Chapter Twenty-Four

“I need you back here now, Trace. Now.”

The desperation in Izzy’s voice lifted his mood—and some other parts of him. Parts he thought might be out of commission for the evening thanks to spending time in the hotel bar with Jorg, fending off Jager shots. That seventy-something son-of-a-gun could drink like a monster. He folded an arm behind his head and got comfy on the hotel bed. “I’ll be home tomorrow by ten, latest. But we can do a bedtime story in the meanwhile.”

Silence greeted that suggestion. It stretched so long, he wondered if she was still there. “Izzy?”

“Trace, I’m serious. This is not me being playful. There are things going on. Things you need to be aware of. Things I can’t take care of, and I can’t ignore. And…and…”

The note in her voice wasn’t desperation—not sexual desperation—it was panic. His gut twisted. He sat up. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you. I made promises. But you need to get back here ASAP. You need to talk to Bridget, and you really, really need to talk to Lilah.”

Bridget and Lilah? He leaned back against the headboard again. “Jeez, woman, you scared me for a minute. I thought this was something about the deal.”

“It is. Or it could be. No, it definitely is. More than just the deal, but everything I’m talking about impacts the deal. It impacts a lot of things.”

It wasn’t like Izzy not to make sense, but he couldn’t make sense of what she said. Damn Jorg and his Jager shots. The next time the man chartered a flight to visit his proctologist, Mad could do the honors. “Honey, if it involves the deal, then tell me. Just spill it. I’m your client, remember?”

“I can’t! God, Trace, I’m in the middle of a Shanahan shitshow here, and it’s got nothing to do with my duty to you as your attorney. There is extraneous personal information of a nonlegal nature that you need to consider and I. Can’t. Tell. You.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about, but one thing came through loud and clear. She’d worked herself into a state. He frowned. “Are you having a panic attack?”

She groaned. “‘Panic attack’ is a term reserved for an episode of intense physical and emotional anxiety arising from a perceived threat rather than an actual imminent event. I’m not worried about a perceived threat. I’m worried about actual imminent events. There is nothing irrational about the way I’m feeling right now.”

Clearly, she believed it, but all she was giving him were unsolvable riddles. Then another thought struck, because he knew she was spending the night at his place with Bridget and Lilah. “Uh, how much have you had to drink?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. This is not the Pinot talking. Look, you just have to trust me. You need to fly home tonight and talk to them. Separately. The order doesn’t matter. With Bridget, ask her why she left college. Ask Lilah… God.” She muttered under her breath. “I don’t know how you approach that conversation. Just sit down with her somewhere private and tell her I suggested she had news she ought to share with you. After you’ve talked to them, we need to talk, see where you’re at with the deal.”

Why Bridget left college? Hell, that was years ago. And Lilah? Whatever Lilah needed they could work that out without stalling the sale of his part of the airfield. “I can’t fly home tonight.” Frustration clipped his words. “Fuck it, Izzy, I have three summer trail guides arriving on the redeye, expecting a ride to Captivity tomorrow morning. I can’t just strand them in Anchorage for another day. I certainly can’t hand them off to a charter flight. You know who has to cover the cost of that shit? Captivity Air.”

He didn’t lose his temper often, and he didn’t want to do it now, so he stopped and took a deep breath. But this? This served as a perfect reminder of why he wanted to sell. He felt torn by competing priorities, except one of them involved some murky personal issues, according to Izzy, and the other was business, plain and simple. He’d been raised to honor the business commitments, as long as it was within his power to do so. People relied on Captivity Air’s services, on the planes being where they were supposed to be, when they were supposed to be there. He could cancel because of weather, or a mechanical issue, but he couldn’t flake because he had personal stuff. It took a back seat to the schedule.

After another deep, stabilizing breath, he tried logic. “It doesn’t make sense for me to fly home tonight. I’d arrive in the wee hours. Nobody wants to talk with me at three a.m.”

“You’re right. Sorry. I know you’re right.” She sounded exhausted.

“I hear what you’re telling me, though. I will sit down with them, separately, at my first opportunity, and do a check-in.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Softhearted Izzy. He loved the fact that his sister and Lilah had become so important to her, so quickly. More importantly, he just plain loved her, and the sooner the sale went through, the sooner he could do something about it. With his eye on that prize, he asked, “Where are we at with the deal? Have they sent the purchase agreement yet?”

“Not yet. I still need to send them the information on insurance claims.”

There went his gut again. “I thought you sent them the certificates of insurance?”

“I did, but they also want the data on any recent or open claims affecting the coverage limits.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, where a headache threatened. “Can you talk them out of it?”

Another long pause met that request. “No. They’re entitled to the information. The only reason it would ever be an issue, though, is if there’s a pending claim that could exceed the coverage limits.”

“There’s not. I could attest to that.”

“Not really. I mean, a warranty from you would only amount to your opinion of the value of any pending claims. They’re entitled to know the details and determine for themselves what risk exists, after due consultation with their own risk assessors. I’m sure your carriers have sent your written updates on the status of any claims, and I’m sure you or Lenna have saved them in some sort of claim file, but I can’t find one. I can reach out to the carriers and request copies, if that’s the easiest way to gather the information.”

“No. That’s okay. I’ll find the files when I get back. They’re around somewhere.” Somewhere like his lower, right side desk drawer, but he wanted to talk to Izzy face-to-face before he handed them over. One of the claims was going to make her worry about his reasons for selling, and after tonight, she already sounded plenty skittish about the deal. He wanted to weed out this particular worry before it took root.

“All right. I’ll wait for you, then. That’s pretty much the last outstanding legal item, and probably a fairly simple one, based on what you’re telling me. The other things I mentioned are far more complicated.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bridget and whatever she’d told Izzy about her reasons for leaving school, sad as they might be, had no bearing on his current plans. Ditto for Lilah and whatever was going on with her. Preferring to send her off to sleep in his bed with something better to dream about than Bridget, Lilah, or the deal, he lowered his voice. “Hey, Izzy?”

“Hmm?”

“When I get back tomorrow, will you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need you to take off all your clothes, put your reading glasses on, and say stuff like, ‘due consultation,’ and ‘pending claims,’ until I beg for mercy.”

She laughed, as he’d hoped.

“It won’t take long.”

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” she murmured.

Oh, they would. And now he had a smile on his face. “Goodnight. I”—love you—“miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Trace. So much. Fly safe.”

“Always.”

He waited until she disconnected, then got up, finished the water he’d been chugging to combat the Jager-buzz, and got ready for some shuteye. These overnighters were getting old. Settling into bed, he clicked off the nightstand light. Darkness descended, cloaking the hard-edged utilitarian hotel room in a softer sort of anonymity. Or maybe he was just lonely? He stared at the dark ceiling and reminded himself that he wouldn’t have to do them much longer.

“Get Bridget to do the overnighters. She likes them.”

Trace started—like one of those stepping-off-a-curb dreams that happen in shallow sleep. His gaze darted to the foot of the bed where Shay sat, casting off a low glow. “I’m dreaming.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Hey, if that’s what you need to tell yourself to keep from passing out, let’s go with it. You’re dreaming.”

He blinked. Did you blink in dreams? Shay was still there. Shit, maybe he really did have a brain tumor.

“There’s nothing wrong with your brain. Jesus, Trace, if seeing me freaks you out so badly, stop pulling me to you, okay? You’re not even the one I’m trying to”—his brother broke off and rolled his hand as if trying to find the words—“make contact with.”

Just a dream. Just a dream fueled by too much Jager. “I’m not?”

“Uh-uh. Not you, not Bridget, but I swear, the two of you are freaking tractor beams. Every time I try to do what I need to do, you guys are like…” He made a grabbing motion and a sucking noise.

“Bridget’s seen you, too?”

“No. So far, you’re pulling the hardest.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No worries.” His brother flashed his trademark grin, and Trace felt it like a slice to his heart. “It’ll come out one of these times.”

“No, Shay. I mean, I’m sorry.”

“What for? Oh, ’cause I’m dead?”

“Yes. I—” Wish I’d done things differently? Wish it happened to me, instead of you? “I miss you.” As soon as he said the words, he thought about Izzy, whom he’d just said them to, as well.

Shay’s grin returned. “You’re missing someone. That’s for sure. You don’t have to miss me. I’m here. Even when you don’t see me, I’m here. Not in a creepy, stalker way. It’s hard to explain until you’re on this side of things.”

“Try.”

“Um. Well.” His brows drew together, then after a moment, his expression of deep concentration cleared. “You know how, when you’re down at the harbor, you can see the water, but only the surface? You can see the horizon, and you can look the other way and see Captivity rising up the hill?”

“Yeah. I can picture all of that.”

“Good. Now, when you’re flying over Captivity at, say, 500 feet, you can see all of it in one field of view, right? You see Jorg and Carl casting flies off the dock, and at the same time you see the school of king salmon swimming in their busy formation all the way on the other side of the cove. You see the kids at the elementary school playing outside at recess, and you also see the brown bear, fresh off winter hibernation, searching the woods just beyond the fence for berries.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Where I am, I can see like that, only more. Farther, deeper. All at once.” He stopped and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s still hard to explain. Is this really what you wanted to know? Is this what you’re pulling at me for?”

“I don’t know.” He yawned. Did you yawn in dreams? “Maybe I’m supposed to tell you something? Or maybe you’re supposed to tell me what you see, now that you’re…where you are?”

Shay seemed to give that some thought. Ran his hand over the square chin they’d inherited from their mom. “I see so much. I can’t sum up things in a concise way. You really would go nuts. All I can tell you is it’s all good. Everything happened the way it’s supposed to happen.”

Nope. He didn’t see that at all.

His brother offered a sheepish smile and shook his head. “It makes more sense when you’re where I am.” His smile tipped toward ironic. “Trust me.”

“Trust me” had practically been Shay’s catchphrase, and usually indicated he shouldn’t be trusted. This whole encounter shouldn’t be trusted, given it most likely amounted to nothing more than his booze-soaked subconscious taking a stroll. But what if he had some proof? “If you’re so all-seeing, how about giving me the winning lottery numbers?”

“Gambling is the devil’s pastime.”

“Really?”

“Nah. I’m messing with you.” He made a show of looking over his shoulders, and then whispered, “There is no devil. John Lennon had it right—no heaven, no hell. There’s just…more. But I’m not here to alter events. Like I said, things happen the way they’re supposed to happen. If you’re meant to win the lottery, you’ll win the lottery.”

“Spoken like a true figment of my imagination,” he grumbled.

“You want proof this is real? No problem. You can ignore your alarm tomorrow. Frozen fog delays all the flights. Your passengers won’t land ’til late in the afternoon, and then you’ll have to get in line for a runway.”

Awesome. Instead of insight from the great beyond, he got a weather report. A bogus one, because he’d checked the weather earlier and frozen fog wasn’t in the forecast.

“You’ll see,” was Shay’s response to the unvoiced opinion. His attention drifted somewhere Trace couldn’t follow. One of those all-seeing places, possibly. He glanced back, and grinned. “Welp, gotta go. Love you, bro.”

“Love you, Shay.” The words echoed in the empty room. His eyes burned. Was it possible to cry in your sleep? Apparently, it was.