Page 77 of Line of Sight (Second Sight #4)

Sam Adams Brewhouse, Terminal B, Logan Airport, Boston MA

I SAT in a corner of the bar, surrounded by wood paneling, trying to ignore the painting on the wall next to me. Samuel Adams raised his glass of beer with a cheery smile.

And what do I have to be cheerful about?

In precisely one hour and twenty-five minutes, my Air Canada flight would be taking off, bound for Toronto. Non-stop.

For God knew how long.

I had a feeling my father was laughing his ass off—or shuddering with relief.

What I wouldn’t give to stop his laughter for good . But the chances of getting him to Toronto were slim.

The chances of arranging for him to have an ‘accident’ were even slimmer, maybe nonexistent.

I took a drink from my glass. The beer was pretty good, smooth, hoppy, with a piney citrus taste and a crisp finish. I could think of worse things to be drinking while waiting for a flight to take me away from Boston.

Trouble was, it was also taking me away from everything else.

I’d accomplished so much. But in the (almost) three years since I’d dispatched Wilson, neither of the remaining two members of my little club had approached me.

Are their lives so goddamn perfect? Is there no one who threatens their cozy little futures? Jason still hankered after a life in politics, didn’t he? There had to be opportunities there, for God’s sake.

Yes, I was bored out of my skull already, and my plane hadn’t even taken off the ground. And that was another sore point. Father was making me take a commercial flight instead of letting me use his jet.

Yet another black mark against him, and they were adding up.

I didn’t care that I was going to be the boss. What stretched out in front of me was years of tedium.

What I needed was an escape.

I reached into my bag and retrieved my copy of Strangers on a Train . At least rediving into one of my favorite books would give me something to smile about.

“Is it a good book? I saw the movie once.”

The fellow passenger at the table next to me looked as bored as I was. He was maybe the same age as me, but rougher around the edges.

I gave him a polite smile. “It’s a very good book. I’ve read it countless times.”

He picked up his glass of beer, and I assumed that was the small talk over with.

Apparently not.

“I always wondered how plausible it really was—to have two strangers meet and swap murders.”

Okay, now he was talking my language.

I smiled once more, only this time with more warmth. “All you’d need would be the right circumstances and the right two people.” I cocked my head. “Where are you off to?”

Any conversation was better than staring at Samuel Adams for the next hour.

“Vegas. I flew in from Toronto about an hour ago. Got two hours before my next flight leaves.” The slight slur told me he’d had a lot more to drink than I had.

“And I’m on my way to Toronto. Do you live there?”

“No, I live here in Boston. My wife lives there.” His scowl told me plenty.

All was not well, it seemed, in my fellow passenger’s world.

My self-interest kicked in.

I gestured to the empty chair facing me. “Why don’t you join me?”

He brightened at that. “Thanks. I hate airports.” He moved seats, then slumped, nursing his own beer.

“Why Vegas?”

He shrugged. “I like to play the slots, play cards….”

“And are you any good at it?”

That scowl was back. “Not according to my soon-to-be ex-wife.” He snorted. “Not soon enough.”

I let him ramble on, and the words came tumbling out. He wasn’t bad at gambling—he was terrible—and with so many debts he couldn’t see his way forward.

“Maybe a rich relative will die and leave you a fortune,” I suggested.

He let out another snort. “Yeah, that’d be nice, except I don’t have any rich relatives.” Then he chuckled. “Now, if the wife up and dies, that’d be a different story.”

“How so?”

He grinned. “Insurance.”

And suddenly the conversation had taken a new and interesting turn.

I tapped the book. “You remember the plot? They swap murders, and then there’s nothing to connect either of them to the crime?”

He nodded.

I drank a little more. “But I bet you couldn’t do that.” I lowered my voice. “You couldn’t kill anyone, could you?”

He stared at me. “If it meant I got to dig my way outta this fuckin’ hole I’m in? You’d better believe I could kill someone.” He drained his glass.

“Let me buy you another.” Before he could refuse, I signaled the server and ordered two more. Then I leaned back and waited.

Come on. Come on.

He squinted at me. “You don’t look like the kinda guy who could kill. I mean, seeing the way you dress.”

I smiled. “That’s precisely why I get away with it. Every. Single. Time. And no one ever suspects.”

His breathing hitched. “You mean… you’ve…?”

I nodded slowly.

His eyes grew large. “Whoa. Seriously?”

Another nod. “So was that the beer talking, or could you really kill someone?”

“Why?” He gave me a drunken grin. “You got someone in mind?”

I smiled and whispered, “My parents. And before you react in horror, let me tell you those two people have abused me since I was old enough to walk. You’d be doing the world a favor.”

I spun him a tall tale, and he drank it all in. By the time he’d finished his next beer, I knew I had him on my hook.

I leaned forward. “Here’s what I propose.

Before you go your way and I go mine, we exchange details.

You tell me what I need to know about your wife, I tell you what you need to know about my parents.

” I smiled. “I’ll be generous. You don’t have to make a move until your wife is dead and you’ve collected the insurance.

I know these things take time, right? But after that, you can kill my parents any time you like.

Just make it look like an accident, a robbery gone bad, anything you like.

I don’t need to say ‘Don’t get caught,’ do I? ”

He blinked. “You’re serious.”

“Of course. Just think of how much you have to gain. No more debts. No more ex-wife.” I cocked my head. “Who is divorcing whom, by the way?”

“I’m divorcing her. She moved to Toronto to be near her mom, and while I was out trying to find work? She had an affair.”

“Then I suggest you forgive her.”

His eyes bulged. “What the fuck?”

“I’m serious. Forgive her. And above all, keep paying the premiums. You want to be on good terms with her, right?

” I lowered my voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill her right away.

I’ll wait a while. Maybe even a couple of years, long enough for you to get the relationship back on an even keel.

I’m not saying you should move to Toronto—let her live her life there while you stay in Boston.

Visit her now and then, but just make sure everything is amicable. Now, do we have a deal?”

He stared at me, and for one moment I thought I’d read him wrong.

Then he grinned. “We have a deal.”

“There is one proviso that I feel I ought to mention. If for some reason you should renege on your side of the deal—you collect on the insurance and then decide not to kill my parents, you should be aware.” I locked gazes with him.

“I will come looking for you. I will find you. And I will kill you.” I smiled, then got my phone out. “Now, what’s her name?”

He stared at me for a moment, then swallowed.

“Amelia. Amelia Hall.”