Fire and ice Read Online Free Page A

plane, and Liam was abruptly recalled to his situation. "Wait a minute," he said, "wait just a goddamn minute! What about this mess?"
    "Like I said," Corcoran called over his shoulder. "Your problem. Airport's outside the city limits, so this baby's all yours. Depends on whether the p-lead fell off on its own or got yanked off with intent. I'd look into that if I were you." He stooped to pick up his bags without missing a step and followed the copilot, pausing long enough at the top of the Metroliner's stairs to give a cheery wave. "Good luck, Campbell!" He added something else that might have been, "You're going to need it," but the wind had picked up by then and Liam couldn't be sure.
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    THREE
    "Liam," Wy said in an urgent undertone.
    He watched the Metroliner line up on final as if his life depended on its pilot's perfect takeoff. "What?"
    "I have to fly. It's how I make my living. Herring seasons don't last that long. Fish and Game could announce an opener at any moment. I've got to get back in the air. Can I take my plane up?"
    He was looking at the plane in question, the red and white paint job, the faded red fabric of the wings, the worn white call letters down the side. If he looked hard enough, he was sure he would find a scratch in the right-side door that he himself had put there while loading a cooler with Pete Petersham's severed head inside into the plane. Two years and a lifetime ago. Seven-eight Zulu. The lines of the little plane were almost as familiar to him as the laugh lines at the corners of its pilot's eyes. "No," he said. "You can't take her up. Not yet."
    A variety of expressions crossed her face: anger, frustration ... fear. Why fear? A cold knot grew at the pit of his stomach. "Wy, where were you when this happened?"
    The anger was back with a vengeance, then. "Oh, so I sabotaged my own plane to kill a guy I'm not going to be able to spot without, just so I won't make my loan payment and my insurance payment and my tax payment, not to mention attorney fees for--" She bit the rest of her words off with an effort.
    He waited patiently. Better than most, she knew the drill.
    After a moment she said curtly, "I was getting us lunch at Bill's."
    "Who's Bill?"
    "Bill's Bar and Grill. It's a bar and a restaurant in town. There isn't one out here at the airport." She walked over to her truck and wrenched open the door, producing a grease-stained brown paper shopping bag. Making an elaborate show of it, she opened it and displayed the burgers and fries inside, both wrapped in foil and exuding a heavenly aroma.
    Liam's stomach growled. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was almost six o'clock. He'd had a McDonald's sausage biscuit for breakfast and an apple for lunch, but then he hadn't been hungry lately. He was now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hungry. Yes he could--the last time he'd been really hungry he'd been sitting down to dinner across from the brown-eyed blonde glaring at him now.
    Well. No point in letting the food go to waste, especially if it tasted anywhere near as good as it smelled. He reached for one of the burgers, unwrapped the foil, and bit in. It was lukewarm but juicy and had just the right ratio of onion to meat. The fries were good, too; real potatoes, heavy on the salt and greasier than the bilge of a boat.
    Wy looked startled, and then, fleetingly, amused.
    There were one or two exclamations of disapproval from the remainder of the crowd, as if there was something intrinsically profane in ingesting nourishment in the presence of the dead, but after some hesitation, a little muttering, and a few pointed glances at the mound beneath the blue tarp, they began to drift away, to their homes and kitchens. It was dinnertime, after all.
    Liam took another bite of burger and motioned to Gary Gruber, still hovering indecisively around the periphery. Liam couldn't decide if Gruber had remained because the death had happened on his watch on property for which he was