Chapter 63

CHAPTER 63

Finn

"S o, what's your favorite Springsteen song?" asks Billings, his eyes glued to the road. "For me and the missus, it's ‘Tunnel of Love.'"

Is he kidding? My wife's life is at stake and he's making small talk? I don't answer him; I can't. My heart is slamming so hard against my ribcage it may crash through my jacket and splatter on the hood of his Impala—his ancient police car. With every long, angst-filled minute, my heart beats faster as if faster's possible. Strained silence fills the narrow space between us until I break it with a question that's been burning on my lips.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew my wife was alive?" I ask the detective as he plows through the thick fog engulfing us.

His eyes stay straight ahead, focused on the road, his lips pressed together. "I couldn't. I was working with the Witness Protection Program and it was their one pre-condition for allowing her into it. No one, not even you, could know about her existence. It was too risky."

"Did you have anything to do with placing her with me and my daughter?"

"It was a freak thing, but when I found out from the nun who was taking care of her at the rehab joint, I let it be."

"Even when you suspected I could be her would-be killer?"

Another beat of silence. Then, "Like Sister Marie, I'm a good Catholic. I believe that God has a way of handling everything for the best."

As it begins to drizzle, I digest his words. I almost lost my wife once. I can't lose her again. At that thought, every muscle in my body clenches as apprehension surges. Then, another voice sounds. It's coming from the car's radio device.

"Mancuso, here. We lost them."

"What do you mean you lost them?" Billings's voice bellows in my ears.

"The fog. We couldn't tailgate them and lost track."

What!? My heart literally stops as Billings slams a hand on the wheel.

"Damnit. Where were they heading?"

"We thought he was heading to his mansion off Benedict Canyon. But when we got there, no one was there except a couple of guards."

The detective's jaw tightens, his eyes stiff on the slippery, rain-slicked road.

"Balls. Any clue as to their whereabouts?"

To make matters worse, thanks to a power outage, I learn that Skye's smart watch—part tracker, part recorder—that Billings made her wear has been malfunctioning. My throat constricting, the air evaporating from my lungs, I curse under my breath.

Then static. We've lost the connection. Jesus. How much more can I take?

"Mancuso, I can't hear you!" yells my companion before the connection reactivates. I blow out a breath. Thank God.

"The last thing we heard before we lost them was that he wanted her to meet Marilyn."

Gripping the wheel, my companion jerks his head toward me. "Do you know a Marilyn?"

My mind races like it's in the Daytona 500 and then it comes to me. "Yes! It's his yacht."

"Where does he have it docked?"

"In the Marina."

"Crap. They're miles ahead of us."

"With this fog and traffic, we'll never get there in time." Panic coils in my gut as my pulse pounds in my ears. Reality stabs me like a knife to my chest. I may lose Skye again! This time for good!

Every nerve in my body about to implode, my eyes stay on the detective as he punches three numbers into his communications device.

"Billings to headquarters. Send Lucy Goosey." He looks at his GPS coordinates and spells them out.

A terse pause, then he barks at the response. "Don't tell me you can't fly her in the frigging fog. Send her now!"

I have no clue what's going on, but in my dire state of despair, I can only trust in the detective's words.

God has a way of handling everything for the best.

I pray He does.