“They’ll be an investigation, of course,” she said, helping him to lay down on her threadbare coach. She’d fetched him a pair of her ex-husband’s pajama bottoms and put something on herself. “Of the medical helicopter crash and its fatalities. And they’ll trace the truck and camper back to you.”
He grunted as settled onto the cushions. “That was no medical helicopter. And no, there won’t be. The entire area will be quarantined by morning. As for the pickup and RV—well, they know who they’re looking for.”
She plopped into the easy chair next to him and shook the hair from her face. “Not a medical helicopter? What do you mean?”
He closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. “Just a paint job. They ... they don’t want to be seen.” He lay silent for several moments. “My God, Sarah. What
