Page 113 of Line of Sight
Dan stared into the pit and almost choked. “Oh my God.”
Matt lay on his back, his eyes closed, an IV bag hooked to the edge of the pit, suspended above his head.
“Get the doc in herenow!” Riley hollered. He put his arm out to prevent Dan from jumping in there. “Wait. The doc’s the best bet he has, okay?”
The doctor rushed into the garage and climbed down. He took a moment to examine Matt before meeting Riley’s gaze.
“We need to get him to a hospital, now!”
Pain lanced through Dan’s chest.
Please live. Please live.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Saturday, March 11, 2000
Sam Adams Brewhouse, Terminal B, Logan Airport, Boston MA
3:30 p.m.
I SATin a corner of the bar, surrounded by wood paneling, trying to ignore the painting on the wall next to me. Samuel Adams raised his glass of beer with a cheery smile.
And what do I have to be cheerful about?
In precisely one hour and twenty-five minutes, my Air Canada flight would be taking off, bound for Toronto. Non-stop.
For God knew how long.
I had a feeling my father was laughing his ass off—or shuddering with relief.
What I wouldn’t give to stop his laughter for good. But the chances of getting him to Toronto were slim.
The chances of arranging for him to have an ‘accident’ were even slimmer, maybe nonexistent.
I took a drink from my glass. The beer was pretty good, smooth, hoppy, with a piney citrus taste and a crisp finish. I could think of worse things to be drinking while waiting for a flight to take me away from Boston.
Trouble was, it was also taking me away from everything else.
I’d accomplished so much. But in the (almost) three years since I’d dispatched Wilson, neither of the remaining two members of my little club had approached me.
Are their lives so goddamn perfect? Is there no one who threatens their cozy little futures?Jason still hankered after a life in politics, didn’t he? There had to be opportunities there, for God’s sake.
Yes, I was bored out of my skull already, and my plane hadn’t even taken off the ground. And that was another sore point. Father was making me take acommercialflight instead of letting me use his jet.
Yet another black mark against him, and they were adding up.
I didn’t care that I was going to be the boss. What stretched out in front of me was years of tedium.
What I needed was an escape.
I reached into my bag and retrieved my copy ofStrangers on a Train. At least rediving into one of my favorite books would give me something to smile about.
“Is it a good book? I saw the movie once.”
The fellow passenger at the table next to me looked as bored as I was. He was maybe the same age as me, but rougher around the edges.
I gave him a polite smile. “It’s a very good book. I’ve read it countless times.”
