Eply
Griff woke, naked in Helena’s bed and alone. A faint aroma of frying bacon wafted in from the kitchen. He closed his eyes and listened. Helena hummed a random melody, accompanied by the percussion of cooking bacon.
Griff opened his eyes again and looked out the window at the soft light of dawn spilling out from around the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. From the moment he stepped into the cocoon of the Learjet 31’s fuselage, life had become suddenly and remarkably easy and carefree—at least for the past thirty-six hours.
Funny what a difference five hundred million dollars can make, he thought. Even if it is illusory.
Reality stalked his thoughts from the shadows like a black panther. Griff tried to ignore his cell phone on the nightstand hovering in his peripheral vision. He closed his eyes again, breathed deeply and happily replayed the erotic escapades with Helena since she woke him on her Learjet to the present moment. She seemed insatiable.
Reluctantly, Griff opened one eye and looked over at his iPhone. He reached for it and checked his notifications:
A voicemail from a number in Virginia Beach—T-Rex, no doubt.
A text from Maura: “Call me.”
Three texts and a voice mail from Lance.
“No honey pot. Need boots on the ground.”
“Give me a call. RE: Eply. Make it snappy.”
“How soon can you get there? Code 3.”
Griff pulled on his pants and shirt, then dialed Lance. He stepped over to the window facing the mountains and stared as the phone rang, subconsciously wishing he was calling Maura instead.
“I heard from him. FUBAR,” Lance answered. “A total fuster cluck.”
“What?”
“An email dump from the week before last. Written off-line—probably on the flight in. What is it? Don’t they have Internet in hillbilly land? I had IT check the logs. Eply hadn’t signed on to the firm’s servers for nine days. I called, but nada. I had Wilkinson check Eply’s Facebook page. Nada.”
Griff smelled coffee.
Helena reached around and handed him a mug. She nibbled on his bicep, then slid her hand inside his pants.
“I, ah—mmm…I don’t get it.”
“Looks like somebody down there finally turned on Eply’s laptop. It must have been in sleep mode and replicated when it came alive. Of course, that was two days ago—when I got back from our visit at the rock.”
Helena came around Griff. She mouthed, “What is it?”
“Lance,” Griff silently answered. Then into the phone, he said, “What was in the emails?”
“Routine updates on his trip. A couple of emails about other cases he’s working. But nothing from after last Thursday.”
“Okay. I’ll get home and get there tomorrow.”
“I can have the boys take you and you can be there tonight,” Helena said softly.
There was a long pause on Lance’s end of the line. “Where are you?”
“The Land of Enchantment,” Griff answered.
“And is that who I think it is?”
Helena smiled up at Griff. She squeezed him and took her hands out of his pants. “Good morning, Lance Baylor, Esquire. I’ll go call the boys and have them start flight planning.” To Griff she whispered, “Then I think I’ll go to New York, like you wanted me to.”
Griff watched Helena head to the kitchen for her phone. “Apparently, I can be there later today,”
“Good. IT traced the IP address to a public Wi-Fi in Cincinnati. I’ll text you the address. Call me when you’re there.”
“Roger, Wilco.”
“Griff…”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, never mind.”
***~~~***
The flight to Lunken Field in Cincinnati took just a bit longer than the drive to Taos at Flight Level 410 where a tail wind gave Helena’s Lear 31 a one hundred twenty-three knot push.
Helena read The Little Prince, while Griff searched on the address Lance texted him to find where Eply’s laptop was last turned on and connected to the Internet. The Flying Pig Cafe was just north of Fountain Square downtown on Vine Street. He decided to listen to T-Rex’s voicemail and call Maura, once Helena departed for New York City.
“Will you miss me much?” Helena asked as they waited in the plane while it was being refueled.
“Of course,” Griff answered.
“But will you miss me? Or, you know, just this?” Helena leaned over and gently grabbed Griff’s crotch.
Griff smiled. “It’s a package deal, isn’t it?”
“Mmmm…one would think.” Helena let go and sat back as the crew boarded the plane and went into the cockpit. She smiled seductively. “Off you go, then.”
Griff stood and leaned over, coming nose to nose with Helena. He smiled and grabbed her crotch gently beneath her skirt. He kissed her lightly on the lips once, then started to stand up straight, but Helena took his head in her hands and pulled him in for a long, passionate kiss.
“Mmmm…” Helena let go and leaned back in her seat.
Griff stood up.
“I just might miss you, too,” Helena cooed.
“Promise?”
“No.”
Griff smiled.
Maura watched Griff deplane from inside Signature Flight Support. He stepped down and walked away from the Learjet as the doors were pulled closed behind him.
Griff stopped halfway to Signature. He turned to look back as the engines started.
The Learjet began rolling forward. The Captain gave Griff a big grin and snapped a crisp salute his way.
Griff returned the salute and watched the plane taxi away, getting bathed in Jet-A fumes as it turned onto Taxiway Alpha, heading for the departure end of Runway 25. He watched Helena fly away in a roar directly overhead, then turned towards the door to Signature Flight Support. Through the chain-link fence, he noticed a familiar Jeep Rubicon in the parking lot.
Maura emerged from Signature and marched towards Griff. She met him halfway.
“I was going to call you,” Griff said as she came up to him.
“You here for Wes Eply?”
Griff nodded slowly, not liking the curt edge to Maura’s voice.
“He’s dead.”
“How do you know?”
“I have my connections.” Maura searched Griff’s face for a reaction. “Did you kill him?”
“No—what? No. What the hell’s going on?”
“Then, you gots some ‘splainin’ to do, mister.”
***~~~***