Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

realizing we might never know.
    ***
    I fell asleep that night with a
People
magazine draped over my chest, and I never knew it until the bedside phone in my hotel room clanged the following morning and scared me out of my wits. I scrambled upright under my covers and the phone rang again before I remembered where I was. It rang a third time before I found it in the pitch-black room.
    “Hello?” I groaned, squinting at the digital clock.
    It was Richard.
    “Guess whose body turned up in the San Jacinto River.”
    I leaned closer to the clock. 6:20 a.m.
    Then Richard’s words registered. And they resonated in my skull so violently I thought the room was shaking.

Chapter Seven
    “You there?” Richard asked.
    “They found Casey,” I said, thinking immediately of his mother.
    “No,” he said flatly. “Eric.”
    I collapsed back onto my pillow. At least it wasn’t Casey. Then I felt horrible for preferring any one person’s murder over another’s.
    “A fisherman found him an hour ago. Eric’s father phoned me.”
    I imagined that call. “How awful for his parents.”
    “And awful for his ex,” Richard added. “She was sure Eric took Casey. At least she could believe her baby was being cared for. If Eric’s dead, who has their son? Is he even alive? She’s terrified.”
    I pushed myself out of bed and stumbled toward the coffee pot, flipping light switches and stretching the phone cord as I went. At the sink, I filled the pot with tap water. “How’d it…happen?”
    “Shot twice in the chest. Police are shifting gears now, treating this as a stranger abduction. Mr. and Mrs. Lyons told Karen what we’re doing. I’ll share your video and list of names with her today.”
    “What can I do?”
    He exhaled. “Put this news in a separate place in your mind. Show up smiling at the drop zone today. See what you can learn.”
    It seemed impossible.
    “Good luck,” I said, and we hung up.
    I dropped the handset into its cradle and stood by the bed. Something else was wrong. The room wasn’t quiet.
    Soft, rhythmic taps at my window meant it was raining.
    I walked to the window and separated the drapes. Droplets stuck to the other side of the glass. I focused past them, on the wide Texas sky. It was gray in all directions. Below me, shrubs in the hotel’s landscaping leaned in the wind.
    I hoped conditions were better near the Gulf. When the DZ opened in a few hours, I’d call and ask. Bad weather meant no skydiving. No looking for clues.
    Since it was too wet and windy to run Tuesday’s route, I used a treadmill in the hotel’s fitness room and thought about what to do. By mile two, I decided to visit Gulf Coast Skydiving, no matter the weather. Staying at the hotel would do nothing for Casey. It might improve my standing with Bowman, if I could concentrate long enough to get some work finished, but impressing Bowman wasn’t high on my list.
    During mile three, I changed my mind. Showing up at a drop zone in the rain would be suspicious. How would I explain it?
    By the time mile four rolled around, I had a side stitch, but no plan. I toweled off and stalked to my room.
    It was only seven thirty, and I didn’t expect anyone to show up at the drop zone until ten or eleven. That left hours.
    I showered and dressed and called Jeannie at work.
    “Got your message yesterday,” she said. “Gimme the scoop.”
    I heard a second call ringing on her phone.
    “Wanna get that?”
    “I’m already taking a call,” she said. “The scoop?”
    “I made a few jumps at that drop zone yesterday. Met some good looking men.”
    “Yummy!” I could hear the smile in her voice.
    “Everyone was nice, though. No one seemed creepy or weird.”
    “The M&M jar on your desk is empty,” she said.
    “Thank you so much for your rapt attention. There’s back-up candy, but just for that, I’m not telling where.”
    I imagined her pouty mouth. Lip liner, ColorStay gloss, and all. “What am I missing at work?”
    “Oh. Bad news.” She lowered her voice. “Bowman’s panties are in a bunch. When are you coming back?”
    “I was thinking Monday. Why? What’d he say?”
    “He didn’t mention you by name, but in our staff meeting he reviewed leave policies from the handbook. He talked about ‘proper channels’ and ‘misuse,’ particularly of discretionary leave.”
    “That would be me.”
    “Well, you can’t tell him the truth.”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Don’t worry. We’ll think of