“Let’s make one orbit.”

There wasn’t much to Bullfrog Bay. Two large boat launch ramps flanked either side of the marina. Looped trailer parks and campgrounds shared the higher ground with several condo projects. The marina itself hosted hundreds of slips with about half of them covered. Harv was right. It looked peaceful, but crowded. The lower parking lots supporting the launch ramps were packed with SUVs and pickups. This place could handle a ton of boat traffic, and from the looks of things, did.

“Let’s head up to the airstrip and see if our FBI friend is there. I’ll tune in the AWOS.” He dialed in the frequency and listened to the automated weather conditions. Next, he transmitted their intentions on the UNICOM channel. Again, no response.

Harv made a flawless approach to the south end of runway 01. A few single-engine planes occupied a small transient parking area. A man standing next to a dark sedan waved.

“Our FBI escort,” Nathan said.

The light breeze from the south wasn’t a factor, so Harv set the ship down as far from the fixed wings as possible. Rotor downwash created a huge dust cloud, but the paved surface didn’t stir up much.

“Nice landing,” he said.

“Thanks.”

They removed their helmets and went through the shutdown checklist together.

The FBI special agent waved again. Nathan waved back. At least they were off to a friendly start.

Four minutes after touching down, they climbed out and stretched. The breeze felt warm, but not overly so. He gave his helicopter a pat on the fuselage and nodded to Harv.

They met their contact halfway.

To his credit, the FBI agent didn’t register any outward reaction to the scars on Nathan’s face. He’d probably been warned. Sometimes no reaction was a reaction. “Mr. McBride, Mr. Fontana, I’m Special Agent Jeremy Duns.”

They shook hands. Duns had a friendly smile and casual demeanor. Medium build. Dark hair. Probably in his early thirties. He wore his fieldpiece in a compact holster over tan Dockers. His green shirt had FBI embroidered in small gold letters. A class act. Nathan liked him.

“Let’s use first names. This is Harvey, I’m Nathan. My friends call me Nate.”

“Will I be calling you Nate?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Jeremy smiled. “I’ve arranged for your lodging down at the marina. It’s nothing special, but I think you’ll be okay with it. Is that your helicopter?”

“One of them.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Harvey owns one too. We think of them as community property, though.”

Jeremy’s brow furrowed.

“We’re not.”

“I wasn’t sure what to say. I mean, you know, it wouldn’t matter if you were.”

“Don’t worry,” Harvey said. “We get it all the time.”

“Are you guys hungry? There’s a diner at the marina.”

“Now we’re talking,” Harv said.