Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Then one email made her stop and frown. She showed it to me. It was from an investigative reporter on a New York newspaper. She was covering the story, but in a lot more detail than the others. She sounded earnest, like she actually cared about getting the facts right. Olivia replied and got an answer back almost immediately. The two had a phone call that lasted almost three hours, with Olivia telling her the whole story, all the way back to getting fired from the hospital. I sat with her, rubbing her back and bringing her cups of coffee, and when it was over, I pulled her into my arms and held her close. She sighed and slumped against me, emotionally spent. But after a few moments of me stroking her hair, she looked up at me. “I think I feel better,” she said.
That afternoon, Gina flew us back to the airfield at Quito. Olivia had the medical bag on her lap. The doctors at the field hospital had said she could keep it: it was ragged and stained and definitely needed some TLC, but she said she wasn’t parting with it now. All of us gaped out of the windows as we reached the city: it felt like weeks since we’d seen a car, a bus, or a high-rise building.
As we touched down at the airfield, I looked sadly at the building I would have gone into, if everything had gone to plan: in there, out the back door, through the hole in the fence…We could have been rich beyond belief.
But there was no one waiting in a getaway car for me now. Just a shiny black SUV and three very serious looking agents from the Justice Department. And standing beside them, Kian O’Harra. I saw the tension drop from his face when he saw that we were all okay. “Good job,” he said with feeling.
The Justice Department guys weren’t quite so friendly. A tall guy with a bald pate and gold-rimmed glasses stepped forward. “Agent-in-Charge Jackson,” he announced. “Where’s the gold?”
I’d told the rest of the team about my deal on the flight. It didn’t feel right, anymore, keeping things from them. I let out a long sigh. “Utah,” I said. “It’s in Utah.”
Agent Jackson produced a pair of handcuffs but Kian pushed them away. “The man’s cooperating,” Kian said in a low, menacing tone. “There’s no need for that.”
I nodded my thanks. The agents showed me and Kian to the SUV. Olivia stepped forward too, but an agent blocked her path. “Just him and Mr. O’Harra,” the agent told her. “You and the others can fly straight back to Colorado.”
Olivia looked him right in the eye. “Where he goes, I go.”
The agent tried to stare her down but she stared right back at him, defiant, and my chest swelled with pride. At last, the agent sighed and let her pass.
Then JD stepped forward, along with Cal, Colton, Danny, and Bradan. “Whoah, whoah, whoah!” Agent Jackson said. “What the hell is this?”
“Where he goes,” said JD, in a voice like granite, “we all go.”
Jackson looked at Kian for help, but Kian quickly found something really interesting to look at outside his window. Jackson sighed, lifted his glasses, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “We’re going to need another SUV,” he told one of his minions.
The Justice Department had chartered a plane and we all stretched out, luxuriating in the air conditioning and taking full advantage of the free bar. Five hours into the flight, after a couple of glasses of a pretty good Chardonnay, I dozed off holding hands with Olivia, the two of us side-by-side in our big leather armchairs. I only woke once, half-opening my eyes to see the cabin in darkness. Olivia was slumbering peacefully next to me, and I smiled sleepily, enjoying just gazing at her. Then I saw the door to the restroom cautiously open and Danny slipped out, grinning, followed by a blushing flight attendant still tucking her blouse into her skirt. I shook my head in wonder. Then I closed my eyes, rested my head gently against Olivia’s, and went back to sleep.
“This is it,” I told Agent Jackson.
We were standing on the main street of an abandoned mining town. We were only about fifty miles from the bustle of Cedar City, but you wouldn’t have known it: there was no sound apart from the creak of the old saloon sign and the distant sigh of the wind. Our little group were the only people for miles.
Agent Jackson grimaced at the red dust that was already caked on his shoes and pant cuffs. “Where?”
I pointed. “The saloon. Down in the cellar.” I hobbled forward on my crutches. “Let me go down there first, to disarm the booby trap.”
“You think I’m letting you go down there alone?” asked Agent Jackson. “No. Two of my agents will—”