also have rented the house next to me and is planning his campaign of terror as we speak.” I really had no idea what his next move was.
“Did you tell Kennedy?” The look in Quentin’s eyes indicated he already knew the answer to the question.
“No. I picked up the phone at least ten times today intending to do that very thing, but nothing’s happened. All Stan did was walk into a public space and speak to me. Yeah, he threatened me, but there’s no crime in that.”
“Call Kennedy. What if Stan being here violates his parole?”
“There is no parole. The prison let him walk free. Well, almost free. He can’t own a gun or join the armed services again, but other than that, he’s free as a bird.” I could never join the armed services again either.
“Promise me you’ll call Kennedy. See what he has to say and we’ll go from there.”
“You need to promise me you’ll keep this to yourself.” There was no one I trusted more than Quentin, but he did have a way of spilling the beans to our brothers. Technically, all of us tended to run to each other in times of trouble.
“Fine. I’ll shut up, but you need to do the same about the Angel Flight. She won’t say it aloud, but I know Mom hates the idea of me flying again.”
Quentin hit the nail on the head. Mom hadn’t been thrilled with him flying during his days in the Army, never mind after he’d been shot down. “Deal. I’ll keep my lips zipped and call Kennedy.”
My brother shot me a sharp look that said, “We’ll see about that,” but otherwise kept his mouth shut.
I’d keep my promise. I would call Kennedy.
In my own good time.
10
Morrison
It was a perfect morning for fishing. At least I hoped it was. The sun was starting to rise, setting the horizon on fire with a kaleidoscope of reds and bright orange. What the hell was the old saying about red skies in the morning, sailors take warning?
I was way out of my league here, no doubt about it. Not only with going out on a fishing boat, but in terms of seeing Hennessey again. After the run-in with his former commander, I’d kept a low profile. I did what Nate suggested and googled Hennessey McCoy and Stan Randall. The story Hennessey told was right on the money. Reading about Stan had been equally fascinating. He’d managed to shave nearly five years off his sentence with his good behavior, program and education credits, and his volunteer work. It was hard to reconcile the man I met earlier in the week with the man I read about.
Stan had interrupted our lunch by walking into the bar, but there was no way he could interrupt our day on the ocean. Well, unless he got himself a boat and followed us. I supposed it was possible, but hopefully unlikely.
When I pulled into the marina parking lot, Hennessey was waiting for me. I parked next to his truck and hopped out.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked by way of a greeting.
“Uh, yeah!” I’d spent two hours last night trying on outfits. What I’d finally come up with was a pair of navy shorts and a matching polo. I thought I looked pretty good when I’d left the house. I couldn’t imagine much had gone wrong over the course of the three-mile drive to get there. “I didn’t realize you were a fashionista.” I grimaced at the man I’d been excited to see only a few minutes ago.
“I’m not a fashionista, Morrison. I should have remembered you’d never been fishing out on the ocean before. It’s going to be hot on dry land today. Temps in the mid-eighties. With the wind, it will be much cooler on the water, maybe as much as thirty degrees lower. Do you have a hoodie or a pair of jeans in the truck?”
Shit. I had no idea there was a temperature difference out on the ocean. “Yeah, I’ve got some stuff.” I always kept spare clothes in the truck in case I was wet or dirty after a search. I changed into jeans and grabbed a K9FIND hoodie. It was black, which might keep me warmer in the sun.
“Now you look perfect.” Hennessey smiled and headed toward the back of his truck. Two coolers sat in the bed. One was red and the other was green. “Grab the food. I’ll take the bait.”
“Which is which?” I could have