Chapter Twenty-Five

“You sound positively bleary, Iz. What’s wrong?”

So much for her acting abilities. She got up and closed the door to Trace’s office. If Danny could sense her misery within seconds of getting on the phone with her, the rest of Captivity would pick up on it as well. “I’ve got a vicious headache.” That much was true, and she’d earned it with that third glass of wine last night, but hells bells, last night had turned into a double blindsiding, and she desperately wanted to get Trace involved before they went any further down the deal rabbit hole. Unfortunately, weather in Anchorage this morning had altered his flight plans. Maybe he’d make it back later in the day. Maybe. She dropped heavily into his big desk chair.

Hopefully. What the hell was “frozen fog” anyway?

“Take something, honey. Surely they have naproxen in Captivity.”

“I will. I’ll find some. How are things there?”

“Same old. Can’t complain. I miss my girl, of course. How much longer is this deal going to drag on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not much.”

“That’s good news.” At her silence, he added, “Right?”

“Hmm.”

“All right. Enough of this cryptic moping. My door is shut, and my ears are open. Tell Uncle Danny what’s troubling you.”

“Ah, Jesus, Danny.” She picked up her pen and tapped it on the desk, helpless against her nervous energy. “This thing has turned into a clusterfuck.”

“The deal? You haven’t even seen the purchase agreement yet, have you?”

“No. It’s not the deal, per se, but other factors—certain personal circumstances I didn’t know about until recently—and once Trace knows them, too, he may change his mind about doing the deal.”

“Ugh. I’m sorry, sweetie. Sounds sticky. You have to respect the client’s wishes, of course, but I hate to see this fall through because of extraneous personal situations. If the sale was right for Trace, as a business decision, and nothing about the business has changed, can you prevail upon him to separate the personal circumstances from the deal? Men are good at compartmentalizing.”

“Maybe.” She tossed the pen down and watched it roll across the desk. Rolling out of her control like everything else in the last twelve hours. “I mean, obviously, for the sake of my partnership, I’d love the sale to move forward.” Why did that feel like lip service more than truth? “But I care about the people involved. I want Trace to have all the information. If he chooses to go ahead with the sale, I need to know it’s for the right reasons.”

“Careful, Izzy. Your job doesn’t include weighing his reasons. If he decides it’s a go, it’s a go. You get the deal done. Your nonlegal opinions about what’s right for him, personally, can’t factor. That’s overstepping.”

“Yeah. I know.” She reached for the pen, and then, before she realized what she was doing, threw it across the room. “Which is probably why there’s a rule against getting intimately involved with your client. But I did, and I can’t undo it. Now I’m privy to new information that, professionally, is none of my damn business. But I can’t un-know it.”

“It’s a fine line to walk, but you can do it.”

She wasn’t so sure, but he wouldn’t want to hear that. “I have to.”

“You do. If you need any help—any at all—staying on that line, give me a call, okay? Day or night. The stakes are high, and I feel responsible for encouraging you to do something that put your personal feelings at odds with your professional responsibilities. I’m a bad influence.”

“Oh, please. I’m a grown woman, responsible for my own decisions.” She thought back to the first time she slept with Trace, after learning about his brother’s death. Her heart had made its choice, and even though things were currently a mess, she didn’t regret it. “It had nothing to do with you.”

“Well, even so, call me if you need me. I’m here for you.”

“I know. And knowing helps. Thanks.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Take something for the headache.”

“I will.” As soon as she disconnected, she got right on that. Trace probably kept some type of pain relief in his desk, but if she couldn’t find any, she’d ask Lenna. The skinny center drawer contained pens, pencils, a tangle of paper clips and rubber bands, and a bunch of change. The left-side drawer contained a stack of small aircraft magazines, with titles like Plane & Pilot, and Flight, which made her smile despite the pounding headache. Had she just discovered Trace’s version of a porn stash?

Leaving that drawer unperturbed, she tried the lower right-side drawer, and frowned. It contained an accordion file stuffed about two inches thick with papers. More filing? Her stomach clenched. Awesome. Were the due diligence materials she’d provided incomplete because she hadn’t had everything? She took the Redweld out, placed it on the desk, and dug into the first compartment. The top page bore an insurance company logo and the Re: line recited a claim number. Hot damn. The missing files. At least the day wasn’t a total waste. Putting the painkiller quest on the back burner, she woke up her laptop and got to work.

Ten minutes later, she pushed everything aside and buried her face in her hands. She was, quite possibly, going to be sick. Competing emotions whirled inside her like a category five hurricane. Neither heart nor mind could find steady footing amidst the chaos. God, she needed to think. She needed to get the hell out of here, lock herself in her room at the inn, and get her head around everything.

Her phone rang. She wanted to ignore it but saw the number. With shaking hands, she hit the green button. Before Trace could say a word, she hijacked the call. “You lied to me.”

“Huh?”

“You lied.” The word came out too loud, almost a shout. She took an unsteady breath and repeated, “You lied about your brother.”

“Izzy, honey, I don’t know who you spoke to, but…”

“No one. I found the insurance file. That spoke for itself. Shay died on the job. He crashed his plane while flying back from a passenger drop in Anchorage.”

“I never lied. I never said anything about how he died.”

His words came out flat. Emotionless. Like a detached stranger. She, on the other hand, was far too attached. “You looked me straight in the eye and promised me your brother’s death had nothing to do with your decision to sell your interest in the airfield. I’m not completely stupid, Trace. You assigned him the run. You were the last person to see him. It’s your signature on his flight plan. If you honestly believe none of that factors into why you suddenly want to back away from the only business you’ve ever known, you’re not just lying to me, you’re lying to yourself.”

“You forgot one. It’s also my signature on the mechanical check of his plane.”

And there it was. The great motivator. Guilt. “The cause of the crash was deemed to be weather and pilot error. He got caught in a downdraft, got turned around in the fog. He flew into a mountain. It’s tragic, but it’s not your fault.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore, all right?” Heat came into his voice now. “I’m entitled to decide what’s right for me.”

“This isn’t a decision,” she countered. “This is you running away. Running from a business your family built, a business you love, and, by all indications, you enjoyed helming. I’ve been crawling all over the evidence for weeks, and it can’t be denied. You ran it well.”

“If I ran Captivity Air so well, why is my brother dead? Why didn’t I listen to him when he showed up late—as usual—looking like he’d just rolled out of somebody’s bed, and tried to bribe me to do the run for him?”

Before she could answer, he went on. “You know why? Because I was annoyed at him for flying through life by the seat of his fucking pants. I was pissed that a foursome of paying customers were waiting on him, because he couldn’t get off his latest good time in order to do his job, and he assumed I’d cover for him like I’d done a million times before so he could go right back to whomever he’d been doing. Except this time, I didn’t, because I wanted to teach him a lesson. Now he’s dead. Some lesson.”

Jesus. “Trace, if he’d told you he didn’t feel well, you would have done the run for him.” The sympathy flooding her couldn’t be held back. She didn’t even try. “If he’d called ahead, explained he had something important to see to, and asked you to find another pilot, you would have done it. I’ve seen you adjust the schedule like that plenty of times since I’ve been here. But you can’t second-guess yourself for insisting he do his job. That was reasonable, not reckless.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” His voice cracked. “Shay dying on my watch doesn’t feel reasonable. Too much of the time it feels un-fucking-bearable. I can’t handle any more. I don’t want the responsibility. I’m done.”

“All I hear is guilt.” She heard despair too, but she refused to get sucked into it. He was long overdue for some straight talk, but he’d set the whole thing up in a way designed to avoid any conversation that might shine a mirror on his motives. She hadn’t known Shay. Hadn’t loved him. Which might make her the least qualified person to tell him what he needed to hear with any authority whatsoever, but she was the only one holding a mirror. She had to try. In the back of her mind, she could hear Danny sighing. “You’re selling your past and your future because of misplaced guilt.”

“Thank you, Dr. Marcano.”

“I don’t need a psychology degree to know it. You know it, too.”

He let out a tired sigh. “Look, it doesn’t matter why—”

“It’s going to affect more than just you.”

“Ah, Izzy, you might as well move to Captivity. You sound exactly like everyone else there.”

“This is not me standing up for my self-interests. Believe me”—a hollow laugh escaped her throat at the same time tears stung her eyes—“none of what I’m saying is in my interest.”

“Then stop saying it,” he begged. “Just help me do the deal.”

Her stomach went into a swan dive and pulled her heart along for the ride. When it hit bottom, it was going to hurt. She closed her eyes and accepted her fate. “I can’t. I can’t be a party to this. I’m sorry. Talk to Bridget. Talk to Lilah. Spend some time reflecting on your own motives, and the fact that selling out won’t bring Shay back. If you’re still determined to move forward after doing all that, call Chuck. Ask him to find someone else.”

“Izzy, please. Don’t blow this up. I’ll be back in three hours. Maybe four. Just wait.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated and disconnected. Just in time. Everything inside her shattered.

…

Trace helped unload his passenger’s bags—the three summer trail guides packed a fuckton of luggage—and carry them into the terminal. All the while he tried not to let his impatience to be on his way show. Wing had pulled one of the Yukons around front so they could load bags and passengers and get the guys to their rental house. Trace could have kissed him on the mouth for that small, time-saving effort. Wing also stuck around to help load bags. As they muscled a trunk that would make Izzy’s look like a carry-on into the truck, he asked, “Where’s Bridget?”

“She’s handling a charter,” Wing said. “Some Mounties on leave decided to give Big Kat a go.”

“Early in the season for that. They know what they’re doing?”

“Seemed like. They had the right gear. Plus, the weather looks good for the next couple days. Bridge took her gear and will keep ’em out of trouble.”

He sent Wing a sharp look. “My sister is on a climb with a bunch of guys nobody knows from Adam?”

Wing shook his head. “Two chicks and three guys. Welcome to the twenty-first century, boss. Mounties—not just men anymore.”

Rightly or wrongly, that made him feel marginally better, but so much for talking with her anytime soon. “Key?”

“At the inn with Lilah. Bridge didn’t know what time you’d make it back and didn’t want to leave him cooped up in the house.”

He mentally acknowledged the additional stop he’d have to make, but appreciated his sister not leaving him with a cleanup job. “Where’s Mad?”

Wing gave him a funny look. “He flew Izzy out.”

What? He froze midway through lifting a smaller bag into the truck. “Flew Izzy out where?”

Wing stopped, too, and turned fully to him. “He flew Izzy to Juneau, so she could catch her flight to Seattle, and then to L.A. Some kind of work emergency.” He frowned. “She said she spoke to you.”

Yeah, they’d spoken all right, but for some stupid reason he hadn’t realized she’d intended to leave. “I wasn’t sure exactly what her plans were when we spoke,” he managed through a tight throat. All the impatience zipping through him over the last several hours leaked away, leaving him tired and…empty. Dismally empty.

She’s gone.

Get her back.

How? You lied to her to avoid precisely the confrontation you ended up having, only a thousand times worse than if you’d simply leveled with her at the outset. You abused her trust and jeopardized something she’s worked most of her life to earn. Why would she talk to you again?

He didn’t know. All he knew was he’d have to find a way. Losing her, like this? He couldn’t let it happen.

Wing volunteered to take care of the plane, which gave Trace more opportunity to consider his win-her-back options while he drove the guides to their rental, unloaded bags, and made sure they knew how to get to the general store and the post office. It never failed to amaze him how these kids could survive a week in the wilderness with nothing but a shoelace and a gum wrapper but couldn’t find their way around a town the size of Captivity without detailed instructions and a map app. Competence truly was situational.

None of it helped him solve the Izzy situation. He called her from the privacy of his car, got her voicemail, but opted not to leave her a pointless, rambling message. Determined, driven Izzy could stand firm when she wanted to. He wasn’t going to be able to change her mind via voicemail. Not feeling especially up to a confrontation with Rose, but not willing to leave Key kenneled all night and go home to an empty house, he pulled up in front of the inn. Normally, he might swing into the Goose first for a meal, but through the front windows he could see Rose, Jorg, and Hoop’s husband, Carl, sitting at the bar while Ford served up beers. He could be in and out of the inn with Rose none the wiser and avoid questions he didn’t want to answer about why Izzy had suddenly checked out and flown home. Committed to that plan, he hustled into the inn and greeted Peter at the reception desk. “Rumor has it, Key’s in the house?”

The older man nodded and opened the pass-through. “Lilah took him to the dog run. Go on back.”

Perfect. He could take Key directly from the run to the car without going through the inn. Crossing the empty kennel, he opened the door to the fenced-in dog run and took a moment to watch Lilah toss a Kong to Key. He jumped like a champ, but the toy bounced off his snout when he tried to catch it in his mouth. Upon landing, he gave an under-the-breath bark that sounded exactly like Fuck! and chased after the rolling sphere.

“We’ll work on it,” Lilah said, smiling as Key brought it back to her. The dog scented him, or sensed him, and bounded over—all happy barks and lolling tongue. “Hey, boy. Hi, Lilah.” Trace braced for a hundred plus pounds of canine adoration and patted his chest. Key came up on his hinds, planted his front paws on Trace’s shoulders, and snuggled his furry face against Trace’s beard. He withstood a couple sloppy licks and then ordered the dog down. Key trotted back to Lilah, nosed the front of her baggy fleece hoodie, and howled, “Aaaay!”

The familiar band of grief tightened around his chest, but he dredged up a head shake and tried to make light of it. “No, dummy. That’s Lilah.”

“Aaaay!” Key insisted and pranced around her. “Ri-rah!”

Lilah, Trace now noticed, turned pale and shot him a distinctly nervous glance. Izzy’s words from last night replayed in his mind. Just sit down with her somewhere private and tell her I suggested she had news she ought to share with you. Maybe doing what Izzy had asked of him represented step one of getting her to come back? He literally had nothing to lose by trying.

Lilah moved to the gate that led to the walkway that would take them out front. “I’ll see you out,” she said, and held the gate for them.

Well then, no time like the present. “Thanks,” he replied, and whistled to Key as he went. He waited while she resecured the gate and tried to figure out how to open the conversation. “You, ah…you know Izzy got called to L.A. due to a work emergency?”

“I heard,” she said, and shot him a sympathetic smile. “I hope she comes back soon.”

“Me too,” he admitted as they made their way to the street and kept to himself how unlikely that outcome was, as things currently stood. “Before she left, she told me you and I should talk.” He looked over to see how Lilah took that piece of information. He detected a slight wince, but she remained silent. “She didn’t say why,” he added when they approached the truck, “but she considered it important.”

Lilah stood for a long second, biting her lip, looking uncertain and…shit…scared, if he read her right. “Whatever it is, I want to help. You can trust me,” he assured her.

Blinking rapidly, she nodded, then glanced around at the sidewalk. “Can we talk in the car?”

“Sure.” He opened the passenger door for her and helped her in before signaling Key into the back. Moments later he came around and got behind the wheel. Doors closed, heat on, Key settled on the floor between the second-row seats—that concluded the getting comfy portion of the conversation. “Tell me what’s going on,” he urged. “Tell me how I can help.”

“Can I have your word you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you? I mean, other than Izzy. She already knows.”

“Of course.” Christ, Lilah was practically a teenager. What secret could a kid like her possibly have that stressed her out this badly, and, hell, what could it possibly have to do with Izzy and him?

“Okay. Thank you.” She stared through the windshield, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Trace, I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?” He couldn’t have heard her right. His gaze dropped to her stomach, completely hidden by her thick, purple hoodie.

“Pregnant,” she repeated, facing him.

The first thought that entered his head flew from his mouth, unfiltered. “Who is he? I’ll kill him.”

Wrong thing to say, obviously, and it brought tears to her pretty green eyes. “Y-you can’t.” Her entire body radiated misery. “He’s already dead.”

“Already dead?” His mind spun on that like tires in sand, and then… “Oh, no.”

Lilah simply sniffled and wiped her cheeks with her hands.

“How could he?” He hadn’t actually directed the question to Lilah, but she answered, nonetheless.

“We,” she corrected. “How could we.”

“You’re a baby, honey. He had no business touching you.”

She shook her head, even managed a small smile despite the steady stream of tears silently rolling down her cheeks. “I’m twenty. Legal adult. I knew what I was doing. He didn’t take advantage of me. Probably the reverse,” she admitted with a sad shrug. “He was a little drunk.”

Great. Shay had died in November. He did the math in his head. “How far along are you?”

“About five months.”

He knew less than nothing when it came to options and deadlines on those options, but five months sounded late, to him, for certain courses of action. A shameful sort of relief washed through him with that thought. Shameful because, even if some deep-seated part of him already felt protective—of Lilah, and the baby, and yes, even Shay—this was not his choice. “Did he know?”

Lilah bit her lip and shook her head. She didn’t meet his eyes. She was a good kid, a scrupulously honest one, in his experience, so he attributed her reluctant response to regret. Or maybe he wanted to believe her. Badly. He desperately wanted to believe that if Shay had known, he would have stepped up and done the right thing.

Unsure of his standing to ask the next question, he took her hand to let her know he was on her side, no matter what the answer. “Honey, what do you want to do? I’ll help however I can.” He would. “I promise.”

She squeezed his hand and choked back a sob.

Relief?

“I’m having the baby. That’s never been—” She broke off and took a slow, stabilizing breath. “I never considered not having this baby.” Pressing her free hand to her abdomen, she said, “It’s Shay’s baby. Part of him. He was a friend to me all my life. And then, for one night, he was more. After, he was understanding and…still a friend.” Tears flowed again, silent and infinitely heartbreaking. “What he left behind is a gift. It’s precious to me. More than I imagined anything could be.”

Trace felt his own eyes burn. He could take a lesson in grace and bravery from the woman in front of him. Not a kid, he silently acknowledged. A woman. A woman who was carrying a living legacy of his brother. A woman who was going to have Shay’s baby. Around the bowling ball of emotion choking him, he whispered, “So, you’re telling me I’m going to be an uncle?”

She responded with a watery laugh. “Yes, to a very nicely developing little one, according to Dr. Devan. Bridget’s going to be an aunt. Mr. and Mrs. Shanahan will be grandparents.”

God, Bridget was going to lose her mind. The kid would have its own bush plane at birth. His parents were going to…he didn’t even know. Shay’s death had devastated them. This baby was like a miracle. He laughed, surprising himself with the sound.

“After Izzy arrived, and I watched you two together,” Lilah went on, “I wondered if you might want to be more to the baby than uncle and aunt. You and Izzy, I mean.”

“More?” He didn’t follow.

“I am an adult. I’m trying to make adult decisions. I love this baby.” Unconsciously, she crossed her arms over her middle. “I love it so much, and I have to think about what will be best for it. I’m single. I rely on my mother for the roof over my head, my job. My mother…” Her eyes turned sad again but remained clear and dry. “My mother is going to disown me when she finds out.”

“She doesn’t know.” It was a statement, not a question. Lilah wasn’t necessarily overdramatizing. Strict, stubborn Rose had deliberately kept a sharp eye on Lilah, in part to ensure she avoided the same path Rose herself had taken, becoming a young, single mother mostly banished from her own strict, stubborn family for the perceived moral failing. He’d work on her. It would take time, but he sincerely doubted Rose would cut her only daughter out of her life forever, the way her family had done with her.

“No,” Lilah confirmed. “She will know eventually, obviously. Before that happens, I need to line up another job and another place to live. Full-time employment in Captivity, for someone like me, is limited. Whatever I find won’t be fancy. It won’t be flexible. I’ll be on my own. I won’t be able to give this baby things it should have, or maybe even things it needs.” Anguished eyes found his. “You and Izzy would, though. If you’re getting married soon, you could…” She sniffled, looked away, hunched into herself. “You could adopt the baby.” The suggestion came out quickly, in a voice tight with pain. “Be its parents. Give it the things I can’t.”

It might have been tempting, even knowing the future she’d woven for Izzy and him was likely a fairy tale rather than a real eventuality, but just one look at Lilah told him everything he needed to know about that offer. Too bad she couldn’t see herself, turned inward, arms protective around the tiny life inside her.

“Lilah, look at me.”

She did. She’d been raised a good girl. When someone she trusted asked something of her, she did it. Yeah, if Shay had still been alive, Trace would have beat the crap out of him. The fear and pain he saw in her expression just killed him.

“You’ll never be alone. Never,” he reiterated. “You need a place to live? We have room for you, whenever you’re ready. Need a job? We’ll find you a role at the airfield.” Except it wasn’t his airfield anymore if the deal proceeded. Still, Bridget would hire her in a heartbeat. Something niggled in his mind, but he pushed it aside for later. “You need help with the baby, you’ll have all the help you need. You’ll have to fight us off to get a moment to yourself, most likely,” he warned. “But you’re the mother. Always. You tell us what you want that to look like, and it’s yours. I swear to you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

In that moment she looked so young to him. So young and brave staring down a life-altering path made all rockier by extremely complicated circumstances. Gratitude overwhelmed him, that she had the courage to choose that path. “Say you trust me. Say you’ll accept Shanahan help. Shay would have wanted you to.” Of that, at least, he felt certain. Reckless and impulsive as he was, his brother would not have left Lilah to raise their baby on her own. He might have had to grow into the role of a responsible partner, but he would have been a great dad.

“I trust you,” Lilah whispered, and hugged him. “Will Izzy come back soon?”

God, please, yes. He loved her. He needed her. Whatever their differences regarding the sale, he owed her now more than ever. For not freaking out when Lilah had confided in her. For figuring a way to protect that confidence while still putting him in the loop.

“I hope so,” he said. It was the only answer he had.