Keeping Gemma (Holiday Cove 2)

“Correct.”

Gary stared, obviously waiting for more details. When it was apparent I was only offering simple answers, he sighed. “Mr. Rosen, we’re not the enemy here. I know a lot of pilots may have the impression that we swoop in at the slightest mistake to strip licenses. I want you to know that’s not the case. We’re here to help.”

“Slightest mistakes?” I repeated the odd choice of words. “Someone died, Agent. This wasn’t a little event. Not to me anyway.”

Frankie leaned in. “We didn’t mean to trivialize. Obviously, we understand the gravity of the situation. What my partner means is that we’re not on anyone’s side. We’re only here to get the most information we can as to the events leading to the crash.”

“I understand. Next question?”

Gary eyed me and I could tell I wasn’t winning him over. Not by a long shot.

I really didn’t care.

“What was your destination?”

“San Francisco.”

“For?”

“I was taking a friend—Talia—to visit some family she had in the area,” I lied. I highly doubted they would follow up with her family to check my statement.

“I see. And Talia Soto was just a friend?”

I held his stare for a moment and flexed my jaw. “I don’t see how that falls under the scope of the investigation.”

Gary shrugged. “It helps us to get a full picture.”

“Next question,” I growled.

Frankie opened her mouth, ready to jump in, but Gary started before she could. “What happened before takeoff? Did you perform a safety check?”

“Are you questioning whether or not I’m a good pilot?” I scoffed. “This is ridiculous. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Rosen,” Gary’s tone was sharp—almost like a warning.

I glared at him from across the table. “Yes,” I replied tersely. “Of course I did the fuckin’ checklist. You can ask any of my employees. I’m a damn good pilot and I will not sit here and have you question that. Whatever happened on that plane was some kind of a malfunction.”

“So, when the results from your blood test come back, we won’t find any alcohol or drugs in your system from the night of the crash?”

The air left my lungs and was quickly replaced by fire. I bolted up from my chair—ignoring the pain tearing through my side—and pointed at the open archway. “Get the fuck out of my house. You have any other questions—you can call my damn attorney.”

Frankie stood and put an arm between me and where Gary was still sitting. “Please, Mr. Rosen, if we can just—”

“Out!” I roared.

Gary stood slowly, his expression stern but unruffled. Frankie sighed. “As you wish, Mr. Rosen. Please get your attorney’s information to our office so we can contact them with the rest of our questions. In the meantime, you’re grounded. There will be no flights in or out of your little operation here.”

“You can’t do that!” I slammed my good hand down on the table. “My other pilots are not involved in this. You can’t damage my business over something that has nothing to do with it.”

Gary shrugged. “If you would answer our questions, we could see what we could do, but as it is, we don’t know if this accident was a singular incident, or the sign of a much more serious problem.”

I wanted to throttle him when he tossed me a smile and a helpless gesture. “We’ll see what my attorney thinks about that.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Gary smiled again, cold and reptilian, and then stood slowly from his place at the table. He pushed his chair back in and strode from the room, taking the same path back to the front door.

I followed, my side splitting, and waited until they both left before I exhaled and allowed myself to collapse into the nearest chair. Adrenaline and rage were coursing through me, but I couldn’t move without pain, so I forced myself to calm down as I sat in the living room, staring at the door I’d just slammed behind the two agents.

“What the fuck am I gonna do?” I asked myself, burying my face against my casted arm.

19

“What are you doing here?” Lana’s voice was a mix of happiness and alarm when I walked through the front doors of the museum a couple of hours later. After the agents left, I took another dose of meds, fell asleep, and woke up feeling better than I had since leaving the hospital the day before. I figured it was time to get back to work and crossed the gravel driveway between the house and the museum to see how things were going.

“I’m here to clean up this shit show,” I growled in reply. “What the hell is going on out there?”

When I’d crossed over to the museum, I found a growing group of protesters at the front doors, waving signs about getting justice for Talia. They’d somehow managed to get her picture and had signs donning her face. I’d sneaked around the side of the building to avoid the circus—but even from a distance, their chants and angry cries pissed me off.