Chapter 52


    “Ethan, great to see you,” Elliot responds, and ps him on the back.


    “Christian.” Ethan shakes my hand.


    “Hi,” I respond.


    “Mac!” Elliot exims, and Liam McConnell—who works at the GEH shipyard, and also looks after my


    yacht, The Grace—strides toward us.


    Mac! We shake hands. “It’s good to see you,” I tell him. “I’d just like you to know that I have no idea


    what the hell is going on.”


    Heughs. “Neither do I.”


    We allugh and turn to Elliot as Taylor joins us.


    “You knew about this?” I ask Taylor.


    “Yes, sir.” His look is earnest and amused in equal measure.


    Iugh and shake my head.


    “Shall we go?” Elliot says.


    “Canada?” I guess.


    “Correct,” Elliot responds.


    We are installed in the first four seats of my G550, sipping Cristal champagne and eating the canapés


    that Sara, our flight attendant, distributed as we taxied onto the runway. Taylor is at the back reading a


    Lee Child novel. Stephan and First Officer Beighley are at the controls.


    “I’m guessing Vancouver,” I say to Elliot.


    “Bingo! I figured you might have less of a chance being recognized behaving badly in British


    Columbia.”


    “What the hell have you got nned?”


    “Easy, tiger,” Elliot responds, and raises his ss.


    Once we’re airborne, Sara serves beer and fresh, hot pepperoni pizza, from a local pizzeria in


    Georgetown. I think this is a first, pizza in my private jet—but this is Elliot’s idea of heaven. Frankly, I’m


    so hungry, it’s mine, too. Mac, who’s sitting opposite, and I both wolf down our food.


    “That didn’t touch the sides,” Mac says in his Irish brogue.


    “Elliot has had me zip-lining and tandem skydiving already today.”


    “Holy shit! No wonder you’re starving.”


    The journey time is less than fifty minutes. When we pull up outside the Vancouver Signature Flight


    Support terminal Taylor is the first off, carrying our passports for the immigration official who hase


    to meet the ne.


    “Ready?” Elliot says, unbuckling his seat belt and standing up to stretch his legs. Taylor is at the wheel


    of a Suburban on the tarmac. We all pile in, and he sets off for the bright lights of downtown Vancouver.


    We have a cooler full of beer. My threepanions dive in, but I decline.


    “Man, you are not staying sober tonight,” Elliot splutters in disgust and hands me a beer.


    Fuck. I loathe being drunk. With a roll of my eyes, reluctantly I take the bottle. It’s early. We’ll be


    drinking more; I’ll need to pace myself. I clink bottles with him, and Mac and Ethan, who are seated


    behind us. “Cheers, gentlemen.” I take a sip and let the drink linger in my hand.


    Our first stop is the bar at the Rosewood Georgia hotel. I’ve been before, on business, but never in the


    evening. Its wood-paneled walls and leather seats give it an old-world charm and tonight it’s heaving


    with the great and the good of Vancouver. Men in suits, women elegantly dressed. It has a lively vibe.


    Elliot orders a round, and we sit at a reserved table and our conversation turns to Ethan’s endeavors to


    get into Seattle University to do a master’s in psychology. Since Ana moved out, he’s now living with


    Kate, in Ana’s old room. Maybe living with his sister is challenging, I wouldn’t be surprised—perhaps


    that’s why he’s outpacing us on drinks. He’s finished his beer first and volunteers to buy the next round.


    Mac talks to us about The Grace. He’s one of the craftsmen who built her, but it seems he’s turning his


    hand to boat design and has some ideas to make the catamaran we custom-build even more


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    aerodynamic.


    It’s weird, I never do this. It’s only when Elliot drags me out, usually with his friends—of whom there are


    many—that I get to enjoy thepany of men my own age. Elliot is a social glue, sticking us all


    together and never letting the conversationg. He’s such a people person. Our conversation moves,


    inevitably to the Mariners, then the Seahawks. We’re all fans, it would seem, of both teams. By the end


    of the second round we’ve all rxed into one another’spany, and I’m enjoying myself.


    “Okay. Drink up. Next stop,” Elliot announces.


    Taylor is waiting outside in the SUV.


    Ethan is already buzzed. This could get interesting. I’m tempted to ask him about Mia but part of me


    doesn’t want to know.


    The next venue is in Yaletown, a district renowned for redeveloped old warehouses that now house hip


    bars and restaurants. Taylor drops us at a nightclub where dance music pulses into the street even


    though it’s still rtively early. Inside the dark industrial interior, the bar is doing brisk business and we


    have a table in the VIP area. I stick with beer, while Ethan and Mac scan the room, I think to check out


    the local talent.


    “You’re not interested?” I ask Elliot.


    Heughs. “Not tonight, hotshot.” He side-eyes Ethan, and I wonder if he’s holding back the “Big E”


    because Kate’s brother is here.


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