by Sandra Brown
“Wilson said his heart’s gone wonky.”
“How bad?”
“They don’t know yet. But Wilson wants to talk to you again.”
“As a material witness or a culprit?”
“Didn’t say, but he threw out the word ‘manslaughter’ and let it hover.”
Rye rubbed his brow. “What else?”
“He dropped a bombshell of a name on me.”
“Let me guess. Senator Richard Hunt.”
In a gruff and angry undertone, Dash said, “What the fuck, Rye? You couldn’t make an enemy who has a little less clout?”
“It’s too long a story to tell now, Dash, and it has nothing to do with me except that the shitheads who wrecked your plane and tried to scrub me are on Hunt’s payroll.”
“What’s a senator got against you?”
“Wasn’t about me. It was about the cargo.”
“Wilson kept referring to that black box. What’s with that?”
“You won’t hear it from me.”
“Then you’ll never climb into another of my cockpits!”
“Until tomorrow.”
He could hear Dash’s fuming breathing, the squishy chomping on his cigar, but by the time he spoke again, he’d calmed down a bit. “What about her?”
He could only be referring to Brynn. “Nothing about her, all right?” Dash waited him out. Rye glanced at the elevator, then added softly, “I’m done there, too.”
Dash didn’t say anything, and when the silence became uncomfortable, Rye yielded and spoke first. He asked if he was still booked on the flight to Columbus the following evening. Dash confirmed that and asked Rye what he intended to do in the meantime.
“Wilson and Rawlins—that’s his partner—don’t have anything on me, but they could delay me getting out of here tomorrow night. I’ll stay under the radar until my flight. I need the bunk time anyway.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Long.” Before Dash could tear into him about his lack of sleep, he said, “My phone’s almost out of juice. I’ll check in with you in the morning.”
“You still want the first thing that comes up?”
“You read my mind.”
He clicked off and started down the empty corridor, his boot heels striking loudly in the hollowness. The guard was absorbed in what he was watching on TV.
Even more so than before. Because when he heard Rye approaching, he turned around. A wide, proud grin spread across his otherwise basset hound face. “Hey, look. I’m on TV.”
When Rye reached the table, he stopped. “What?”
“News was delayed on account of a ball game, but see?”
The guard chuckled as he pointed himself out on the screen, which showed a wide shot of a moderate crowd of people. Rye recognized the backdrop as the courtyard he and Brynn had walked through only minutes before, the building in the background.
The guard stood out in the crowd because he was in uniform when everyone else was wearing civilian clothing or white lab coats.
Rye had difficulty making sense or lending credibility to the voice-over commentary. The captions superimposed across the bottom of the screen seemed just as nonsensical. But, gradually, he began to piece together a story that filled him with disbelief and anguish.
The guard said, “I guess I shouldn’t be lettin’ on about myself, when it’s all about Violet. Sweet kid.”
He was talking to himself. Rye was already running back toward the elevator.
Chapter 21
8:08 p.m.
The light above the elevator indicated that it was still on the third floor. For the second time in three hours Rye opted for the fire stairs. He climbed, taking several at a time, rounded the landings without slowing, and burst through the door marked “THREE,” winded but wild to find Brynn.
The long and empty hallway stretched both left and right. He ran several yards in one direction, didn’t spot anyone or hear voices behind the closed doors, reversed direction and ran the other way until he reached the last room, where light shone into the hall through the door standing ajar.
He pushed it open and went in. There was a hospital bed, empty except for a pink, well-worn stuffed bunny lying on the pillow. Under the window, a twin bed, the linens stripped from it and piled in a bundle on the bare mattress. Coloring book pages of ballerinas taped to the walls.
Rye registered all this within a second.
Brynn and a young woman with a name tag clipped to her scrubs were standing before a wall-mounted flat-screen TV, watching the same news story Rye had seen a portion of downstairs.
Hearing him huff up behind her, Brynn turned her head. Her face had been leached of color; her expression was stark with despair. He moved to stand beside her in a show of support, but he didn’t touch her, aware of the other woman’s curiosity over his sudden appearance.
The news story ended with a wrap-up from the smiling anchorwoman. “Senator and Mrs. Hunt certainly made it a memorable Thanksgiving for little Violet and her family, hey, Mark?”
The co-anchor looked into the camera through moist eyes. “They certainly did. What an inspiring and heartwarming story for Thanksgiving night. And the story isn’t over. We’ll have coverage of Violet’s homecoming for you on our morning program.”
He went on about it being a day to count blessings and spread happiness to those in need of cheering, that everyone should take the Hunts’ example to heart. Rye’s stomach turned. Since Brynn appeared to be hypnotized by the anchor’s blather, he plucked the remote from her hand and muted the audio.
The name-tagged woman regarded him with uncertainty. “Are you with Dr. O’Neal?”
Brynn roused herself. “I’m sorry. Abby, this is…uh…my…friend.”
He hitched his chin. “Hi.”
Abby said hi back, then, “Is everything all right, Dr. O’Neal?”
Brynn placed a reassuring hand on the young woman’s arm. “Yes, of course. Fine. I’m just more than a little surprised that I wasn’t consulted before all this took place.” She motioned toward the TV. “Who signed Violet out? Dr. Lambert?”
“No.” The doctor she named must’ve been familiar to Brynn. She gave an absent nod. “I would like to have been notified, so I could be here to wish Violet a safe journey home.”
“It all happened so suddenly,” Abby said with a genial smile. “No sooner had I come on duty than the TV vans started pulling up outside the gate. I’m told that only the administrator was given a heads-up, and barely fifteen minutes before the Hunts themselves arrived in a long white limo. They intended for it to be a surprise, and said that it wasn’t about them, it was about Violet.”
“Leaving one to wonder how the TV stations knew of it in advance,” Brynn said.
Abby shrugged. “They’re such a high-profile couple, I guess it’s hard for them to keep anything under wraps.”
“The limo might have been a giveaway,” Rye said. He admired Brynn’s ability to maintain her forced smile when he felt like smashing something.
Brynn asked, “Was it ever explained how Violet came to be chosen for this—”
“Farce.”
“—honor?” Brynn asked, talking over Rye’s angry whisper.
Abby’s lips formed a moue of sadness. “I heard the senator telling one of the reporters that they wanted to do this for a child who was seriously ill, but well enough to withstand the trip.” She laughed softly. “Of course the travel was streamlined for her. They made it hassle-free for Violet and her mother.”
“Yes,” Brynn said, keeping her smile pasted on, “they literally rolled out the red carpet for them.”
The news vans had caravanned behind the Hunts’ limousine to a private landing strip where the couple’s Gulfstream had been waiting to fly Violet and her mother to Tennessee for a reunion with her father, brothers, and beloved dog, Cy.
Cameras had captured the red carpet–white glove treatment extended to them by the two pilots and flight attendant, as well as the f
ond farewell hug that the senator and his wife had bestowed on a smiling Violet and her tearfully grateful mother.
The end of the poignant story had shown the Hunts’ jet soaring off the runway into a rainy sky. The two stood arm-in-arm on the tarmac beneath an umbrella, waving until the plane’s blinking lights disappeared into the clouds, which was the fade-out shot that had brought tears to the anchorman’s eyes.
“Violet has more surprises in store,” Abby informed them in a hushed, happy voice. “Elsa from Frozen is scheduled to visit her at home tomorrow. Violet is also going to receive a new iPad, with all her favorite apps already downloaded, and a TV for her bedroom.” She chatted on, unaware of how appalling this was to Brynn.
“Mrs. Hunt is even prettier in person than she is on TV. Her suit was just okay, but her shoes were to die for.”
Before Abby could expand on wardrobe, Rye clasped Brynn’s elbow and said in an undertone, “We need to get out of here.”
Brynn must’ve picked up on his urgency and the reason for it. She said to Abby, “We’re due at a party. I only wanted to stop by and say a quick hi to Violet.”
Rye steered her around, out of the room, and down the hall toward the elevator. She went without protest.
Abby fell into step with them. “As close as you are to Violet and her family, I’m sure they would welcome a call from you. And she’ll be back on Tuesday.”
Tuesday. Days past the GX-42’s expiration.
“Yes,” Brynn said. “Her next radiation treatment is scheduled for Wednesday.” She worried her lower lip. “No matter how streamlined the trip, her autoimmune system is so weakened, I worry about infection. Severe fatigue.”
“I overheard Mrs. Hunt say that the flight crew has the weekend off, but they’ll be flying Violet back. And she’s being safeguarded. Violet’s doctor in Knoxville was put on notice. A medical team supervised by him will be on standby the whole time she’s there. The senator insisted on that. Violet’s welfare is his top priority.”
Brynn and Rye exchanged a look.
“It’s a shame you got here too late to see her off.”
Quietly, Brynn said, “Much too late.”
“I need to get back to work,” Abby said. “Have fun at your party.”
She started back down the hall. Rye watched her until she reentered Violet’s room. As they drew abreast of the elevator, he noticed that the ground floor button was lighted, indicating that someone had summoned it. It could have been anybody. But the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he trusted that instinct. He wheeled Brynn around. “Hurry.”
She reacted without question as he towed her toward the fire stairs and rushed her down them. When they reached the first floor, he opened the door a crack. No one was at the elevator or in the corridor. The guard was still hunched over the television, his back to them. “Is there another way out?”
“An emergency exit on the other side of the building.”
“Will an alarm go off if we open it?”
“I have the code to disarm it.”
“Lead the way.”
They slipped through the door without drawing the guard’s notice and walked as rapidly and as silently as they could. Rye continued looking over his shoulder, checking the fire stairs door they had just come through. His ears were attuned for the ping that would signal the arrival of the elevator.
They rounded a corner at an intersection of hallways. The emergency exit was at the far end of one. He and Brynn jogged toward it. Brynn punched in the code on the keypad, and a lock released with a loud metallic click. No alarm blared when Rye depressed the metal bar and pushed open the heavy door.
He ushered Brynn out ahead of him and, after one last look behind him, followed her. He waited only long enough to hear the reassuring click of the door relocking, then grabbed her hand and took off in a dead run.
8:18 p.m.
Abby emerged from Violet’s room with her arms full of bedding, but drew up short in fright. A tall man was standing just beyond the door. “Mercy, you startled me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to.”
“Can I help you? Only family is allowed—”
“Oh, I know. The guard said. But I’m Dr. Lambert’s driver tonight. He didn’t want to get out of the car in the rain, so he sent me in to see if Dr. O’Neal was here. He needs to consult with her about a patient. Sure enough, when I asked the guard, he told me she came in not long ago.”
“She was here. You just missed her.”
“By how much?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t meet them in the elevator.”
“Them?”
“I guess he was her date. They were on their way to a party. If it’s an emergency, I can call her and tell her to come back. I have her number.”
“That’s the problem. Dr. Lambert has been calling her phone for over an hour. He thinks it must be on the fritz.” He held up a slip of paper with a telephone number handwritten on it. “Is this the number you have for her?”
She pulled her phone from the pocket of her tunic and accessed her contacts. “That’s it.”
“Do you by chance have another?”
“Only the number of her answering service.”
“Dr. Lambert tried that. They struck out reaching her, too. Her phone’s battery must’ve run completely dry.” He started backing away and gave her a smile. “Sorry about scaring you.”
Until he turned and started walking away, Abby hadn’t noticed a second man waiting at the elevator. He wasn’t a heart-stopper like the one she’d talked with. He had shifty eyes and looked ill-kempt even in his dark chauffeur’s uniform. She thought this face looked battered, too, but that could have been a trick of the lighting.
Abby couldn’t fathom why Dr. Lambert would need two drivers.
Then again, knowing Dr. Lambert, she figured he needed one for himself and another for his ego.
8:22 p.m.
The hospital complex was a sprawling campus. The concrete arteries connecting the various buildings were lighted like the Vegas strip. The rain helped to blur the lights, but it also kept the sidewalks free of other pedestrians, making Rye and Brynn that much more conspicuous. They covered a lot of ground in a short span of time, but not so much that Rye relaxed his vigil.
He kept them moving at a clip while staying on the lookout for the black Mercedes. He didn’t know positively that Goliad and Timmy were on their trail. But if they weren’t already, they or someone of their ilk in the Hunts’ employ would be soon. The first place they’d look for Brynn would be where she would have expected to find Violet.
Spotting a taxi leaving one of the main buildings, Rye said, “I’ll flag it down. Don’t dawdle.” He dropped Brynn’s hand and took off in a sprint. When she caught up to him, he was holding open the back door; they scrambled in.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Just drive,” Rye said. “She needs a minute. Got some bad news about her cousin.”
“Any particular direction?”
“Just drive.”
Grumbling, the driver sat forward and drove away. For the first half mile, Rye watched out the rear window, but didn’t detect a tail.
“Are we being followed?”
“I don’t think so. But I could be wrong.”
Brynn pushed back her hood. Passing headlights gave him fleeting glimpses of her face. He couldn’t tell if the watery streaks on her cheeks were tears, rainwater, or reflections of trickles on the windows. Regardless, her expression was telling. She was devastated.
“They knew all along that I would attempt to steal the drug for Violet,” she said. “As proved by the timing of that grotesque display. They staged it while we were making the drive back from Howardville.”
“Even before you ran out on Lambert, the Hunts had hedged their bet by getting Violet out of reach.”
“Worse, they made sure I can’t get to her. Her homecoming will be televised. Which means more media in Tennessee. Lig
hts, cameras.” She placed her fingers against her temples and pressed hard. “I was mentally prepared to cross the line of ethics. I knew the risks and was willing to take them. But I would rather not have a spotlight on me when I did.”
“You could call Mr. and Mrs. Griffin.” Brynn had never revealed to him Violet’s surname, but there was no need for confidentiality any longer. Following the news story, everybody knew their name. The Hunts had made sure of it.
“Call, tell them that you have the GX-42,” he said. “If you got up there before eight p.m. tomorrow, they would send Elsa packing and let you carry on.”
“Would they, Rye? Now? With the spotlight shone on them? I’m not so sure. The risks would be greater for them, too.”
“What if it was your kid?”
She gave a rueful smile over his repetition of her question. “I would send Elsa packing.”
“I’m betting they would, too.”
“But even if they did, there’s a medical team on high alert. With Violet’s welfare being the senator’s ‘top priority,’ she will be closely monitored.” Looking defeated, she said, “The Hunts covered all the bases.”
“Do you think Lambert was behind it?”
She considered it, then shook her head. “If Nate had known about the televised spectacle they had planned, he would have been at the center of it. More than likely he’s irked over being excluded.” She lapsed into thought, then said, “This has her stamp on it.”
“The wife with shoes to die for?”
“She’s the senator’s mama bear. She’s also an excellent promoter. A winner.” She laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “They fought dirty, but they won. As a physician, I can’t let this dose go to waste. I’ll deliver them the vial tonight. Humble myself and admit to a temporary loss of reason. Something. I’ll make nice. Uphold my Hippocratic oath. My conscience will be clear, and I’ll no longer be looking over my shoulder for Goliad and Timmy.”
“They’re not the only ones on your tail.”
His tone brought her eyes open. She gave him her full attention.
“I had a call from Dash.”
He related the conversation. Even knowing that her brain was sluggish with exhaustion and desolation, he didn’t spare her the details. She needed to be made aware of everything she was up against.