The elder Quinn shrugged. “Bo thought someone ought to keep an eye on you.” He’d never been one for much chitchat.
A shiver shook Kim’s shoulders. The world around her began to blur and ooze.
Pete Quinn caught her as she swayed.
Three Arlington Police cruisers rolled onto the scene. Unsure of what was going on, the officers approached with weapons drawn, eyeing Pete and Bo Quinn as hard as they did the downed kidnappers.
Jericho’s propensity to grow a heavy beard had come from his father. He’d surely shaved that morning, but already looked as though he’d gone a week. Bo, the younger and more wayward of his two sons, had bleached blond hair that was long enough to blow in the wind when he rode. He was more baby faced than his brother and father, but his life in a Texas motorcycle club that dabbled in the gray edges of the law had aged and hardened him.
Seven-year-old Mattie, clutching Kim’s leg, appeared to calm the arriving officers a degree. Two of them handcuffed the downed kidnappers, while one checked on the status of the man in the Hawaiian shirt.
The responding sergeant, a tall, clean-shaven man named Oldham, approached Pete Quinn, nodding politely at Kim. He looked like a man with an easy smile, but for the circumstances. “They were trying to kidnap the little girl?”
“That’s right,” Kim said, still feeling shaky. “She’s my daughter.”
“And you guys stepped in to help?”
“Correct.” Pete nodded. “I’m the grandfather.”
Oldham collected their IDs, stopping to peer back over at them when he read the names.
“Quinn,” he said, lips pursing in distaste. “You all related to the Jericho Quinn who’s wanted for the murder of a Fairfax police officer?”
Bo began to speak, but Pete Quinn held up his calloused hand. “We are,” he said. “But this has nothing to do with that.”
“My experience,” Sergeant Oldham muttered, still studying the two men, “is that this always has to do with that. And from where I’m standing, it looks like you have a lot in common with your son.”
Pete Quinn took a deep breath, mulling his words carefully before he said them. “Sergeant,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Haven’t you ever had a relative that disappointed you?”
Oldham thought about that for a long moment. “Guess you can’t choose your relatives,” he said at length. “My bad. I’m going to need you to come down to the station and fill out some paperwork.” He looked at Kim. “And I’m gonna get a paramedic to take a look at you.”
Bo leaned in as Sergeant Oldham went to summon a paramedic. “The disappointing one — that’s me you’re talking about, right?”
“Pshh,” Pete said. It was his way of dismissing any notion as so utterly inconceivable it didn’t merit an answer. “I don’t know about that guy, but I’m proud of my family. When he comes back, tell him I had to make a call.”
Kim knew exactly who he was about to call — and she’d never wished for that man to be there as much as she did at that moment.
Chapter 16
Jericho’s cell phone began to vibrate seconds after he’d fastened the shoulder harness in the cramped backseat of the tiny airplane. The little yellow Super Cub was a tandem-seat tail dragger. Lovita sat in the single seat directly in front of his. In her baggy pink fleece with the large green headphones over her orange hair, she looked like a child pretending to be a bush pilot.
The rain had started to fall in earnest on the way to the gravel strip and beat against the outside of the airplane as if someone was pelting them with a steady barrage of pebbles. Quinn used the forearm of his wool shirt to wipe away the condensation on his window, scanning what was left of the eastern horizon for the other plane as he pressed the phone to his ear.
Lovita applied the brakes to keep the Super Cub from rolling forward, and then slowly increased the throttle until it shook in place. The little airplane groaned, straining to leap off the gravel strip. Lovita watched the handful of simple engine gauges, checking oil pressure and both magnetos. She spun the dial to reset her altimeter and checked the fuel level in the clear plastic tubes above each window on either side of her seat. Satisfied, she worked the stick between her knees in all directions, and pumped the rudder pedals back and forth. An identical set of controls in front of Quinn moved in time with her as if operated by some ghost.
The rag and tube construction of the Super Cub did little to block the deafening roar of the Lycoming engine. Quinn wedged the phone under the earpiece of his headset and leaned down as best he could in the cramped confines behind Lovita’s short seat.
He listened in horror as his father related the kidnapping attempt on Kim and Mattie. His stomach twisted tighter with each word. By the time he ended the call, he’d already reached a decision.
Lovita’s husky voice crackled in his headset. It sounded much too mature to be coming from the little girl sitting in front of him.
“That other plane just overflew Pitka’s Point,” she said. “They’re gonna be here any minute.”
“Can we steer clear of them?” Quinn asked, looking out the window at the white sheets of rain marching along the river.
“Maybe so,” Lovita said, releasing the brake. “But first we have to get in the air.” The plane lurched forward. Fat tundra tires bounced toward the end of the gravel strip as they picked up speed. The tail lifted almost immediately, leveling the plane and giving little Lovita a better view out the windshield.
“I need to make a couple of quick calls before we lose reception,” Quinn said, punching buttons as he spoke.
“Go for it.” Lovita added throttle and pulled back on the stick, causing the little plane to leap off the runway. One hand on the throttle, the other on the stick at her knees, Lovita worked the rudders at her feet, engaged in a sort of dance with the airplane as she committed it to the turbulent mixture of fog and driving rain.
Quinn felt his stomach fall away at the same moment Ronnie Garcia picked up on the other end of his call. He longed to talk to her more, but kept the conversation brief. There was still one more person he had to contact before he lost reception.
“We’re going to need that babysitter,” he yelled.
“The babysitter?” Garcia’s voice came back amid a crackle of static. “You’re certain about this?”
“Call my dad,” Quinn said. “He’ll explain.”
“I love you,” Ronnie said.
The phone went dead before he could answer.
Quinn punched in the second number as Lovita dipped a wing, banking the Super Cub to the right toward the razor-thin line of open sky between soggy tundra and trailing clouds. The plane lurched hard, buffeting as they flew through a band of turbulence where cooler air over the river gave way to warmer stuff over land. Rain splattered the windows, streaming backwards as they picked up speed. The Kilbuck Mountains lay ahead, and beyond them, the Alaska Range, and then the city of Anchorage — and somewhere in between, the other airplane.
Lovita cheated north, leaving the Yukon River and the sprawling settlement of Mountain Village. Breaking nearly every rule in the book, she nosed the little plane upward and into the clouds in an effort to avoid the other plane. The cell tower disappeared behind them in a shroud of gray mist. Quinn pressed the cell phone to his ear, knowing he didn’t have long before he lost reception altogether.
“Come on,” he said under his breath. “Pick up, Jacques.”