Page 24 of Grant’s Heat

“My point is you’re not yourself! And it’s because of this Gibson woman!”

“So what if it is?” Screw it. I finally snapped. He’d worn me down with his badgering. “What do you want from me on this?” I yelled, my deep voice bouncing off the glass and metal and then thundering back twice as loud.

Elijah flopped back against the headrest of the driver’s seat and threw his hands up, momentarily letting go of the steering wheel. “Shit! Thank you! Why was that so hard?” As the air settled, he grabbed the steering wheel again. “I’m not here to judge you, man. I’m your fucking best friend. We’ve been through”—he thrust a hand back through his sandy-colored hair—“we’ve been through everything together. Why would you think Rio Gibson, and whatever you’re dealing with here because of her, would be any different?” He shook his head and stared out the windshield with the focus of a Le Mans driver.

After another few moments of painful silence, I finally sighed deeply and said, “You’re right.” I shifted in my seat to face him, ensuring he felt the gravity of this next part. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’ve been acting like such a dumbshit. I should’ve known you’d have my back.”

Elijah nodded along while I spoke. “Yeah. You should’ve. Just like you’d have mine.”

“It’s just—” I looked out the window again, trying to get my thoughts organized. “I’m so confused. I know what I’m feeling is wrong, man. Really goddamned wrong. But no matter what I tell myself, I can’t make it go away. I can’t get her out of my fucking head.” I looked back over to my friend, and he was nodding again. “Why are you just nodding? You look like a fucking bobblehead.”

“Because I feel you on this shit. I get it. I get where you’re coming from.”

Did he, though? Really?

“She’s married, Banks. You remember that part, right? A one hundred percent no-fly zone. And believe me, zero Grant Twombley planes have put wheels down on that runway. Not even a practice touch-and-go. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a poacher. That’s a hard and fast rule.”

“I already know that about you, my friend. We’ve spent most of our lives landing on airstrips together, remember? God save me for beating up this metaphor with you, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Now I caught a case of the nods. “So maybe I’m just saying all this for my own benefit,” I muttered under my breath but carelessly loud enough to be heard.

“So what are you going to do? You can’t keep this shit up, walking around like a love-sick zombie puppy.”

“What? That’s not what I’m doing,” I insisted, despite how he tilted his head to the side, wordlessly calling bullshit on me. “Elijah, she and I are just friends. Rio really needs someone to lean on right now, and it can’t be Abbigail. She’s too wrapped up with the baby and Sebastian. God fucking knows dealing with him can be a full-time job.”

“So call me crazy here, but what about her husband? Where is he during her time of need? Or whatever this is being called?”

“He’s never home. As you know, Bas gave him the foreman job at the Edge, so he works all the time. With her mental health”—I paused, treading carefully when labeling the situation at hand—“issues, she’s a ticking time bomb.”

I was saved from having to go into that sticky subject when we pulled onto my street along the water in Naples.

After he parked along the curb in front of my place, Elijah emitted a low whistle. “Dude, nice location.” He got out from behind the wheel, stretched his arms above his head, and stared out across the sand.

While we watched the waves crash against the shore, I said, “Thanks. I like it too. I’ve been spending a lot of time down here lately.”

He swung his gaze back over his shoulder. “Doesn’t Rio live around here somewhere?”

“They’re in Seal Beach,” I said with a pointed frown. “So no, not really.” Wanting to change the subject, I asked, “Can you pop the trunk so I can grab my bag?”

Elijah didn’t budge. For a few more beats, he just stared out toward the horizon. Finally but without a word, he turned and opened the back of the car. He handed me my bag, grabbed his own, and then locked the vehicle.

“Want a beer?” I asked when we were inside the house.

While his sudden quiet wasn’t disconcerting, since the guy had a tendency to turn on the radio silence when diving into his deepest thoughts, I was getting curious about what those musings exactly were. “Or something with a little more kick?”

As we walked through the great room and into the kitchen, Elijah checked the place out.

“Beer sounds great,” he answered at last.

“Coming right up.” As I strode over to the fridge and reached inside, I added, “Then maybe in exchange you’ll tell me what’s buzzing your control tower.”

The guy narrowed his eyes, not missing my shameless ping at the airport theme again, but accepted the bottle of German brew with a smile. “I was trying to remember if I’d seen anything about Rio’s family in any of my investigations. At least someone beyond her husband. Maybe a relative who lives close by who she could call to talk to.”

“Investigations?” I cocked my head while popping the cap off my own brew. “You mean back when Bas was suspicious of everyone from his secretary to Abbigail’s dry cleaners?”

“Well, sometimes the secretary really is the crazy one.”

I laughed my way through a shudder. “And let’s not go there.”