Dustin’s words, so different from the ones he’d said to Savannah, knifed through her. Was he trying to spin things for the reporter? Make it look like everything had been her fault, leaving Dustin as the victim? The thought hurt, and she should be glad she was free.
Yet the words pierced.
All she’d wanted was to slide in and sneak her purse out without another interaction. She needed space and rest, but now she’d have to engage with Jett Glover again. She didn’t have the reserves.
She did not want to spar with anyone. She just wanted to get home to her cat, Rhett, and put the day behind her.
Out of sight of Dustin’s room, she slumped against the wall. What now?
Jett stepped out of Dustin’s room. His charming smile would dazzle someone who wasn’t as worn as she was. Would anything remove his smiling veneer before she decided he was as perfect as the image he portrayed?
* * *
A war of emotions flashed across Savannah Daniels’s face as she spotted him.
“Hey, just the woman I was looking for.” Her purse swung from his fingertips like a pendulum.
She sort of grimaced but then smiled, a little forced around the edges. “The words I wanted to hear.”
“I think you left this.”
“Thank you. I was headed to get it.” Her eyes were hooded and her shoulders sagged. She looked exhausted. “Dustin might be telling the truth.”
Jett studied her. So she’d overheard part of their conversation. He shrugged like it was nothing important. “What do you mean?”
“He claims he has proof.” Her lips quirked as if she knew something he didn’t, which, considering the topic, was likely. “We’ll see.”
“Will you let me know if he does?”
She considered him. “Maybe, but he has to have something first.”
He nodded but felt weighted like a barbell had been placed across his shoulders, pressing him down. “Would you tell your niece I’m sorry?” The words slipped out before he’d formed the thought.
She seemed to catch his surprise and gave a slow nod. “I’ll tell her, but I wouldn’t expect any more from her than her dad. As much as I’d love to listen to that conversation, I’ll spare you the fireworks.”
“The what?”
“Intense emotions. She’s a fourteen-year-old girl. Emotions all over on the best of days, and your article ruined that for at least a week.”
Fair enough. Time to restart this conversation. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” He waggled his fingers in front of the attorney and applied his best cocky, trust-me grin. “I’m Jett Glover, a man who’s obsessed with the truth.”
She left his hand hanging there as she looked away. “I’ve heard more convincing lies from defendants. You really need to work on your technique.”
Her words stung. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Well, thanks for bringing me this.” She held up her purse. “Good-bye.”
He watched her walk off. He had the desire to follow her, but she’d take it as hounding. The beauty had no interest in him. Not that he had an interest in her. He wanted to slap that idea from his thoughts.
Time to do anything else.
He glanced at his phone, but still no return call from his caller. He left another message in case this one generated a response.
When he got home, he headed immediately to the woodshed. The only way to focus would be to run the plane along the wood. If he calmed his body with steady motions, maybe his mind would cooperate. After ten minutes of deliberate movement, his thoughts continued to swirl as if he had an IV of caffeine flowing straight into his bloodstream. At this rate, it would be a long, sleepless night.
He tried to direct his thoughts along the length of the board but cycled through the interviews he’d conducted over the last two days.
Logan Donnelly and Dustin Tate had grown up in the same neighborhood, but Dustin had been friends with Logan’s older brother, Tyler. Tyler had joined the military with Dustin, then died on a tour of duty in the Middle East. At that time, Dustin stepped into the role of big brother for Logan, who had been eight years younger than his hero brother. Jett had seen a couple of photos of the two together when he’d tracked down Logan’s old Sunday school teacher. The sixtyish woman had taught the same class to thirteen-year-olds for twenty years. Her stories about Dustin and Logan had been entertaining.
Typical boys.
Then he’d tracked down a couple of guys Logan had played with in high school. Same story, different voices.
Everything indicated the move to the major leagues and an extravagant lifestyle changed the man, though he maintained a facade of good character.
Jett himself hadn’t believed the story until he received the USB drive with video of Donnelly negotiating with a pimp.
It validated other evidence that Logan had changed. He had a ream of paper filled with flight manifests and other details he’d put together while in Thailand. He’d retraced the team’s itinerary on two of their trips. Each one followed a disturbing pattern. Purchase the penthouse suite of a hotel that catered to rich foreigners. Throw an extravagant party. Watch the girls come in. And then it got hazy.
Until the video.
Then the truth was in pixelated black and white.
Dustin’s fall had been more circuitous.
Jett’s wood plane skipped on the board as he thought of the man’s ex-wife.
Dustin had started well. He married the moment he finished undergrad while his new wife was still a student. Then she’d gone to law school while he was deployed as a pilot. It seemed 9/11 undid him. He headed out on another deployment and left the divorce paperwork for her to deal with.
Dustin lost his way for a few years as he completed his commitment to the Air Force. He rebounded after that, getting the job with Western World and seeming to fly a straight if lonely course.
The plane skipped again. Jett straightened, then twisted to ease the tension in his back. His attention had wavered, and now he’d have to resmooth this area. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to replane the entire surface. If he did, the plank could end up being too thin.
He had mounds of evidence.
He thrust the plane away.
Time to get some sleep before he ruined the plank.
* * *
Saturday, December 12
The next morning Jett headed in for another Saturday at the Washington Source offices.
A weekend in this city could either be sleepy or overwhelmed with news. This was the nation’s capital after all. Even without a plane crash in the heart of the city, there would be the pressure to complete legislative work before both houses of Congress adjourned for the holiday season.
He planned to settle into his cubicle, put on his headphones, and make progress on crafting the follow-up story from his trip to Boston and the crash. First, he needed more coffee.
Chase sat in the small breakroom, but popped up the instant he spotted Jett. “Need some coffee?”
The kid had eager beaver written all over. Wonder how long it will take for that to be beaten out of him by the cutthroat pace and business of journalism. “I can get my own. Thanks.” He gave the kid a wry grin and stepped to the old-school coffeemaker.
As it hissed and brewed, Chase didn’t return to his seat. “I’ve been wondering something, Mr. Glover.”
“What’s that?”
“Where’s Logan Donnelly? He hasn’t turned up since the crash.”
“Hopefully he’s in a hospital recovering.” He wouldn’t wish anything else on the man, no matter what he’d done in Asia.
“I thought so too.” Chase pulled a notepad from the table. “Except I’ve called all the local hospitals. Nothing doing. Can’t find him.”
“Or you’re reaching people who are concerned about violating privacy.”
“Sure. But all I’m finding is this.” The kid took his cell phone from his back pocket and pulled up a video. “Watch.”
Jett stepped closer and leaned forward. Jett had driven on the Fourteenth Street Bridge earlier in the week and could imagine the scene clearly. The bridge had three spans, each with multiple lanes. As a main artery into the capital, it usually had heavy traffic with planes taking off and landing at Reagan National in the background. The video had been filmed from the bridge, and showed a man helping survivors out of the plane into the river. One woman floundered in the water, and he pulled her to the surface and secured a life vest on her. Looking heroic.
No, being heroic.
Jett squinted as the video played again. Yep, it was Donnelly.
The short video ended with Logan still in the water, but it was clear he had survived the crash. “Have you checked his social media accounts?”
The kid rolled his eyes as if that was a dumb question. Maybe it was. “Of course. No activity since your article broke.”
“All right. I’ll keep digging too. We’ll find him.” After he filled a coffee mug with the fresh brew, Jett wandered through the hive of cubicles in the newsroom. The cacophony that buzzed around him indicated it would be a busy news day. The aroma of too much perfume blended with a locker room assaulted his nose. Seemed like a few had come straight from the gym, something Ted wouldn’t like. It might be Saturday, but that didn’t slack the normal workday expectations.
After he reached his cubicle and booted his laptop, he pulled up notes on one half of the monitor and a blank document for the new story on the other half. Then he did a quick search of Logan’s social media accounts. It was possible Chase had missed something important. After twenty minutes of clicking around, Jett had to admit the kid was right because he couldn’t find a post made in the last two days. Logan’s last post had been immediately after Jett’s story hit the web on Wednesday. That one had been a quick tweet that the story was inaccurate and incomplete. A flash of frustration climbed Jett’s neck. He’d tried to interview Logan prior to the release of the story, but the man had been obstinately silent. He clenched his jaw as he sent a direct message to the man with what must be the tenth invitation to tell his side of the story, but as he clicked send, he didn’t expect a reply.
He went back and did a general search on Twitter. He noticed a recurring tweet with a link to his article. The tweet was odd but had the same weird tone and misspelling of the one he’d noticed earlier.
Harm the innocent and you’ll get your due. If not from God then from those who avenge the damaged and abused. The crash was God’s judgment, but next time it will be mine. The trueth will be revealed.
Jett sank against his seat back. That tweet contained a lot of angry emotion. He clicked on the handle, UndergroundVigil486, no one visible using it. No picture, no mini-bio.
Was it a simple troll?
Maybe, but the anger reflected in the words felt connected to a living, breathing person. The questions were who and if it even mattered.
The background of clacking keys and voices ebbed, and Jett looked out of his cube to see Ted had stepped out of his office. “Editorial meeting in five.”
Good. That gave him time to try his mystery caller’s number again.
The call bounced to voice mail. Maybe it was a burner phone or something similar that the man didn’t check often. Jett left a message anyway.
“Glover.” Ted did not sound happy. Great.