Page 47 of Sapphire Sunset

“Oh, I know, sweetie. It’s terrible. I had to fly crosscountry on a private jet all by myself once and I’m still having nightmaresabout it.”

“Where’s my mother?” Connor allowed Naser to pull him towardthe waiting Suburban with one arm curved around his back.

“In the car. On the phone. It’s been a lot of phone calls.Are you drunk?”

“No, why would I be drunk?”

“If I had a private plane all to myself during a time likethis, I’d be drunk.”

“I don’t even know if they had liquor,” Connor said.

“Did they have Wi-Fi?”

Connor nodded.

“Were you watching any of it?” Naser asked.

“The FBI press conference, but not any of the other videos.I couldn’t take seeing the hotel like that.”

“Good.”

“So it’s bad?” Connor stopped walking, as if Naser’s answermight force him to run back on board the plane.

Naser clearly didn’t want to tell the truth, but Connorwould bust him if he lied, and he knew it. So he did what he always did whenasked an uncomfortable yes or no question. He gave specifics. “Sylvia Milton,the wife of the cancer victim, is going on CNN tomorrow. She spoke to reportersoutside of her house this morning. She’s…”

“What?”

“She’s a good interview. Looks like a trophy wife, but farbe it from me to judge. However, shewasabout twenty years youngerthan her husband, and I did some googling and apparently she was a fashionmodel when they met.”

“Doesn’t take away her right to be pissed,” Connor said.

“Not saying that.” Naser pursed his lips and gave Connor aonce-over, his usual routine when he was about to tell Connor something hedidn’t want to hear. “She’s good with the cameras is what I’m saying. And badfor the hotel. But hey, how’s this for a perspective shift?” Naser took him bythe elbow and started walking them toward the idling SUV. “Now the entire worldknows what we’ve known for most of our lives.”

“And what’s that?” Connor asked.

“Where most humans have a soul, Rodney Harcourt has a pileof shit with a stick of lit dynamite in it.”

“Yeah, and I think the dynamite blew,” Connor said.

“Indeed. Also, word to the wise. They let us park on thetarmac because there’s media outside the gate. They’re gonna yell crazy shit atus through the windows.Were you in on the blackmail ring? Do you have anyof the money?Don’t freak. It’s not what they’re actually reporting. It’llbe designed to get a rise out of you. So just nod and smile until the drivergets us through.”

“Want to stay on as my media consultant?”

“One of the partners at my firm got busted for embezzlingfrom a client last year. The rest of us got some on-site training in crisismanagement.”

“Connor!”It was the urgent and determined tone hismother always used when she wanted his arms around her.

He threw his arms around her and leaned into the welcomingexpanse of her body, loving that she always smelled of Chanel No. 5, loving thefirm, determined kiss she always gave him on the cheek. Like she wanted to givehim more but figured he’d only allow her one, so she had to make the most of it.In this crazy moment, he’d allow her as many as she wanted.

Next thing he knew they’d piled into the Suburban, Naser inthe front, and he and his mom in the back. The minute the security guard forthe private terminal opened the car gate, flashbulbs erupted, and televisioncameras with blinding light rigs advanced toward them. Connor did as Naserinstructed. Raised his hand in a royal wave and kept his smile tight andcontained. A pose meant to say,I don’t look guilty because I’m not guilty.But how nice that you’ve all come to herald my arrival.

“Do you have numbers?” Connor asked his mother once theywere clear of the melee.

“Yeah. Fifteen percent,” she answered.

“Occupancy’s down fifteen percent?”

“No, sweetie. Occupancy’satfifteen percent. Theythink tomorrow afternoon the hotel will be empty.”

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