Chase owned Maximum Security, the best private security firm in Dallas. There wasn’t a better investigator in the city than Chase. But once his brother heard the NTSB’s findings, he’d demand Reese have round-the-clock personal protection. Brandon, their younger brother, a highly sought-after bodyguard, would be the logical choice. But Reese had too much going on to be dogged 24/7.
Not when there was no proof Reese had been anything but an unlucky passenger. Especially not when he was more than capable of taking care of himself.
In high school, he’d fallen in with a dangerous crowd, older kids who were in and out of trouble. He’d found himself on the police radar, a troublemaker, minor car thief, fringe member of a local teenage gang, and street brawler. Activities that, combined with being picked up for using an illegal firearm, had led to a yearlong stint in juvenile detention.
His mom, divorced from his far-too-lenient dad and already raising his brothers, had taken custody and moved Reese in with her and her family. His grandfather, a former Texas sheriff, along with half a dozen relatives in the military or law enforcement, had stepped in and helped him turn his life around.
One of his uncles had convinced him to use his fighting skills in the boxing ring instead of on the street. By the time he was in college, he’d added kickboxing, then taekwondo, leading to a brief interest in mixed martial arts. Though he’d left those days behind, he still trained weekly to keep in shape.
No, he didn’t need Chase or Brandon, or his half brother, Michael, a computer nerd who lived in Houston, a recent addition to the family.
What Reese needed was information. He phoned Tabitha Love. Tabby worked for The Max as a computer specialist. She was one of the smartest people he had ever known, smarter even than the experts who worked for Garrett Resources. And she would be discreet.
She answered on the second ring. “Is that Reese Garrett’s name I see on my screen?” He could hear the smile in her voice. He rarely called her, though she was always happy to help.
“No way to deny it, I’m afraid. I’m hoping you can carve out some time for me. It’s a personal matter, one I need you to handle quietly and fairly quickly.”
She must have heard something in his tone. “For you, chief, I have all the time in the world.” She said it as if he were the editor of a newspaper or the leader of a tribe, not the chief executive officer of the company. It always made him smile.
Tabby was in her late twenties, tall, with very short black hair shaved on the sides and moussed on top. Her face glittered with enough studs to drive up the price of silver on the stock market: ears, tongue, eyebrow, plus a nose ring, and who knew what else beneath her clothes.
Fortunately, not him. Tabby’s boyfriend, Lester, took up most of her free time.
“So what is it you need?” Tabby asked, suddenly all business.
“You may have heard about the drilling platform the company is purchasing. The Poseidon?”
“It’s been all over the news. Apparently not everyone’s happy about the deal.”
“Exactly. We’ve got protesters marching on the street outside our door. They’re using the sale to bring attention to the problems caused by offshore drilling.”
“I’m thinking Deepwater Horizon and the BP oil spill, right?”
“That’s the argument and there are problems, for sure, but not as many as people believe. Unfortunately, until we find a reliable energy alternative, fossil fuels are necessary to our survival.”
“I get it. So what do you need me to do?”
“I need to find out who sabotaged the helicopter I was riding in four weeks ago.”
“Wow, your accident wasn’t an accident? That’s not good news.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s not public info, but there’s no way they can keep it quiet for long. I’m planning to do some legwork. I’ll come up with a list of names—passengers and crew, anyone with access to the chopper. I’ll need background info and I’ll need you to go deep. I want to know if I was the target.”
Tabby’s voice tightened. “Get me the names. I’ll get everything you need.”
“Thanks, Tab, I’ll be in touch.” The line went dead and Reese leaned back in his chair. He’d have to find time to go to Houston to start his search. His schedule was packed, so it wouldn’t be easy.
A light knock sounded, then Kenzie opened the door. Her pale scoop-necked sweater hinted at the fullness of her breasts, something he shouldn’t have noticed, but did.
“What did Milburn have to say? Have they found the cause of the crash?”
He didn’t want to worry her, but sooner or later the information was bound to hit the news. He was going to need help with this. He needed Kenzie in the loop.
“Someone tampered with the chopper. The crash was intentional.”
“Oh, my God. Reese, you could have been killed.”
He forced the tight muscles across his shoulders to relax. “The investigation’s ongoing. The FBI is taking over. Eventually, they’ll find whoever’s responsible and arrest them.”
