by Sandra Brown
“She left the sheriff’s department with the same deputy she’d ridden with before. He dropped her at the hospital.”
“The hospital?”
“The ER, sir. My guess is that she went to see about White, the airfield guy. The deputy returned for her a few minutes later. They went to a café. Timmy and me went in, sat fairly close, but not so close that they’d notice. They talked a little, ate breakfast.”
“Talked about what?”
“We weren’t close enough to hear. But they were smiling, friendly.”
He described how the two had parted company. “She went down the hall to the restroom. She didn’t return in a timely fashion. I went to check. Restroom door was open, nobody in there. An exit opened into an alley. I ran to both ends of it. She was nowhere in sight.
“When I rejoined Timmy in the dining room, there was a man asking the waitress had she seen the doctor, said that he was to meet her there with a car. The waitress pointed him toward the back. He was out of sight less than a minute, returned looking steamed. He left in the car he came in.”
“Did you go in search of her?” Delores asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Wasted no time. There’s not much to downtown. We covered every bit of it. Twice. All the businesses are closed. No place for her to go. She was just…gone.”
“How could she have disappeared, in that short span of time, on foot?”
“I can’t explain it, sir.”
No one said anything for a time, then Richard said, “Well? That’s it? ‘We lost her.’”
“I had an idea,” Goliad said.
“Praise be,” Delores said.
Goliad continued. “The last place she was before going to the café was the ER. We went back to check it out. I left Timmy in the car and went inside. Nobody was there except a woman with a bleeding finger wrapped in a dish towel, and the admitting nurse. I told her I was looking for Dr. O’Neal and described her. She said she’d seen her talking to White’s wife. And the pilot.”
Delores and Richard looked at each other. She raised a brow. “That sounds cozy.”
“That’s what I thought,” Goliad said. “So I chatted up this lady some more. Turns out Mrs. White lent the pilot her car so he could drive out to the crash site.”
“Do you think he and Dr. O’Neal rendezvoused outside the café?”
“Didn’t see him. This might be nothing.”
“But it could be something,” Delores insisted.
“Could be. The pilot left the sheriff’s office on foot, but he’s got wheels now. The doctor doesn’t. Only thing is, all we have to go on is that the car he borrowed is ‘blue.’”
“What’s the airfield guy’s first name?” Delores reached for a pad and paper.
“Brady. Brady White.”
She wrote it down. “I’ll get people checking on cars registered to that name. What county?”
Goliad told her.
“It shouldn’t take long,” Delores said. “I’ll text you the license plate as soon as I have it.”
“We’ll start by going to the crash site,” Goliad said. “But, like I said, this might be nothing.”
Richard warned, “I don’t want to hear any more buts, Goliad. Or any other kind of excuse.”
“No, sir.”
“And keep a leash on that Timmy. What the fuck was he doing with a laser?”
“He won’t be using it again, sir. A creek runs through town. The laser’s at the bottom of it.”
“Call us with better news next time.” Delores disconnected, then scooted off the bed, taking the phone with her. “We need that license plate number ASAP. I’ll rouse someone on staff, make up a reason that’ll convey urgency, but not panic.” She was already rapidly punching in a phone number.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Richard chuckled. “I love to see a take-charge woman in action.”
She blew him a kiss. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Then, into the phone, “This is Mrs. Hunt. The senator requires some information. Immediately.”
She gave the order with the confidence of someone who knew it would be acted on without delay. She disconnected and instantly began tapping in another number.
“I hope you’re calling Nate Lambert,” Richard said.
“He was awfully cavalier an hour ago,” Delores said. “I have some hard questions for him. Starting with if he knows where the hell his colleague is.”
Chapter 12
9:39 a.m.
Brynn had survived her childhood, which in itself was a miracle. Even more miraculous was that she hadn’t been too badly scarred by it. While other people encountered stumbling blocks in the course of their lives, her impediments had been comparable to mountain ranges.
The first had been the loss of her mother, who succumbed to pancreatic cancer when Brynn was only five years old. Her upbringing then had fallen to her father.
Anyone who had ever met Wes O’Neal liked him. He was described as a “real character,” radiating bonhomie and always ready with a joke. He was good-natured, gregarious, and, in an odd twist, generous. Odd, because he also had a larcenous streak.
During his repeated incarcerations, Brynn was placed in foster homes. Sympathetic teachers and townsfolk also took her under their wings, making certain she had Christmas and birthday gifts, providing clothing when needed, seeing to it that she didn’t miss out on extracurricular activities, simulating as normal a life as possible.
But for all the many kindnesses they extended her, they feared that her personality would be warped. Who could possibly withstand that level of instability without suffering permanent psychological damage? Wes O’Neal’s girl wasn’t expected to amount to much.
Brynn had resolved early on that she would.
The day after graduating high school, she’d left Howardville. Wes had been serving three-to-five in state prison, so he hadn’t been there to see her off. His absence was noted by her but not bemoaned. Long before then, she had accepted that in order to get anywhere, she must go it alone.
She hadn’t enjoyed the typical college experience. From freshman year through med school, she’d been awarded most of the various scholarships and grants for which she had applied, but she’d had to supplement them with part-time jobs. Between studies and work, there hadn’t been much time for a social life.
Occasionally, she would fall into a romantic relationship, but none of the men had meant as much to her as her quest for success. Only one had broken her heart with his repeated infidelities, but one day she came to the realization that he wasn’t worth the anger and anguish she’d spent on him. She’d excised him without regret.
All the sacrifices had paid off. She was now affiliated with a hospital that was renowned for its research. She was financially secure and self-sufficient in every area of her life. She’d earned the respect of her colleagues. Her patients trusted and relied on her.
Most important, Brynn O’Neal relied on no one.
But as Rye Mallett shut the bathroom door in her face, she acknowledged that she was out of her element and at a total loss as to what she should do next.
Having squeaked past the authorities, she wasn’t going to draw them back in by reporting herself stranded with—she wouldn’t go so far as to say kidnapped by—Rye Mallett. Bringing the attention of law officers to herself was the last thing she wanted, and she reasoned that Rye had counted on that reluctance.
And the two men in the café? Had they been responsible for the events of last night, as Rye suspected? If so, and if it was the box they were after, she could be in danger from them.
If she were physically able to wrangle the box from Rye, or if she demanded he give it back, and he did so without contest, what would she do then? Strike out on foot? She’d seen Rye slip Marlene’s key fob into the front pocket of his jeans, so there was no retrieving it, and, even if she could, she wouldn’t steal the lady’s car.
It seemed that she was stuck. But she couldn’t remain in this limbo state. She had to com
e up with a solution, and fast. At Deputy Wilson’s suggestion, she had texted Nate from the café, but she’d been ambiguous about her departure time. She’d told him “soonish.” He hadn’t texted a reply, but that wasn’t unusual. He often couldn’t be bothered.
Even so, he and the Hunts would expect her to be halfway to Atlanta by now.
Whatever fallout she faced when she got there, she had to get there, and her options had dwindled down to one.
Rye came out of the bathroom.
He was fully dressed except for his boots. He’d swapped his wrinkled shirt for another that was just as wrinkled, but smelled of fresh laundry. It was buttoned only halfway up. His hair appeared to have been roughly towel-dried and left at that. But he had trimmed his scruff. Through the door, she’d heard the whirr of an electric razor.
“I left you a towel,” he said as he slid his leather bag off his shoulder and returned it to the chair. He then moved to the opposite side of the bed from where she sat and flung back the bedspread. He snapped off the lamp on the nightstand and lay down on his side, facing away from her, hugging the black box against his chest like a teddy bear.
As though standing on the end of a high diving platform and about to take a plunge into icy waters far below, she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “GX-42.”
He rolled onto his back and turned his head toward her. “What?”
“That’s the formula name the pharmacologist gave the drug he’s been developing.”
“Pharmacologist.”
“I’m not trying to take lives, Rye. I’m trying to save them. Or at least extend them.”
He looked deeply into her eyes as though searching for duplicity.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “Why all the secrecy?”
“GX-42 is an experimental drug that hasn’t yet been FDA-approved for clinical trials.”
“You mean on people.”
“Yes. How much do you know about drug development?”
“Give me the version for dummies.”
“By the time a new drug is marketed, it’s been put through rigorous and endless testing. It must pass through three stages. That doesn’t sound like many, but each stage of testing stretches out for months, more often years.”
“Okay.”
“That applies to your everyday big money-makers with a large market, like a new beta blocker or anti-inflammatory. It’s an even longer process for an orphan drug.”
“What’s that?”
“A drug being developed to treat a rare disorder. It would benefit a comparably small number of people.”
“So those drugs get low priority.”
“Not as low as they got before the Orphan Drug Act was passed several years ago. But research funding relies almost solely on grants. GX-42 is an orphan drug. But this company has devoted personnel, money, and years to developing it. It’s passed the first two stages. Clinical trials are the final. GX-42 has been submitted, but as yet hasn’t been approved.”
“And your patient can’t wait around for it to get the green light. There’s nothing you can do to hurry the agency along?”
“There is what’s called expanded access. Compassionate use. It’s an exemption made for a patient when all other treatment options have been exhausted.”
“Last-ditch effort.”
“Yes. The FDA is open to granting these exemptions, but certain criteria must be met. The requirements are stringent. The request must be filed by a physician for a particular patient. Nate and I have applied for one. The review board is still considering our application.”
Rye assimilated all that. “So, the box. You had the drug smuggled in from another country where it’s already in use?”
She had no reason whatsoever to trust this man. If what he’d told her was true, he lived the life of a vagabond. He was rude and came across as being self-interested, indifferent to anyone’s welfare except his own.
Yet he felt obligated to his friend Dash for the loss of his airplane, and to Brady White. He’d intervened when the aviation memorabilia was about to be dusted with black powder. Marlene White had seen some honor in him, or she wouldn’t have trusted him with her car.
What Brynn had to tell him was a thousand times more consequential than the loan of a car, but she was convinced that he wasn’t going to end this standoff until she enlightened him, and she had little time to spare.
“No,” she said. “There’s a similar drug being tested on a small group of patients in Europe. GX-42’s capabilities exceed that one.” She looked across at the box. “Last night, a single dose was smuggled out of the lab.”
“Something Corp. I saw the name on the air bill.”
She nodded. “Researchers there have seen amazing results in test animals. They trust the drug’s safety and effectiveness. Nate and I trust them.”
“You believe it will work.”
“I believe it’s worth trying on patients who have no other hope, and who are being denied even that hope because of a rubber stamp.”
“These patients have nothing to lose.”
“Except their lives.”
“What about negative side effects? Could it make the patient worse off, not better?”
“That’s one of the beauties of it. During the past year of testing, the lab animals that died did so of the cancer, but didn’t suffer any harmful effects of the drug.”
“How’s it given?”
“An IV infusion.”
“Okay. Just so I’m clear. You and Lambert conspired with a pharmacologist at this drug-manufacturing outfit to make up a batch and send it to you, so you could give it to a patient who has blood cancer.”
“With anomalies that make this malignancy particularly rare.”
“Did money change hands?”
She lowered her gaze. “How very perceptive of you.”
“Not really. Everything is about money. Let me guess, Lambert is willing to spend some coin to buy himself a Nobel Prize.”
She shook her head. “The patient is spending the coin.”
“Ah. I remember Lambert saying the patient was high-profile.”
“Powerful. Wealthy. A household name to many.”
“Give me a hint.”
“No.”
“Male or female?”
“No.”
“You can trust me, Brynn.”
“I’ve trusted you enough to confess to something that could land me in prison.”
“Maybe they’ll put you in a cell near your old man.”
She didn’t return his teasing grin.
“Sorry,” he said, looking it. “Bad joke.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He stared thoughtfully into her eyes and said in a soft voice, “I think it does.”
That also was perceptive of him. Too perceptive for comfort. She struck back with impatience. “What matters most is time.”
“The patient is that critical?”
“No. Yes. But that’s not the reason for the haste. Once the compound is mixed, it has a short shelf life of forty-eight hours. That’s been one of the more practical reasons its approval has been withheld.”
“But also why it had to be flown in last night.”
“Exactly. And why I must return with it today. Now. But instead of speeding back…” She spread her arms in a gesture that encompassed the room and the situation.
“Who are the two heavies, Brynn?”
“I have no idea.”
“Come on.”
“I swear!”
“Well, I would swear that they were also at the airfield last night to meet the plane.”
“Why would they attack Brady?”
“So he wouldn’t call in a 911 when I crashed. They needed time to intercept you.”
“You’re guessing.”
“You think I’m wrong?”
“Not exactly wrong. I just don’t know that you’re right. In my work, I have to deal in absolutes.”<
br />
“In my work, too. But don’t tell me that you never go with your gut when it comes to a diagnosis.” He assessed her expression and said, “Thought so. My gut’s telling me that Jekyll and Hyde’s plan was to waylay you. They flubbed it, so they’ve been following you, waiting for the next opportunity. But you were surrounded by sheriff’s deputies up until the time I moved in.”
His theory was sheer speculation, but feasible. “But if they were after the GX-42, why would they have shone that laser at you and risked your crashing?”
“I can’t figure that, either. But at best, their intentions were unfriendly. At worst, I was considered disposable and so was Brady White. Now, if I were you, I’d take that as a bad sign as to my own future.”
She pulled her lower lip through her teeth but stopped when she realized he was watching her do it.
He said, “You’re scared, Brynn. You were scared before I outlined why you should be. You’ve been scared ever since you came creeping out of the fog toward my plane. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see. Could it be because my misconduct could cost me my license to practice medicine? If the patient has a negative reaction to the experimental drug and dies as a result, I’ll have committed murder. Don’t you think that’s enough to make one scared?”
“I don’t know. I don’t get scared.”
He didn’t say it in jest. He was dead earnest. But under her intent scrutiny, he shook off whatever it was that had turned his expression so serious and chinned toward the bathroom. “The water’s hot. I used the bar soap, but there’s some flowery smelling gel.”
“I’m not going to shower.”
“Afraid to get nekkid? I already told you, your virtue’s safe with me.”
“It’s safe with me, too, Mr. Mallett. My concern is time.” She tapped the face of her watch.
“You’ve laid a lot on me, including the fact that I flew an illegal drug across state lines. I could enter a plea of ignorance, and maybe they’d let me off, but it could still put Dash out of business and cost me my pilot’s license.”
She hesitated, then said quietly. “You could avoid those risks by turning me in.”