“Pilot?”
“Yep. Private plane.”
“Yeah … um … all right.”
Brantley listened as Reese rattled off the address then disconnected. He entered the details in his navigation, though he knew the vicinity to which he was headed. There were only two apartment complexes in Coyote Ridge, neither of them substantial.
Roughly five minutes later, he was pulling into an empty space in front of Building A, beside Reese’s truck. How the man had beaten him there, he didn’t know, nor did he care. Probably knew a shortcut.
Not long after that, he was banging a fist on Reese’s hunter-green door with its tarnished brass security hole. Across the way, someone stuck their head out but quickly ducked back inside when Brantley turned to look. He turned back when the door opened, Reese walking away as soon as entry was granted.
The chill that greeted him was not from the air conditioning. Looked as though some of Brantley’s tension had rubbed off.
Stepping inside, the first thing he noticed was that, unlike him, Reese had a couch. It had seen better days, but he had one. And it was where Reese headed, sitting down directly in front of the laptop that was open on the coffee table.
“All right. Based on what JJ told us,” Reese stated, “I’ve got quite a few places noted on the map. It’s probably a long shot, but I say we start with those closest to where she grew up.”
“Opposite,” Brantley corrected. “Keep in mind, if we’re right, Juliet’s doin’ this because her daughter was taken away from her. If she thinks there’s a chance she’ll see her again, she’d want to be closer to Lani than to her folks.”
“Okay. We’ll do it your way. Start in Gulfport, work our way west.”
“I’ll let the pilot know where we’re headed and that we’ll be there in”—he glanced at his watch, then started for the door—“forty-five minutes. You call Travis, tell him where to have the rental waiting. I’ll meet you at the airport.”
“Or I could ride with you,” Reese said quickly.
“Nah. I’ll meet you there.”
Without looking back, Brantley marched out of the apartment, back to his truck. He knew he’d just pulled an asshole stunt, but Reese had successfully stepped on his pride earlier and Brantley needed a little time to get over it.
He only hoped he could do so in the next forty-five minutes.
***
Reese knew he had definitely put his foot in his mouth earlier. Now as he parked his truck in an empty spot at the private airstrip in Pflugerville, he figured he would have to apologize. As for whether Brantley would be in the mood to listen, much less accept the gesture, Reese didn’t know. However, he was not about to spend God only knew how much time with the man while he was in a mood.
He grabbed his duffel from the back seat, hefted it over his shoulder, then started for the building. He was pulled up short when he heard someone shouting his name, then saw Brantley waving in his direction. Redirecting, he marched over to the private plane that would evidently be making their trip a bit less stressful.
It took effort, but he tried not to appear impressed when he stepped into the cabin, following Brantley. The first thing he noticed was the head room. He didn’t have to duck to stroll through.
Definitely not your mother’s typical mode of transportation. Everything in the thing was high-end, including the buttery leather seats, the plush carpeting on the floor. There was even a large television mounted in the wall, probably to keep it from taking flight on its own in the event of turbulence.
“May I take your bag?”
Reese turned to see a woman standing behind him. Auburn hair, green eyes, and skin so pale Reese didn’t think she spent much time in the sun. She was dressed conservatively, but not in one of those navy getups most flight attendants wore. On any given day, she would’ve been exactly his type, a woman he would’ve struck up a conversation with in an effort to determine if she was good company. Today he felt no need to converse, no desire to gauge her interests in the hopes of taking her to bed.
Odd.
“Sure,” he said in response to her question.
She took the canvas duffel with a smile, placed it inside a closet near the front of the plane, returning a moment later.
“We’re looking at roughly three hours and twenty minutes to get to Gulfport,” she said kindly. “Good news is, we won’t have to wait to land; however, we are delayed by fifteen minutes in getting in the air. Can I get you anything while you wait?”
“Just a bottle of water,” he answered, then glanced over to see Brantley was nursing a beer. “Scratch that. I’ll have what he’s havin’.”
“Absolutely.”
When she disappeared to the front of the plane, Reese turned his attention to the brooding man.
