Jed tried to read Wilson’s eyes, and what he saw was genuine surprise. As if
Tristan looked around, and said, “I’ll have to decide tomorrow if we’ll even stay with this expedition.”
His words fell heavily, until Donna said, “Speak for yourself, kemosabe.”
Humiliated again, Tristan Glode stormed past Jed, headed for the tents. Over his shoulder, he said, “Democracy is no way to run a business, Jed. You’ll need to learn that.”
After a beat, Knox said, “I don’t think he likes losing arguments.”
“You think?” D’Amato said. “Man, what a buzz kill.”
“Welcome to my life,” Donna said, sliding across the ground toward D’Amato and taking the bottle of tequila from his hands.
Rachel Mina was curt: “Good night, everyone.” She strode away from the fire, followed by Sullivan.
“Okay then,” Jed said, taking the rest of his bottle from Walt, who’d gotten stuck with it. “We’ve got a decision. That means it’s going to be a real interesting day tomorrow, and we’ll be getting up early.”
“Interesting,” D’Amato said, repeating the word and getting up. “As if today was boring.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Jed said, smiling.
Jed turned to the sound of Rachel and Sullivan arguing in the dark near the tents. He saw Dakota standing there, glaring at him. He wondered how much she’d heard.
That question was answered when she slowly shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening.
Framed by the pulsing wig-wag lights that painted the stone walls and arched windows of the front of the Gallatin Gateway Inn in vivid reds and blues, Cody Hoyt tossed the duffel he’d saved into the back of his Ford. He had trouble breathing due to the smoke inhalation and he coughed violently and spattered the back windows with globules of black sputum.
Behind him, guests gathered in knots in the front yard. The staff who’d helped evacuate them formed a perimeter with several firemen and now a few deputies who’d just arrived. Cody had slipped away while they all watched a bucket truck back across the lawn toward the hotel. He paused to take it all in before entering the Ford. His room on the second floor was easy to spot because of the bright orange glow of flames from inside. Several firefighters had climbed into the bucket and were now being raised toward the second level. When they were even with the orange window, the bucket paused and swayed a bit while a horizontal column of water blasted through the window. When the glass broke a ball of flame shot out of the frame accompanied by gasps from the guests on the lawn.
He noted the fire seemed to have stayed within his room and not spread to any others, no doubt due to the sprinkler system. Cody guessed it would be short work now to put it out and gain control of the building. It wouldn’t be long before the investigators figured out who had been staying in the room and would want to question him.
He swung inside the Ford and it was immediately filled with the acrid smell of the smoke from his clothes and hair. His bare skin stung from exposure to the fire, and when he brushed his forearm with his other hand the singed hair on it broke and fell off.
Thumping the steering wheel with the heel of his hand hard enough to crack the plastic, he cursed and spat and started the engine and rolled away.
* * *
The lights and sirens faded as he turned from the inn grounds onto U.S. 191 South. It didn’t take long before he was engulfed in darkness and safely away from the scene. He wheeled the Ford into a pullout and killed the engine.
Someone had found him and tried to burn him alive.
He found a half-full pack of cigarettes in the console and lit one. He inhaled deeply-smoke on smoke-then coughed. Jesus, he thought, it was like he was trying to burn
There was a bright side to the fire, he thought. Now he knew he was on the right track, because someone was trying to kill him.
* * *
The more he thought about what had happened and what had almost happened, the more his skewed world tilted even farther off plumb.
