by Sandra Brown
Now they were all in Lambert’s car, en route to the airport, where Jake’s plane awaited. Lambert was driving, Rye was in the front passenger seat, Timmy and his knives were in the back seat with Brynn.
“How long is the flight?” Lambert asked.
“Around an hour. Depending.”
“On what?”
“Weather. Air traffic around Hartsfield. Atlanta control may keep us in a holding pattern for—”
Nate interrupted. “We can use the Hunts’ airstrip.”
“Private airstrip?”
“It’s in a pasture behind their house,” Timmy offered. “Goliad showed me.”
“How long is it?”
“How should I know? Long.”
“Well, depending on the type of aircraft, the length of the runway is rather important to making a safe landing.”
Timmy laughed. “You know all about how wrong that can go, don’t you?”
Rye wondered if it was just his imagination, or if Timmy’s laugh had sounded forced, uneasy.
Nate said, “The runway accommodates their private jet.”
“Then we’ll be okay,” Rye said.
“But if you don’t even know where the runway is, how will you know where to fly?” Timmy asked.
“GPS. All I need to program it is the airstrip’s identifier.”
“I’ll call Richard and Delores from the airport,” Nate said. “They’ll give you whatever you need. They’ll probably roll out a red carpet for us when we get there.”
He smiled across at Rye as though all was right with the world again. Rye could barely restrain himself from decking him.
He looked out the passenger window into the side mirror and angled his head so he could see Brynn through the back seat window. She was staring out at the waterlogged landscape, looking deep in thought. He and she hadn’t had an opportunity to exchange a single word privately.
He wanted to tell her he was sorry for letting her go to the Griffins’ alone. No, for forcing her to go alone. If he’d been with her, she wouldn’t be in danger for her life, and Violet might even now be getting the infusion.
He had a lot to make retribution for. That seemed to be the pattern of his life these days.
When they reached the airfield, Jake’s plane was the only one on the tarmac. “That’s the plane?” Timmy said.
“That’s it.”
“It looks old.”
“It is. Has a new engine, though.”
“What happened to the old one?”
“Flamed out, I guess.”
Timmy must have realized that Rye was baiting him. He instructed Nate to let him and Brynn out at the entrance. “Don’t want the lady to have to walk through the rain.” As he claimed Brynn’s arm and propelled her forward, he looked over his shoulder and taunted Rye with a wink.
Brynn kept her head forward.
Nate parked in the visitors’ parking lot. Looking around, he said, “I hate to leave my car here. I hope it will be all right.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about it.”
“It could get stolen.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about it,” Rye repeated. “Once you give the senator that drug, you’re dispensable. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Rye could tell by Nate’s whey-faced expression that the prospect hadn’t occurred to him, but Rye figured it would preoccupy him from now on. He got out and ran through the rain toward the building. Nate came along behind.
Everyone who’d been there earlier had cleared out except for the older man working the desk. Recognizing Rye, he waved him over. “You’re not thinking of taking off in this, are you?” He pointed to his television screen where a Doppler radar map showed a wide band of red.
Rye swore.
“They’ve been doing weather bulletins, one after another,” the man told him. “Better wait it out.”
Rye didn’t see a way to communicate to him the trouble they were in without endangering all of them, the older man included. If he raised an alarm, called 911, some or all could be dead or injured long before the police arrived.
Brynn would be the first casualty. Timmy kept her at his side. His knife was no longer visible, but Rye didn’t trust that. Timmy could access it in a flash.
Not only was she Timmy’s hostage, so was the vial of GX-42. In any kind of altercation, it could be damaged or destroyed.
Rye walked over to the group. “We’re going to have to wait out a line of storms.”
Naturally, Nate argued. “But the whole point of flying was to beat the clock.”
Rye motioned for him to look out the wall of windows. Just since they’d entered the building, conditions had worsened. Jake’s plane was being slashed by rain and buffeted by high winds.
“If you want to drive through this,” Rye said, “you’d better get going. Tack on an extra hour to the trip.”
Nate gnawed his lower lip with indecision. “How long do you think this weather will last?”
“Let’s look.”
Rye led them into a room where a counter held an array of computers, all tuned to weather-reporting stations. He sat down in front of one. “We’re here, and we’re going there,” he said, pointing out the two spots on the map. “This line of storms stretches between those two points, almost solid. Red means bad. Purple’s worse. There’s hail in this,” he said, touching another spot on the screen.
“I’ve flown in worse,” he said, speaking over his shoulder at Nate, who was hovering. “I’d willingly take off with you and him,” he said, inclining his head toward Timmy. “But Brynn would stay. I don’t care if you die. I don’t care if I do. But I wouldn’t risk her life, especially to benefit yours.” Lambert puffed up, but Rye ignored that and said, “So what’s it to be, Lambert? Your call.”
“It’s my call,” Timmy said. “We wait it out.”
He pushed Brynn down into one of the folding chairs lined up against the wall, sat in the one beside it, and linked their arms together.
12:13 p.m.
Brynn resented the cheerfulness with which Nate phoned the Hunts.
In a chipper voice, he said into his phone, “I have good news and bad news.” In carefully guarded language he informed them that the rather drastic measure Timmy had proposed proved to be unnecessary.
“Dr. O’Neal surrendered what we came after. She is returning with us. Mr. Mallett is flying all of us back, landing on your airstrip. The bad news? We’re waiting out a rainstorm before taking off.” He listened, then said, “Yes, it was a coin toss, but we all agreed that flying there would take less time.”
Nate listened, occasionally murmuring splendid or a synonym of it. “Perfect. Mr. Mallett needs the…what was it?”
“Identifier,” Rye said.
It was given to Nate, who relayed it to Rye. “They’re also asking when we’ll be there.”
“The flight will take an hour at most, once we take off, and if the weather cooperates. It may not be a straight shot. May have to go around some storms, which will add time.”
Nate promised to text the Hunts just before they took off. He disconnected and announced, “Goliad will be there to pick us up.”
“Oh, I look forward to that,” Rye said.
With the same degree of sarcasm, Nate said, “And Richard and Delores look forward to meeting you. They’ve heard so much about you.”
No sooner had he said that than his cell phone rang. “They must have forgotten something.” He checked the LED. “Oh, it’s Mrs. Griffin.”
Brynn’s startled reaction was to try to stand and go to him, but Timmy yanked her back down. “Let me talk to her, please,” Brynn said.
“I’ll handle it.” Nate answered with his name, then listened. “Yes, yes, she was there. She wanted to see Violet, of course, but didn’t want to interrupt Elsa’s performance.”
Brynn listened with a sinking heart as he explained that no sooner had Brynn arrived than she’d received word that one of their patients had an
emergency. “We were summoned to return to Atlanta immediately. Dr. O’Neal regretted being unable to see Violet before we left.”
He listened, then said, “She mentioned that her phone has been malfunctioning. I’ll tell her that you tried to call. I’m sure she’ll be in touch with you as soon as she’s able. Now, I really must go, Mrs. Griffin.”
He hung up abruptly. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to volunteer anything, Brynn asked, “How did they know I was there?”
He cleared his throat. “Violet saw you through her bedroom window.”
Brynn wilted. “Was she upset that I didn’t go inside?”
Not quite meeting Brynn’s eyes, he added, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. The nurse on duty seemed quite capable.”
“She’s got the mutt to keep her company.”
Given the way Rye looked at Timmy after that remark, Brynn thought Timmy either very brave or a reckless fool.
After that, the wait began. Time, which had passed so quickly, now crawled. If not for Timmy, Brynn wouldn’t have minded the slowdown. She no longer had the GX-42, but she knew where it was. She remained only miles away from Violet. There were eight hours to go until the infusion had to be started. And Rye was with her. Those factors kept her hope alive.
But Timmy kept her plastered to his side, out of Rye’s reach, and within earshot of himself and Nate. She’d been unable to communicate privately with Rye, although, often, the way in which he looked at her was more potent than mere words. His gaze evoked memories of shared frustration, anger, and passion. Depending on the memory, her emotions dipped to the lowest ebb or soared.
She had spent less than two days with him, and yet he had generated more anguish and joy than she’d experienced with any other person in her life.
Except possibly Violet.
How could that be?
She loved Violet.
Timmy kept them confined to the small room. At one point the desk attendant had come to the door, suggesting that they would be more comfortable in the lobby. Rye had thanked him but told him that they all had an interest in the movement of the storms.
Timmy watched him walk away. “That old man should keep his curiosity to himself.”
“He’s just being hospitable,” Rye said.
“Meddlesome,” Timmy grumbled.
Rye and Brynn exchanged a look. They were afraid for the man.
Nate was too absorbed in his own dilemma to be aware of the undercurrents. He paced, keeping one eye on the clock, the other on the radar screen. He pestered Rye with questions. “Once the storms move through, we can take off right away?”
“After I file my flight plan and put the plane through preflight.”
“Why can’t you file the flight plan now? Get that out of the way.”
“Because if you don’t take off within two hours of your ETD, your IFR flight plan expires. I’d have to file another.”
“You’re saying it could be another two hours!”
Rye used the toe of his boot to indicate the radar screen. He was leaned back in a desk chair, hands stacked on top of his head, feet propped on the counter. Brynn wasn’t deceived by his seemingly relaxed posture. He was coiled to spring if necessary.
“I’m not in charge of the weather. Anytime you want to go, we’ll go. But the condition still holds. Brynn stays here.”
“No, no, Delores was very glad to know that she’ll be along.”
So she can gloat, Brynn thought.
Timmy, who was watching the radar screens, said, “We’ll wait till there’s no more red.”
That didn’t occur until almost two o’clock.
Violet
Dr. O’Neal left without coming inside!
When I saw her walking toward the house from the end of the block, I was so excited. I knew she was going to be the special surprise Daddy told me about.
But I couldn’t say anything when she got here because Elsa was singing, and it would have been rude to interrupt the song. Everybody made a big deal of Elsa when she got here. “Look, Violet, it’s Elsa!”
Don’t they know that I know Elsa isn’t real, and that this is just a lady dressed up to look like her? But she was nice and asked me questions about other stuff besides cancer. I just wish she hadn’t been singing when Dr. O’Neal got here.
There were a lot of TV people in the way, but I saw Dr. O’Neal on the sidewalk talking to Timmy.
He’s Dr. Lambert’s friend, but I don’t think Dr. Lambert likes him much, and I don’t, either. His jokes are stupid, and he didn’t fool me with his magic trick. My little brother could have done it better. I didn’t like Timmy being in my room. He stood too close to the bed and fiddled with my IV line. Nobody is supposed to touch it except nurses like Jill.
Dr. Lambert checked my chart and asked Jill some questions. Mom asked why he was here instead of Dr. O’Neal, and he said she wasn’t working the holiday weekend, but that was a fib, because she got here just after he told us that.
I don’t think she was glad to see Dr. Lambert and Timmy. While they were talking, she kept shaking her head. Dr. Lambert took something out of her coat pocket. Timmy grabbed it and didn’t give it back.
Then this other man came running up to them. He’s the same age as Dr. O’Neal, but the jacket he had on looked really old. The sun’s not out, but he had on sunglasses, too. Mostly, though, he didn’t look at anything except Dr. O’Neal.
He got mad when Timmy pushed Dr. O’Neal into the back seat of a car and got in behind her. I think the tall man wanted to sit by her, but he had to get in front with Dr. Lambert.
After Elsa left, I told Mom that Dr. O’Neal had been outside. She asked me if I was sure. I told her over and over, Yes I’m sure, and asked if she thought cancer had made me blind? She told me to watch my mouth, but she called Dr. O’Neal anyhow to tell her to come back. Dr. O’Neal didn’t answer her phone, so Mom called Dr. Lambert, and he said Dr. O’Neal had to leave on an emergency.
I started crying.
I think they gave me a special day because I’m going to die. I wish I had seen Dr. O’Neal instead of Elsa.
Chapter 35
1:57 p.m.
No more red,” Nate announced. “Not in the direction we’re going.”
Rye had been aware of that for more than half an hour. Heavy rains still threatened, and there was a low ceiling, but the hazardous elements had moved past. He’d kept the information to himself in order to delay their flight for as long as possible.
Because once they took off, any hope for Violet would be lost. Brynn knew that, and Rye felt her pain. After that call from Violet’s mother, her despondency was palpable.
He had tried to figure out a way to distract Timmy, overpower him, something. But he’d been unable to devise a plan of attack that wouldn’t result in injury or worse for Brynn. Now, time had run out.
He lifted his feet off the counter and took a closer look at the nearest computer monitor. “Yeah, I think we’re good to go.” He reached for his cell phone.
Timmy sprang to his side and halted him after he’d made only a few taps on the screen. “Who are you calling?”
“Flight Service in Atlanta.”
“What for?”
“To file my flight plan.” He held up the form he’d already filled out.
Timmy snatched the sheet from him and scanned it. “What’s all this mean?”
Rye pointed out the various blocks. “Type of plane. Aircraft ID. These letters stand for this airport, place of departure. Destination. You heard Lambert give me that. Estimated time of departure, 1930 Zulu. Two-thirty, to you. Estimated time of flight, one hour. Airspeed, altitude, amount of fuel. Number aboard, four souls.”
“Souls?”
“Industry speak. You know, in case you crash and die.”
He’d determined that Timmy had a fear of flying. He planned to milk it. Petty revenge, maybe, but he would derive some enjoyment out of making him squirm.
Timmy looked over the form ag
ain, then handed it back to Rye and chinned toward his cell phone. “Okay, call. But I want to hear who answers.”
Rye shrugged, tapped in the toll-free number, and held out his phone to where Timmy could hear. A male voice answered, “Leidos Flight Service.”
Rye raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Timmy nodded another okay, but carefully monitored everything Rye said as he repeated exactly what he’d printed on the flight plan. When he got to the end he said, “Total souls aboard, four. Three normal. One lost soul named Timmy.”
Timmy gave him the finger.
The man on the phone wished Rye a nice flight. “Nice?” Rye said. “I’ll say. Private strip. Being met by a personal aide, maybe even a red carpet. This is tall cotton for a freight dog like me.”
The guy chuckled. “I recognize the identifier. Tall cotton for anybody. Have fun.”
Rye looked at Timmy. “I can hardly wait.”
2:27 p.m.
Rye put the plane through its preflight check, then motioned the others out of the building. They filed across the tarmac. As Rye handed Brynn in, he whispered, “Brady didn’t make it out of surgery.”
The news was another blow to her, and she reacted to it as such. He would have postponed telling her, except that it was crucial she understand that Brady’s dying had been a turning point for him. He murmured, “I’m all in.”
“What’s going on?” Timmy said from behind them.
“Her seat belt’s stuck.” Rye fiddled with it as he whispered, “I won’t bail on you again. Not until this is over. One way or another.” He pressed her hand. He wanted to kiss her. Badly. Instead, holding her gaze, he gave the seat belt a tug. “That should do it.”
He pointed Lambert into one of the other passenger seats. After he climbed aboard, Rye closed the double doors. “I have to go first,” he told Timmy as he stepped onto the wing.
“No way in hell.”
Rye stepped back down. “Pilot’s seat is on the left. So either I go in first, or I have to crawl over you, or you take the pilot’s seat and fly the plane.”
Grudgingly, Timmy stepped aside. As soon as Timmy boarded, Rye reached across him.