Chapter 8

Riley Grey’s Citation X was set up with a satellite phone, so Quinn was able to touch bases with Ronnie Garcia somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico.

Her voice was a comfort amid the chaos going on in his brain.

“I’ve confirmed with Soledad,” she said. “She’s all set to meet you. She’s already talked to her contacts with the Buenos Aires police as well as the federal Gendarmería, to be on the safe side. The Gendarmería Captain in charge of the precinct where Bo and the others went missing admits that it was likely a kidnapping, but says they have no suspects or witnesses at this point. According to Soledad, they do appear to be working the case, so that’s good. She’s put out feelers at local hospitals and clinics, but so far she’s not heard anything.”

“I know it’s going to be late,” Quinn said, “but I’d like to go visit the scene as soon as we arrive.”

“I told her you would,” Garcia said.

“Thanks,” Quinn said. “I really appreciate this.”

“Wish I was there with you,” Ronnie said.

“Me too,” Quinn said.

Quinn had never been one for long telephone conversations, so he thanked Garcia again and said goodbye.

Quinn called his parents next, checking in on the off chance that Bo had called home. His mother answered, sounding out of breath. She said she’d been shoveling the remains of a March snow in the driveway. Quinn couldn’t imagine his dad allowing that unless he was gone or incapacitated. His mother confirmed his suspicion and said he was away at a boat show.

Rather than worry her, Jericho decided not to mention Bo. There was nothing to tell anyway. His mother had a particular soft spot for Bo. He’d broken her heart many times over the years. But he was her youngest, and, sickly as an infant, he’d needed her the most.

Quinn said he’d call back soon to catch up, and ended the call. His mother was a tough woman—she had to be with sons like Jericho and Bo. She’d cried buckets of tears over her two boys—and she would, no doubt, cry many more for one reason or another.

Across the aisle, Thibodaux looked up from his book. “You doing okay, Chair Force?”

“I’m fine,” Quinn said, though he was far from it. He held up the satellite phone. “You need to call Camille?”

“Talked to her before we left,” the Cajun said. “She’d think I was tryin’ to get her to let me buy a new gun or somethin’ if I called her twice in a four-hour period.”

Miyagi removed her earbuds and gave Quinn a quiet smile.

“I appreciate you both coming,” Quinn said.

“Arrête toi!” Thibodaux said, telling him to stop. “You got the weight of the world pressin’ down on you, ami. You need us to take care of the goats while you see to saving your brother.”

Miyagi raised an eyebrow and shook her head. She and Quinn both knew there was no way to predict what might come out of Jacques Thibodaux’s mouth. It was his way of dealing with—and helping deal with stress.

“My mémère loved to tell us about a man who had himself all kinds of misery.” Thibodaux’s Cajun accent came on stronger when he told a story. Quinn couldn’t help but grin, despite the situation. “Well,” Thibodaux continued. “This sad man, he took his self to the doctor and he say, ‘Doc, I think I’m goin’ plum braque—crazy. My wife, she givin’ me the fits. My kids, they no good rascals. My job, it have me in a rut. Life just ain’t no good at all.’ Well, the doc, he looks at the man and says, ‘You need to buy a goat.’ ‘A goat?’ says the man. ‘What would I need a goat for?’ ‘Just buy the damn goat,” the doc says. Next week, the man, he comes back, and he says things is still awful at the house and at work. The doc shakes his head and tells him to buy another goat. The man, he does what the doc orders, but comes back next week with the same story. ‘Buy a third goat,’ the doc says. A week later, the man comes back and says that things is worse than ever. The goats, they get into everything and he can’t keep them penned up to save his life. ‘Sell the goats,’ the doc says. Next week the man comes in. ‘How’s your life now?’ the doc asks. ‘C’est magnifique!’ the man say. ‘Now I don’t have no goats.’”

“Goats,” Miyagi muttered, shaking her head again.

“You focus on savin’ your brother,” Thibodaux said. “Me and Miyagi-san, we’ll take care of the goats.”