I nod. “I’m worried they’re part of the plot, too. I just don’t know. And the police, the FBI—I’ve told ’em everything, but no one’s doing shit.”

Now it’s Billy’s turn to sip his drink, though a desperate gulp would probably be more accurate.

“I … I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Caleb,” he says. “But I do believe you. David always seemed a little eccentric. Paranoid. Intense. I had no idea he was … a monster.”

He rests a shaky hand on my shoulder.

“If there’s anything I can do, anything at all … ”

I say, “At this point, I don’t know what any of us can do. Except listen. If you do talk to him … if he says anything suspicious, anything out of the ordinary … I need you to let me know. Okay? Let the cops and feds know, too.”

“Of course,” he says. “Absolutely.”

He reaches into his apron’s pocket and takes out a business card and pen. He scribbles something on the back and hands it to me.

“And let me know, too,” he says. “If you learn or need anything more. That’s my number. Call anytime, day or night. Jesus … you know, hearing that, it tempts me just to close up shop tomorrow and take up my Cessna, get away from it all. It’s amazing how clean and safe everything looks when you’re ten thousand feet up. But now … ”

He wipes at his mahogany bar with his fingers, like he was trying to always remember the touch of this polished and safe wood.

“But I won’t run, and I won’t fly away,” he says firmly. “But on the other hand, before you came in, I didn’t think I’d be getting much sleep tonight anyway. Now I know I won’t.”

I take his card with one hand. With the other, I toss back the rest of my bourbon.

“Billy,” I say, “that makes two of us.”

CHAPTER 69

I step out of the restaurant and into the warm, peaceful night. All around me, a gentle breeze is whispering through the trees, many of them draped with colorful streamers and beads.

But inside of me, a storm is raging.

I did everything I could—and damnit, it still wasn’t enough. To stop David. To disrupt his plot. To convince the FBI. To protect my city.

And now it might be too late.

I’m practically shaking with rage as I walk back to my car. A slideshow of gruesome images starts flashing through my head. Smoke. Blood. Crying. Screaming. The unknown horrors that tomorrow’s attack could bring.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images to go away. No luck. The rest of my body is aching from exhaustion and stress. It’s craving sleep more than oxygen. I should go home. Go to bed. Before I go crazy.

But I can’t. Not yet.