Chapter 3 - The Airfield at Midnight
At 11:42 the following night, Desmond stood in a dark service garage three miles from the private airfield and told Beatrice for the third time that she was not going inside alone.
She ignored him for the third time.
“You’re difficult,” he said.
“I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Frequently.”
Beatrice adjusted the small transmitter hidden beneath the collar of her blouse.
Desmond checked his watch.
Marco stood beside a black SUV twenty feet away, watching them with the expression of a man who had learned years ago never to interfere when Desmond and Beatrice were arguing.
“You remain in the car,” Beatrice said.
Desmond stared at her.
“No.”
“That was the arrangement.”
“Your arrangement.”
“Our arrangement.”
“I never agreed.”
“You nodded.”
“I was thinking.”
“You nodded while thinking.”
“That does not legally constitute consent.”
Beatrice looked at Marco.
“Did he agree?”
Marco immediately looked at the floor.
“I have no opinion.”
“Coward,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Desmond stepped closer.
“If Rourke touches you—”
“What?”
The question stopped him.
Beatrice’s expression softened.
“What will you do?”
Everything.
That was the answer.
Everything required.
Everything unforgivable.
Everything necessary.
He did not say it.
Instead he reached toward her collar and adjusted the wire himself.
His fingers brushed her neck.
Neither moved for a second.
The parking garage suddenly felt too quiet.
Beatrice’s breathing changed.
Desmond noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Then Marco cleared his throat loudly from across the garage.
“The transmitter is working.”
They separated.
Beatrice looked annoyed.
Desmond looked murderous.
Marco looked fascinated by the concrete wall.
“Stay on the channel,” Desmond said.
“I know.”
“If anything feels wrong—”
“Everything about tonight feels wrong.”
“More wrong.”
She nodded.
Then she walked away.
The airfield belonged to a private aviation company officially owned by a retired orthopedic surgeon in Arizona.
Unofficially, Thomas Rourke controlled every hangar.
Beatrice entered Hangar Four at exactly midnight.
Desmond watched through a thermal feed from inside the SUV.
Two guards.
One sedan.
One small jet.
Then Rourke.
Thomas Rourke was sixty-one, silver-haired, elegant, and physically unimposing.
That was precisely why careless men underestimated him.
He smiled as Beatrice approached.
“You came.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought Hayes might lock you inside his tower.”
“He tried.”
Rourke laughed.
Desmond didn’t.
Through Beatrice’s microphone, every word reached him.
Rourke gestured toward a table.
“Do you have it?”
“The ledger?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Rourke’s smile disappeared.
“You were instructed—”
“I don’t respond well to instructions.”
“Interesting, considering who employs you.”
“Desmond pays me. He doesn’t own me.”
Inside the SUV, Marco glanced carefully at his boss.
Desmond said nothing.
Rourke circled Beatrice.
“What did he say when he found the letter?”
“He thinks I’m betraying him.”
“Isn’t that useful?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then reassure him.”
“That would defeat the purpose.”
Rourke studied her.
“You’re very good.”
“At?”
“Lying.”
Beatrice’s expression stayed neutral.
“You taught me.”
Rourke’s eyes sharpened.
The warmth disappeared.
“Where is the ledger?”
“I told you. I don’t have it.”
“Then why tell my man you found evidence of Northlake?”
“Because I did.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
“What exactly did you find?”
Beatrice hesitated.
Desmond leaned toward the receiver.
Rourke stepped closer.
“Careful, Miss Gallagher. This is the moment when clever people become dead clever people.”
Desmond reached for the SUV door.
Marco caught his arm.
“Wait.”
Desmond looked at his hand.
Marco released him.
“Thirty seconds,” he said.
Back inside the hangar, Beatrice gave Rourke a thin smile.
“You’re afraid.”
Rourke’s face hardened.
“You should be.”
“No. You are.”
“Why would I fear you?”
“Because you contacted me four times.”
“You’re useful.”
“Because you had me followed.”
“Precaution.”
“Because someone inside Hayes Capital told you I was reviewing Northlake.”
Silence.
Beatrice stepped closer.
“You don’t know what I found.”
Rourke said nothing.
“And that terrifies you.”
The older man’s smile returned.
But it had changed.
“You think Hayes appreciates you?”
“That is irrelevant.”
“He’ll never trust you now.”
“We’ll survive.”
“We.”
The word lingered.
Rourke tilted his head.
“Interesting.”
Beatrice felt her stomach tighten.
“You’re in love with him.”
Inside the SUV, Desmond became perfectly still.
Marco stared straight ahead.
Beatrice did not answer.
Rourke laughed quietly.
“That’s why you’re doing this.”
“I’m doing this because you’ve infiltrated my company.”
“His company.”
“Same difference during tax season.”
Even now.
Even in danger.
She could not resist.
Rourke smiled.
“You know what makes loyalty fascinating, Beatrice?”
She waited.
“It always requires one person to value another more than themselves.”
His hand disappeared inside his coat.
Desmond opened the SUV door.
Then Rourke removed only a folded photograph.
He placed it on the table.
Beatrice looked down.
Her expression changed.
Desmond could not see the image.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Beatrice’s microphone transmitted her breathing.
Nothing else.
Rourke spoke softly.
“You recognize him.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me his name.”
She did not.
“Tell me.”
“Evan Gallagher.”
Desmond frowned.
Marco looked at him.
“Her brother?”
Desmond nodded.
Beatrice rarely spoke of her family.
Her parents were dead.
Her older brother, Evan, had disappeared fourteen years ago.
That was all Desmond knew.
Rourke tapped the photograph.
“He worked for me.”
Beatrice went pale.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“About many things. Not this.”
“He disappeared when I was nineteen.”
“He disappeared because he discovered who I was paying inside the Hayes organization.”
Desmond leaned toward the speaker.
Fourteen years ago?
He had barely built the organization then.
Rourke continued.
“Your brother found the first ledger.”
Beatrice’s voice shook.
“Where is he?”
Rourke smiled.
“That depends on what you bring me tomorrow.”
“Where is he?”
“The ledger.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Then find it.”
“Tell me if Evan is alive.”
Rourke moved close enough that only inches separated them.
“He was the first person who tried to expose my man inside Hayes’s organization.”
“Who?”
“That information has value.”
Beatrice stared at him.
“What value?”
“Bring me Desmond’s private server key.”
“No.”
“Then you’ll never know what happened to your brother.”
Beatrice’s hands curled into fists.
Inside the SUV, Desmond made a decision.
He stepped out.
Marco cursed under his breath and followed.
Beatrice saw movement through the hangar doors.
Her eyes widened.
Rourke noticed.
He turned.
Desmond Hayes entered without hurrying.
Black coat.
White shirt.
No visible weapon.
No obvious fear.
Marco and four security men remained behind him.
Rourke smiled.
“Well.”
Desmond stopped beside Beatrice.
“You wanted my server key?”
Rourke’s eyes flickered.
Desmond placed a small black drive on the table.
“Take it.”
Beatrice turned sharply.
“What are you doing?”
Desmond looked at Rourke.
“If you know what happened to her brother, you tell her now.”
Rourke smiled wider.
“Romantic.”
Desmond’s voice dropped.
“Don’t mistake restraint for weakness.”
“And don’t mistake obsession for strength.”
Rourke picked up the drive.
Beatrice grabbed Desmond’s sleeve.
“That key gives him access to everything.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Rourke’s smile vanished.
Desmond’s eyes remained cold.
“It gives him access to exactly one server.”
Rourke looked at the device.
“What server?”
“A new one.”
Understanding crossed Beatrice’s face.
“A trap.”
Desmond smiled faintly.
“For whoever inside my company connects to it.”
Rourke stared at him.
Then laughed.
“I underestimated you.”
“Yes.”
“But you made one mistake.”
Rourke nodded toward the far side of the hangar.
A door opened.
A man stepped into the light.
Beatrice stopped breathing.
He was older than the photograph.
Thinner.
Gray at the temples.
But unmistakable.
Her brother.
Evan Gallagher.
Alive.
Beatrice whispered his name.
“Evan?”
The man looked at her.
Then at Desmond.
And instead of running toward his sister, he raised his hands calmly and said:
“Beatrice, don’t trust Desmond.”
The hangar went silent.
Because the missing man had returned.
May you like
And he had just accused the wrong side.
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