Tailspin

by Sandra Brown

  “Like what?” Richard asked.

  “I don’t know. But someone had better arrive at an idea. And soon.” Turning to Goliad, she said, “Take Timmy to whatever rock he sleeps under, then come right back. I want you here if you get a bite from any of the hooks you’ve baited. Richard and I are dead on our feet. We’re going to sleep for a while. You can stretch out on the sofa in the den.”

  “I won’t be long.” Goliad headed for the door.

  Delores fell into step behind him and said to Richard, “I’ll see them on their way. Would you like something from the kitchen?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She and Goliad left the room together. Timmy was nowhere in sight. She drew Goliad to a stop. “I’m glad we have a moment alone,” she whispered. “There’s something you don’t know that I feel you should.”

  She told him about Richard’s gaffe of mentioning bloodshed to the deputies. “We weren’t supposed to know anything about that fight. In fact, we both pretended to be shocked when they told us about it. Maybe they didn’t catch the slip.”

  Goliad frowned. “Safer to assume that they did and are now wondering why you lied to them.”

  She slumped. “That’s my greatest worry. That’s why I needed to tell you.” Looking contrite, she added, “We dump everything on you, and rely on you far too much.”

  “Not at all.”

  “No, we do. I can tell that you’re as exhausted as we are, but you’re so dedicated. We don’t take your loyalty for granted, although I’m afraid there are times when you might think we do. The truth is, I don’t know what we would do without you, Goliad.”

  Lightly, she rested her hand on the placket of his shirt. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” Stepping closer, she said, “I’m not entirely trustful of Timmy. Honestly, I’m a little afraid of him. I won’t go to sleep until I know you’re back and under our roof.”

  “I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable enough on the sofa?”

  He swallowed audibly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good night, Goliad.”

  “Good night.”

  She slid her hand off his shirtfront and turned away, smiling to herself. Fearing banishment and permanent separation from her, he would never act on his desire. He would rather suffer in agonizing silence and be able to remain near her and in sight of her than do something impulsive that would cause his severance.

  He would never touch her, but every once in a while, Delores reminded him of just how much he wanted to.

  Chapter 25

  11:11 p.m.

  Rawlins pulled the SUV to the curb and cut the engine. Neither he nor Wilson moved as they regarded the dwelling. The street was dark and silent; the only sounds were the ticks of the motor as it cooled. No interior lights were on that they could see. There was a porch light, but it wasn’t on, either.

  “What do you think?” Wilson asked.

  “Won’t know until we check it out.”

  “I’m so tired, you may have to goose me to get me out of this seat.”

  Rawlins snorted. “I’ll pass.”

  He opened the driver’s door and alighted. Wilson groaned as he pushed open his door and got out. Together they went up the walk to the sheltered front door. Rawlins pressed the bell, and they heard it chime.

  He rang it twice more before a light came on inside, then the overhead porch light nearly blinded them when it was switched on. Door locks were unfastened, and then the door was pulled open.

  Standing barefoot behind the screen door, wearing a white t-shirt and red flannel pajama bottoms with penguins on them, was Wes O’Neal. He said, “I didn’t do it.”

  Wilson smiled. “Been a long time, Wes.”

  “I’ve lost track. Where’d all your hair go to?”

  He asked it with such good humor, Wilson didn’t take umbrage. “How are you getting on these days?”

  “Up till two minutes ago, I was sleeping with a clear conscience. Can’t imagine what brought you all the way down here from Howardville. I haven’t been up there in a coon’s age. Whatever’s missing, I didn’t take it. I’ve gone straight.”

  “Mind if we come in?”

  “Why?”

  “If you’ve gone straight, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Wes seemed to debate it, then flipped up the hook lock on the screen door. Its hinges squeaked when he pushed it open. Turning his back to them, he went ahead to switch on a lamp.

  The living area was separated from the galley kitchen by a Formica-topped bar with one barstool. The small, round dining table had two mismatched chairs. On the table was a chessboard, a game seemingly in progress. Taking up most of the floor space was a recliner, an ugly maroon leather monstrosity.

  “I don’t have much company, so seating is limited,” Wes said, claiming the recliner for himself.

  “Nice chair,” Wilson remarked.

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “You’ve gone straight.”

  “That’s not the reason. I couldn’t carry the damn thing.” Wes rubbed his hands up and down the padded arms. “I got it at a yard sale. Paid cash. I have a job. Working nine to five at the Walmart.”

  “Stocking shelves?” Wilson asked.

  “Spotting shoplifters.”

  Rawlins guffawed. “The fox guarding the chicken coop.”

  “Which is why I’m good at it.” Squinting up at Rawlins, he said, “I can’t remember your name, but I recognize your face. Football player for Clemson, correct?”

  “That’s right. Don Rawlins. My rookie year with the Howardville SO, I arrested you for B and E. Auto parts store.”

  Wes grinned. “Charges were dropped. The owner had told me I could borrow some jumper cables. He didn’t tell me I had to wait until he opened the next morning to pick them up.”

  Wilson chuckled. Rawlins failed to see the humor. He looked like he was about to face off against Alabama for the national championship. He said, “Mind if I take a look around?”

  Wes spread his arms wide. “Knock yourself out. What you see is about it. Bedroom and bathroom through there.” He pointed at an open doorway. “My bathrobe is hanging on the back of the door. Bring it, please. It’s chilly in here.”

  With over-politeness, Rawlins asked, “Anything else?”

  “Thanks for asking. My slippers should be at the side of the bed.”

  Rawlins turned and stalked off.

  Wes came back around to Wilson. “He’s a barrel of laughs. What’s he looking for, anyway?”

  “Just checking things out.”

  Under his breath, Wes said, “Pull my other one.”

  Wilson walked over to the table where the chess set was. “Who’re you playing?”

  “Myself mostly.”

  “Do you cheat?”

  “Of course.”

  Wilson pulled one of the chairs from beneath the table and turned it around so he would be sitting facing Wes. When Rawlins returned, he shook his head at Wilson to indicate that Brynn O’Neal wasn’t hiding in the back rooms. He dropped the slippers in front of Wes’s chair and tossed the robe at him, then sat down on the barstool.

  Wes pushed his arms through the sleeves of his flannel robe. “Better. Now, what brought y’all?”

  “We’re here about Brynn.”

  Wes’s smile vanished. “Oh, Lord.” He slapped his hand over his heart and fell sideways, catching himself on the arm of the recliner.

  Wilson swiftly assured him that she was fine. “At least to our knowledge, she’s all right.”

  Wes, his hand still on his heart, took several restorative breaths. “This isn’t a next-of-kin call, then?”

  “No. Didn’t mean to give you that idea,” Wilson said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you should be. You scared the hell out of me.” Wes pushed himself upright and puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “If nothing’s happened to her, then what’s going on?”

  “We’re
not sure what’s going on, Wes, and that’s the God’s truth. But I’ll tell you as much as we know.”

  Wilson began with the crash of the airplane that Brynn was scheduled to meet. Her father listened without interrupting. Wilson could tell he was dismayed by the bizarre sequence of events, and by the time Wilson related those of the past few hours, Wes was in obvious distress.

  He swiveled his head around to Rawlins as though hoping he would deny it all, or tell him it was a joke, then came back to Wilson. “Y’all are saying she’s gone missing?”

  “We’re saying that the circumstances are murky. She lied to her colleague about who she was meeting down in the parking garage. Security cameras caught her leaving with that man Mallett.”

  “Whose reputation is shady at best,” Rawlins added.

  The twinkle in Wes’s eye turned to a glint. “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him.”

  “If it’s any comfort to you,” Wilson said, “we don’t get a sense that he would physically harm Brynn. In fact, if I were to guess, I think he’s protecting her from those two men on Hunt’s payroll.”

  “Wait. You said Hunt sent them up to Howardville to see that Brynn got back safely with that box. Why would she need protection from them?”

  Rawlins took over the explanation. “We get the feeling that there’s more going on with the senator and Mrs. Hunt than meets the eye.”

  “Well, no shit, Sherlock. He’s a politician.”

  “Yes, but our speculation is that there was something else inside that box besides blood samples.”

  “Such as?”

  “We don’t know. But, whatever it is, if it belongs to Richard Hunt, and your daughter has made off with it, then—”

  “Hold it right there,” Wes said. “I am—was—a thief. I own up to it. But Brynn? Never.”

  “That may be true, but her actions today are questionable, and she’s made herself inaccessible. Her cell phone goes straight to voice mail, and she hasn’t checked in with her answering service. We’ve looked for her in every likely place she might be taking refuge.”

  Wes plopped back in his chair, clarity dawning on his wrinkled features. “Oh, I see. Now I get why you’re here. You thought she came running to Papa?”

  Wilson assumed an edgier tone. “Have you seen her, Wes?”

  “No.”

  “Talked to her?”

  “No.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “Two years ago. Three, maybe.”

  That jibed with what Brynn had told him the night before.

  “I can’t remember when it was exactly,” Wes continued. “Sometime before my last incarceration. She’d finished her residency and was affiliated with the hospital. Doing good for herself.”

  “Was she working with Dr. Lambert at that time?”

  “Never heard that name before you said it a minute ago. Brynn talked about her work, but only in general terms that I could understand.”

  “Did she refer to a patient named Violet?”

  “Don’t remember her talking about any patient. Why?”

  “Little girl, seven or so now. She’s very sick. Seems to be special to Brynn.”

  Wes raised his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. And, anyhow what’s this got to do with what’s gone on today?”

  “You watch TV tonight?” Rawlins pointed out the archaic model in the corner.

  “It’s busted.”

  “Huh,” Rawlins said. Then, with a bead on Wes, he said, “You have no idea where your daughter might be? With a friend, maybe?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know any of her friends.”

  “If she’s in trouble, and you’re holding out—”

  “I’m not!”

  Rawlins came up off the barstool. “You expect us to believe that you haven’t seen or heard from your daughter in years?”

  Wes glowered. “I’m a crook, not a liar.”

  Wilson interrupted their exchange before it became more contentious. “Calm down, Wes.”

  “My ass, I’ll calm down.” He popped up from his chair. “You wake me up, tell me Brynn’s in danger from hit men at the beck and call of a senator, who I’d bet good money is crookeder than me. She’s in the company of a…a…bush pilot, who’s a lightning rod for trouble. Why aren’t y’all out combing the city for her instead of grilling me?”

  Wilson stood. “Do you have a phone, Wes?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  He and Wilson exchanged phone numbers. “I’m sorry we upset you, Wes. I hope there’s a logical and harmless outcome to all this. Rawlins and I may be overstepping, completely wrong about the Hunts, Dr. Lambert, all that.”

  “But you have a hunch that something’s not square.”

  “A strong hunch,” Wilson said. “And somebody’s got to answer for the assault on Brady White. Now I don’t know if Brynn is guilty of wrongdoing or not. But there are a lot of questions pivoting around her. So far she’s failed to provide us with straight answers.”

  “You’re making Brynn sound like a criminal on the run.”

  Wilson said, “Well, just before we got here, we got a call from the office. Myra. Remember her?”

  “Sure, sure. What?”

  “A call came into the Howardville hospital from a man asking about Brady White’s condition. People answering the hospital lines had been asked to get as much info as they could from anyone calling about him. Lady got flustered.” He told Wes the gist of the conversation. “He must’ve smelled a rat. Hung up.”

  “Or he could’ve been a friend who heard what he wanted to know.”

  “Possibly. Except that we got the number, passed it on to local departments, and the phone the call came from was found in a trash can at the airport. Which is a trick that somebody on the run would pull to throw us off their trail.”

  “Brynn would never think to do that,” Wes said. “Me? Yeah. But not her.”

  “Mallett would.” In his bad-cop voice, Rawlins said, “If she contacts you, we need to know immediately. If you harbor her or Mallett, your parole officer will be the first person I call.”

  Wes scowled at him. “Don’t threaten me, Clemson. I’m not afraid of jail. Find my girl, make sure she’s safe. That’s all I care about.” He opened the front door. “Now get out of here and get to it.”

  Wilson paused on the threshold. “You have my number, Wes.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Once Wilson was through the door, Wes latched the screen and slammed the door. Locks snapped.

  The two deputies walked back to their SUV. Wilson said, “I don’t think he had a clue about any of it.”

  “He seemed genuinely upset,” Rawlins said, then chuckled. “And actually took offense when I questioned his truthfulness.”

  “That’s Wes,” Wilson said. “He’s a crook, not a liar.”

  11:23 p.m.

  Wes turned off lights as he made his way back to his bedroom.

  As soon as he cleared the doorway, an arm came out from behind the door, hooked his throat in the bend of the elbow, hauled him up against a hard chest, and applied choking pressure to this windpipe.

  “Not one word,” he was told in a growl.

  With his air cut off, he couldn’t have uttered a peep. He wouldn’t have even if he could. He was crooked, not courageous.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark form—a woman, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him—at the window that overlooked the front yard. She was peering through a slit in the blinds.

  Wes was about to run completely out of air by the time she said, “They’re gone.”

  The arm around his throat relaxed, then let go. He rubbed his Adam’s apple, croaking, “Brynn?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  She walked toward him, gradually taking shape as she got closer. He could see her a little better when the guy turned on the bathroom light, but he kept the door open only a crack.

  For the first time in
years, Wes saw his daughter’s face, and, even as deeply shadowed as it was, he was struck by how beautiful she was. Like her mother. She looked tired and a little worse for wear, although she didn’t appear to be injured.

  They’d been out of touch since their last parting, which had been acrimonious. Despite what the deputies had concluded, Wes truly hadn’t expected her to seek him out. But here she was, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

  When it became obvious by the lengthy silence that she couldn’t, either, he said, “So you did come running to Papa.”

  “Only because I was out of options.” She was assessing his appearance, as he was hers. “Why penguins?”

  He pulled the baggy legs of his pajama bottoms out to his sides as though about to curtsy. “They were markdowns at the store.”

  “You really work for Walmart?”

  “I go in two hours early tomorrow on account of Black Friday. It’ll be a zoo, but I don’t work the crowd. I spend my shift up in a security booth that’s got all these video screens. On the lookout for shoplifters.”

  “You know all their tricks.”

  “Most. I’m a bit rusty. Thieves have gone high tech. But so has catching them.”

  “Is that why you’ve gone straight? Fear of getting caught never stopped you before.”

  “Hmm. Still bitter, I see.”

  “Your sense of humor may charm everyone else, but it was lost on me a long time ago,” she said coolly.

  Wes harrumphed and turned around to confront the tall form silhouetted by the bathroom light. “You’re—”

  “The bush pilot.”

  Wes looked him over and snorted with disfavor. “From what I hear, you’re the source of my daughter’s troubles.”

  “You’ve got it backwards. Until I flew cargo for her last night, life was good. It’s been fucked up ever since. So, as warm and tender as this family reunion is, can we move on to why we’re here?”

  “Which is what?”

  “We need a getaway car. What can you steal?”

  Chapter 26

  11:27 p.m.

  The pilot tipped his head toward Wes. “This is the man?”

  “Well, he is,” Brynn said.