Page 77 of Keller

The jet cuts the trip to under an hour each way.

I run through the schedule in my head. Ridge had the plane last week for the Houston meeting. Cain said he doesn't have plans to go back to New York until next month.

I'll need to confirm with the hangar. Early morning departure, wheels up by seven if I move fast. That puts me in Savannah by eight. I can head directly to Grant's office or his home. Marcus gave me both addresses.

Quinn's fingers flex against my ribs. A small movement, unconscious, but it pulls my attention back to her.

The split between what is waiting for me and where I am currently is sharp in my chest. One life here, warm and still and possible. Another life that is already gone but that I can't let go of, full of questions that have haunted me for as long as I can remember.

I cannot have both right now. Not this morning.

I lie there another minute. Quinn's warmth bleeds into my skin. Her hair smells faintly of lavender from her shampoo. I memorize the weight of her against me, the way her breath fans across my shoulder.

Then I make the choice.

Slowly, carefully, I lift her hand from my chest and set it gently on the mattress. I slide my leg out from under hers, inch by inch, holding my breath. The sheets rustle softly. She murmurs something I cannot catch and rolls toward the warm spot I am leaving behind.

I freeze. Wait and watch her settle. Thankfully, she doesn't wake.

I slip out of bed and gather my clothes from the floor. Shirt. Pants. Belt. My shoes wait by the front door where I left them when I came in. I dress in the hallway, moving quietly, the hardwood cool beneath my bare feet until I pull on my socks.

At the front door, after stepping into my boots and leaving the laces untied, I pause with my hand on the knob. The house is silent behind me.

I realize I can't leave without saying anything, so I walk back to the kitchen and spot a black Sharpie in a container by the fridge. I grab it and flatten the brown paper bag from out take out.

Had to catch an early flight. Didn't want to wake you. Last night was worth the wait. I'll make up for the early exit. —K

I open the door and step onto the porch.

The morning air hits my face, damp with the smell of wet leaves and coming rain. The sky is still dark, but the edges are starting to lighten along the roofline across the street. A dog barks somewhere down the block.

My Range Rover sits at the curb. I cross the small yard and unlock it, sliding into the driver's seat. The leather is cold through my shirt. I start the engine and let it idle while I adjust the mirrors.

I put the car in drive and pull away from the curb.

The streets are empty this early. I make every green light through the Garden District and turn onto St. Charles. The streetcar tracks gleam in my headlights. I pass dark storefronts and closed restaurants, the city still sleeping around me.

At a red light, I pull out my phone and scroll to the contact for the hangar.

The line rings twice.

"Stone Aviation, this is dispatch."

"This is Keller Stone. Is the G650 available for today?"

A pause. Keys clicking in the background.

"Yes, sir. The aircraft is available until eight p.m. this evening. Do you need to schedule a departure?"

"Not yet. I'll confirm with Clara in the next hour. Just wanted to make sure the window was open."

"It's open, Mr. Stone. We'll wait for your confirmation."

"Thank you."

I end the call and set the phone in the console.

The light turns green. I accelerate through the intersection and merge onto the highway.