Boone wanted her own car, but asking for assistance from her employers would break the silence around Tara Beckley, and adding more actors to the mix, even a simple driver/bodyguard who understood rank and wouldn’t ask questions, felt risky right now. The operations protocol around Oltamu had been silence, and though he was dead, she didn’t think that protocol should be.
The rental counter would waste time, and Uber would not, so when she made it to the ground, she went against her strongest instincts and sacrificed control for speed. The plane had circled for twenty-five minutes while the storm lashed the New England coast beneath it, but it had finally landed, and now all that was left between her and Tara Beckley was fifteen miles. She summoned the Uber, and when it arrived, she stepped off the curb, got into the car, handed the driver—a too-friendly chick with dyed-pink hair—a hundred-dollar bill, and told her to start moving fast and keep moving fast.
“I don’t want to get a ticket,” the girl protested. She had approximately twenty piercings and fifty tattoos, but she didn’t want to challenge a speed limit?
“If you get a ticket, I’ll pay it,” Boone said.
“It still affects my Uber status! They’ll know if I—”
“Then you won’t get a ticket,” Boone snapped. “I can make it disappear. Trust me on this, would you? Any cop who stops us will let us go in a hurry.” The girl, mouth open, looked at her in the mirror, and Boone said, “Keep your eyes on the damned road.”
Boone texted Pine while they pulled away from Logan. She told him she was en route and asked if anything had changed. Pine said no. Boone asked where the family was. Pine said the sister was present but the mom and stepdad were in their hotel room; did she want them? Boone said no. She just wanted the girl. Tara might or might not have the answers, but the parents definitely didn’t.
Get rid of the sister, Boone texted.
Can’t be done, Pine replied.
What do you mean, it can’t be done? Boone wrote.
You’ll learn, Pine responded.