Stephen Frey by Trust Fund Page A

incredible.”
    Bo poured himself another shot. “Have you ever known me to lie, Michael?”
    Mendoza shook his head solemnly. Bo Hancock would stretch the truth on trivial issues every once in a while, but when it came down to things that really mattered, Bo was the most honest man Mendoza had ever known. “No. There’s always a new rumor about you doing something crazy, but you’ve never lied to me about anything important. As far as I know anyway,” he added quietly.
    â€œThen believe me now.” Bo sucked down the second shot. “Somebody attacked me last night while I was in my Jeep, knocked me out cold with a drug, and must have taken me to the motel where your people found me.”
    â€œWas anyone with you in the Jeep when you were attacked?”
    Bo grimaced. “Yes,” he admitted.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œA woman.”
    Mendoza raised one eyebrow. “Not Meg?”
    â€œMeg is back East visiting her family on Long Island. I’m sure you already knew that.” If he knew about the Jeep, he probably knew about Meg, Bo figured.
    â€œJesus, Bo.” Mendoza slammed the bar with his fist. “You’re out of control.”
    â€œIt was nothing, Michael, I swear.”
    â€œWho the hell was the woman?”
    Bo took a deep breath. He knew how this was going to sound. “A stripper.”
    â€œA stripper,” Mendoza repeated incredulously. “A stripper in your Jeep and you say it was nothing.”
    â€œI was bringing her up to Libby from Missoula. She was the boys’ entertainment for the evening.”
    â€œThe boys?”
    â€œSome locals I’ve become friends with up in Libby.”
    â€œWhat are you doing hanging around with locals?”
    â€œWho am I supposed to hang around with out here?” Bo asked angrily. “You know me, Michael. I like people. I don’t like to be alone. They’re salt-of-the-earth guys who’ve provided me with companionship over the last twelve months when I’ve needed it.”
    â€œThey’ve let you pay for their drinks.”
    Bo nodded. He knew there was some truth to that. “And let me bring them entertainment, but so what?”
    Mendoza held up his hands. “All right, all right.” He could see how difficult the last year had been on Bo. “I guess I can’t relate to what you’ve been through.”
    â€œNo, you can’t.”
    â€œI believe you,” he said softly after a few moments. “About the attack and the fact that the woman wasn’t anyone you were involved with. I know how much you love Meg.” He smiled. “What the hell? I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you anyway. I owe you my life.”
    Bo poured himself another shot. “Don’t start with that again. It was nothing.”
    â€œNothing my ass,” Mendoza protested loudly. Years ago they had been climbing together in the Swiss Alps when Mendoza’s safety rope had snapped. “You were still in high school at the time. It was over your Christmas vacation from Deerfield, right?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œI was literally hanging by my fingernails and you free-climbed across a sheer rock face to save me. Another few seconds and I would have fallen. I had nothing left when you got to me.” Mendoza shook his head, remembering the mortal fear, which had remained vivid in his mind all these years. He’d been dangling a thousand feet above certain death. When Bo had reached him and secured him firmly to his rope so that he knew he was safe again, Mendoza had hugged Bo and cried uncontrollably. “Our guides said they’d never seen anything like it,” Mendoza whispered, the intense terror of the incident rushing back to him. “You could have been killed so easily, Bo. One misstep and you would have gone down. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
    â€œI had to save you, Michael,” Bo said.