the backpack and with my shoes in my hand, I tiptoed to the back stairs, disabled the alarm and flew down six flights of stairs, praying that none of the other MacTavishes… MacTavi… what the fuck is the plural of MacTavish? I prayed that none of them decided to take the stairs today.
My pilot’s nice enough to pick me up on our way to the private airstrip he uses. Georges has a very loose, Jimmy Buffet “Cheeseburger in Paradise” vibe with his dreads and tropical shirt. Even though there’s a conspicuous smell of cannabis in his truck, he doesn’t look or act high and most importantly, doesn’t ask me a lot of questions.
Pacing the landing strip while he fuels the jet, I dial Carmella on my new burner phone.
“Are you okay?” She’s practically screaming and I feel terrible.
“I’m okay, I’m sorry, I-”
“I thought he’d caught you! I thought he killed you!” It takes a lot to upset Carmella and she’s in tears. I am the worst person in the world for not contacting her sooner.
“That piece of shit Gavin never found me. But…” I fight down the surge of panic clogging my throat. “But it looks like he’s close to finding you.”
She’s silent for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I feel like such a fucking failure. If I’d never asked her to send me money, he couldn’t have tracked them. “I’m sorry. I’m about to fly into Puerto Limón, it’s a thirteen-hour flight, but from Boston, it’s only six hours or so. Go now. Check into a little hotel somewhere. I’ll call you as soon as I land.”
I can hear her slamming closet doors and rifling through hangers. “I understand. Nate is sleeping from his last chelation. But I’ll get us out of here within a couple of hours.”
“Good.” Georges is waving me over, running his pre-flight check. “Look, I have to go. I’m- Carmella, I’m so sorry. You must regret the day you got caught up in our crap-”
“Don’t,” she interrupts me, “don’t you dare say a word. I’m part of this family now and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you and Nate.”
Like a punch to the heart, I remember that Ethan said the same thing to me. Why didn’t I tell him I was leaving?
Because you still don’t trust anyone and you never will.My mean inner voice is being a huge bitch today.
“I love you both,” I sniff, “please be careful, okay?”
“It’s not the first time we’ve had to disappear,” she says, “you just look after you. Bye now.”
