by Sandra Brown
“Wilson’s motioning me to hurry this along.”
“I owe him a drink.”
“Dr. Lambert’s guest last night wasn’t Goliad.”
Rye sensed from Rawlins’s shift to a no-nonsense tone that a clever comeback would be inappropriate, that the deputy had finally gotten to the good part. “Who was it?”
“We’ve got him on video, but it’s jerky. So I’m sending you a text of the description the concierge gave us.”
Within seconds, the text came through. He went back to Rawlins. “Timmy.”
“Timmy. He escorted the doctor out of his condo. They left together in the doc’s car. Watching the security video, you don’t get a warm fuzzy.”
Rye rubbed his forehead. “I’m no cheerleader for Nate Lambert, but this doesn’t sound good.”
“That’s what Wilson and I thought, too. Now—and here’s why we’re calling you. Local TV station here aired a news story this morning about the little girl who was shuttled off last evening to—”
“I know about it.”
“Figured you did. Look at your text again. This is a freeze frame taken off the telecast. The reporter is doing a stand-up outside the little girl’s house up there in Tennessee. Got it?”
The picture appeared on his phone. “Yeah.”
“Look behind the reporter.”
There stood Nathan Lambert. Unmistakably. Beside him and slightly behind him was Timmy.
Rye’s heart stopped, then began thudding. “I gotta go.”
“Is Dr. O’Neal there, Mallett?”
Rye hesitated.
“Mallett? Is she there?”
“On her way to the house.” Where Timmy was.
“Where are you?”
“An airport. Just flew her in. Have y’all got people…? A…the sheriff’s department here you can notify?”
“And tell them what?”
“Jesus, I don’t know, tell them—”
“About a box, empty except for blood samples? About your run-ins with Goliad, your unexplained abductions of Dr. O’Neal, a senator’s somewhat strange but so far legal behavior? What do we tell them? Huh? It all feels criminal, but what’s the crime? Time you shared with us, don’t you think?”
“I will. But not now. Get people moving toward the Griffins’ house.”
“Based on what?”
“No time, Rawlins. Just move on it!”
“Beyond Brady White’s heart giving out during surgery—”
“Wait! What?”
“You didn’t know? He arrested on the table. They worked on him for ten, twelve minutes—”
Rye clicked off and slid down the wall onto his haunches. This blow hurt worse than when Goliad had slugged him. Anguish squeezed his chest so tight, he thought his breastbone would crack.
He could see the photo on Brady’s desk of him and his family. Brady smiling up at him from his hospital bed. Marlene saying, He couldn’t wait to meet you.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to block the images.
No time to think about it now. He had to get to Brynn.
Brynn, whom he’d pushed away.
Straight toward Timmy.
He tapped in the number of her new phone. No answer. No voice mail. “Shit!”
He surged to his feet and bolted from the lounge, running like a madman from room to room, looking for the pilot he’d swapped expletives with. He found him studying a radar monitor.
Breathless, Rye said, “Dude, sorry about what I said earlier. Do you have a car here I can borrow?”
Chapter 34
10:39 a.m.
During the twenty-minute drive from the airfield to the Griffins’ neighborhood, Brynn’s cell phone rang almost continually. There was never a name identifying the caller, so it could only be Rye. She didn’t answer. Why rehash the quarrel, when the outcome would be the same? As he’d said, why drag it out?
But not even her personal heartache could suppress her happy anticipation of delivering the good news to Violet and her parents. She felt a flutter of excitement as she neared their home.
The hours she’d spent researching, studying, struggling with doubt, commiserating with Violet’s parents, arguing with Nate were about to culminate in the best way possible: Violet would be reprieved, possibly saved.
The driver stopped at the corner at the end of the Griffins’ street. “Mind if I let you out here? There’s a lot going on up there. It’ll be hard for me to turn around.”
“This is fine.”
She was carrying nothing except what was in her coat pockets as she started up the incline toward the house. A minivan, presumably belonging to the family, occupied the driveway. TV vans were parked end to end along the curbs on both sides of the street.
Also parked in front of the house were two limousines.
And, last in line, Nate Lambert’s Jaguar.
Upon seeing it, Brynn stopped. There was no mistaking that it was his car. She parked hers next to it every day in the garage of their office building.
There could be only one reason he was here, and that was to get the drug away from her before she administered it to Violet. Why hadn’t she foreseen this? He would have predicted that, once she learned Violet had been sent home, she would follow. He had beat her here.
But she had a strong advantage over him. Dr. Brynn O’Neal was Violet’s overseeing physician. Both the child and her parents had utmost faith in her. When they learned that she was here, and why she had come, they would be overjoyed.
Nate couldn’t very well tell them that he was denying the drug to Violet so he could give it to his patient. He wouldn’t arm-wrestle Brynn for ownership of it. He was hamstrung. There was nothing he could say or do without exposing his perfidy.
As long as you’re in possession of the game ball, you’re winning.
Bolstered by Rye’s words, she continued walking toward the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Blocking the sidewalk, hunkered beneath umbrellas, was a congregation of neighbors, whose curiosity hadn’t been dampened by the weather.
She was still some distance from them when, out of their midst, Nate appeared. As he made his way toward her, he didn’t look like his cocksure and overconfident self, however. Without an umbrella, hood, hat, or raincoat, he looked bedraggled and panicked.
“Nate?” She said his name aloud, but she was actually talking to herself, puzzled by his uncharacteristic demeanor.
“He’s a little wound up.”
The statement came from so close behind her, she felt the speaker’s breath in her hair. She turned quickly to find herself face-to-face with Timmy. He was wearing a rain jacket, the hood up.
He said, “Unless you want to get cut, don’t do anything stupid.”
She looked down. The tip of a slender silver blade was pressed against her coat at waist level. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
“More’s the pity.” His evil grin made her shiver.
Nate reached them, near hyperventilating, wringing his hands, almost in tears. “Brynn. Give me the drug.”
“It should go to Violet, Nate, and you know it. Your name is on that exemption application for her as well as mine. You know she’s—”
“For godsake, it’s too late to argue about it,” he said, his voice cracking. “Give it to me or—”
“Or he offs the kid.”
She looked at Timmy with misapprehension. “What?”
“Since Lambert here seems to have lost the power of speech, I’ll explain,” Timmy said. “The situation is this. If you don’t give the potion to Dr. Lambert, he’s going to push air into the kid’s IV. If she’s dead, she no longer needs the drug, right? Right. Freeing it up for you-know-who.”
Flabbergasted, she turned to Nate. “He’s not serious.”
“Deadly serious. Give me the drug.”
Brynn’s mind was reeling. “Have you seen the family? Violet?”
His head wobbled a yes. “She’s all right. Rather tired. Listless. But happy
to be at home. I…I…” He cast a nervous glance toward Timmy. “I asked to examine her more thoroughly after…after…”
“Elsa,” Timmy said. “She’s in there now putting on a show. Off and on, you can hear her singing. She and the mayor got here at the same time. Separate limos.”
Nate was breathing as though he’d climbed Everest without oxygen. “When the special guests arrived, everyone else was invited to wait outside. Me included.”
“You’re waiting for the program to conclude so you can go back in and do what this psychopath said? You’re going to murder that child?”
Her voice had risen. Timmy, grin in place, said through clenched teeth, “Pipe down, doc.”
She looked behind her. No one was paying them any mind. The attention of all the media people and other onlookers was focused on the front of the house in order to see the celebrities when they came out. Alerting any one of them to trouble without Timmy’s knowledge would be impossible.
She came back around to Nate and looked at him with unmitigated disgust and condemnation.
His lips trembled. “He came to my apartment!” he said, spraying spittle. “Issued veiled threats. Forced me to drive him up here.”
“On the Hunts’ orders?”
“I thought it up myself,” Timmy replied.
“He talked to Delores around dawn,” Nate said.
“And she sanctioned this?”
“Yes. No, no. She didn’t say anything, just hung up.”
Nate knew as well as Brynn what that indicated. So did Timmy. When she looked at him, he said, “Bosses are pleased as punch.”
“You haven’t got the drug yet.”
“About that, my patience is wearing real thin.”
Nate moaned her name in a pleading tone. “Please do as he says. Richard will get the drug as he was supposed to all along. This will be over.”
“For Violet, certainly.”
“Either way, it’s over for her.”
“You would actually kill her?”
“That’s just it! If I don’t—”
Timmy smacked his lips. “Violet and me are friends. Like this.” He crossed his index and middle finger.
Brynn was horrified. She turned to Nate. “You let him get near her?”
“I didn’t have a choice! He threatened to cut off my ear.”
“He introduced me as his personal assistant,” Timmy said. “I did a magic trick for Violet. She laughed at my knock-knock jokes. Nobody will suspect a thing if I return to her bedroom. She’s wearing a pink nightgown. Has a crown on it.”
Brynn thought she might be ill, but she took a defiant stance. “You kill a child in her own bed. How do you propose getting away with it?”
He snickered. “I won’t have to worry about that, because you’re not gonna let that kid die. We all three know that. You wouldn’t risk calling my bluff, would you now?”
No, she wouldn’t. She recalled Rye telling her dad that Timmy was a twisted kid with a lot to prove.
Nate pulled her from her disturbing thoughts. “Did the family know you were coming, Brynn?”
She shook her head.
“Had you told them we acquired the drug?”
“No. I didn’t want to build up their hopes and not deliver.”
“Then neither Violet nor her parents will ever know what she missed out on. And, possibly, compassionate use will be approved for her before the new regulations are enforced.”
“New regulations?”
Realizing his slip, he said, “We can discuss it later.”
“Nate, damn you. What?”
In rapid and broken phrases, he explained about the upcoming Senate committee hearing on experimental drugs and clinical trials.
“And Senator Hunt’s position on the clamp-down?”
Nate’s abashment said it all.
“So this is the only dose available now, and more than likely the only one for the foreseeable future.”
“Now that’s a damn shame.” Timmy nicked her coat with the tip of his knife. “Give it up.”
“Brynn, for heaven’s sake,” Nate groaned. “You’ve lost. Lose gracefully.”
“Or lose your life,” Timmy said.
She scoffed. “You wouldn’t kill me in front of all these people.”
He moved with the speed of a striking snake, creating a slice in the fabric of her coat from one side seam to the other, deep enough to expose the fiber insulation. “See? I would. The next cut will open up your pretty, smooth belly. I could have you stuffed into Lambert’s Jag and bleeding out before anybody noticed.”
He had made a believer of her. Her heart was in her throat. She’d lost her capacity to breathe. Sensing her surrender, Nate began patting down her pockets while she stood frozen in fear.
He located the bubble-wrapped vial and took it out.
Timmy astounded them both when he snatched it from Nate and tossed it up like a baseball, catching it in midair. “Be careful with that, you idiot! Give it to me,” Nate demanded, holding out his hand.
“I’ll keep it.”
“I would rather safeguard it myself,” Nate said.
“Do you have a knife?”
“Knife? No.”
“Then shut up.”
Nate backed down and watched with uneasiness as Timmy tucked the vial into an inside pocket of his rain jacket.
“All right, we’ve got it, let’s go.” Nate glanced at his watch. “It’s elevenish now. That puts us back at three, three-thirty. Time enough.”
“You and I will ride in the back seat.” Timmy grabbed Brynn by the arm and began pulling her toward Nate’s car.
“Brynn!”
As one, she, Nate, and Timmy looked toward the source of the shout. Rye still had one leg inside the back seat of a car stopped at the corner. He clambered out, slammed the door shut, and began running toward them.
“Christ,” Nate moaned. “All we need. He’s a jinx.”
Renewed hope surged through Brynn.
With feline swiftness, Timmy executed an agile move that brought him to Brynn’s side, the blade of his knife pressed into her left armpit.
“Stop right there, Mallett.” He spoke softly, but in a voice that, in itself, sounded lethal.
Rye halted with such suddenness, inertia pushed him forward. He nearly lost his balance.
Timmy said, “I’ll slice off her tit, then stab her in the heart. It’ll burst like a balloon.”
Rye said, “You wouldn’t live to brag about it.”
“Let’s try it and see.”
Brynn’s breath gusted out. “I’m all right, Rye.”
“So far,” Timmy said. “But she won’t be if you don’t back off.”
“Your face looks like hell, Timmy,” Rye said. “What color are your balls this morning?”
“I owe you for that.”
“I agree. You want to use your knife, come after me. Let Brynn go.”
Brynn could see herself and Timmy reflected in the lenses of Rye’s sunglasses. She reasoned he was wearing them so Timmy couldn’t tell exactly where he was looking. Brynn intervened. “There’s no need for another fight.”
“Why’s he holding a knife on you?”
“He’s got the drug, and wants to make sure that it gets to the senator.”
“That’s right,” Nate said, his self-importance reasserting itself. “As was the original plan. This nonsense was totally unnecessary, Brynn. None of this would have happened if you had left well enough alone.” To Timmy, he said, “Let’s go. It’s a long drive back.”
Calmly, Rye said, “Why don’t you all fly back with me?”
“I don’t think so, ace,” Timmy said. “I already saw you crash.”
Brynn’s knees had gone weak with relief at his suggestion. Ignoring Timmy’s remark, she said, “That’s a wonderful idea. Don’t you think so, Nate?”
His gaze ricocheted among them, landing on Timmy. “It is a good idea. It would save hours. But we don’t need him to fly us. The Hu
nts’ jet is available.”
“But not the pilots,” Brynn said.
“What?” Nate asked.
“Abby, at the outpatient hotel? She told Rye and me last night that they were off duty until they fly Violet back on Tuesday.”
Rye said, “That’s right. She did.”
“Then I guess it’s you, or a four-hour drive,” Nate said.
Timmy still looked reluctant and distrustful. “You got a plane big enough?”
Rye made a show of sizing him up and finding him lacking. “Big enough for you.”
Nate pressed his argument. “Time-wise, it would give me a wide comfort zone I wouldn’t have if we drive back. After all this, you don’t want to disappoint the Hunts by being late.”
Timmy capitulated, but said to Rye, “No funny stuff, or your girlfriend dies.”
11:22 a.m.
The pilot whose car Rye had asked to borrow had repeated his words back to him: “Fuck off.”
Rye had to call for a car. It had arrived in under four minutes, which had seemed like hours. The drive to the address Brynn had given him earlier had also seemed unending, and then, when he arrived, he wondered just where the hell the police were. He’d expected the area around the Griffins’ house to look like an armed camp with Timmy in custody for kidnaping Lambert.
But apparently Wilson and Rawlins had dropped the ball. They hadn’t notified their local cohorts.
Instead of a huge police presence, Rye had been met by a terrifying tableau that had almost caused his own heart to burst. He and God hadn’t been on speaking terms for a long time, and Brady White’s death had all but severed the fragile connection. Nevertheless, Rye found himself praying that Brynn would somehow get through this unharmed.
It was a lot to pray for, considering that Timmy was the threat. He overcompensated for his meager physicality with meanness and spontaneity. He had remembered Rye’s Glock and had made him produce it and drop it into the street drain, discreetly, so not to draw the notice of the crowd of gawkers in the Griffins’ yard.
There had been an instant, when the pistol was in his hand, that Rye had considered aiming it at the center of Timmy’s forehead and pulling the trigger, but he wasn’t sure he could do that before Timmy poked Brynn. With reluctance, he’d dropped the handgun through the grate.