by Sandra Brown
Delores laughed and said, “We have everything except the drug. Who has it?”
Timmy sauntered forward and took it from his inside pocket.
Upon seeing the small familiar bundle, Brynn’s heart clenched.
Delores reached for it first and held it against her cheek, then handed it to her husband, who said, “There were times when I doubted this moment would ever come.”
Brynn watched as Richard passed it along to Nate. He tore away the bubble wrap and set the vial on the table next to a syringe.
Then, for the benefit of the camera, he explained what would take place next. “It’s remarkably easy. I will inject the syringe of GX-42 into this bag of a compatible IV fluid. It will take approximately an hour to drain the bag. After infusion, GX-42 goes to work.”
He expounded on the remarkable results achieved on laboratory animals. In greater and more scientific detail than she had used with Rye, he explained how the drug worked, and projected that it would be a breakthrough in the treatment of hematologic cancers.
A rumble of thunder drew Brynn’s attention to the shuttered window. The sky had turned dark, although it was only a little after five o’clock, not quite sundown. She wondered if Rye was already airborne.
Nate was putting his heart and soul into his speech, touting himself as a pioneer, willing to gamble on the drug’s efficacy when it hadn’t yet been officially FDA-approved for clinical trials. “Yet, at tremendous risk to my professional reputation, I did what I believed was right for my patient.”
Brynn was curious as to who would ever see this video except Nate himself. How much satisfaction could he derive from viewing it in private and celebrating his accomplishment alone?
The Hunts had been such sticklers for keeping the senator’s cancer under wraps that Brynn was surprised they had consented to Nate’s recording at all. Weren’t they the least bit worried that his ego would compel him to share it with colleagues whom he perceived as competition?
She looked over to where the senator sat in his chair, primed to receive the infusion. His wife sat on an ottoman near him. Each appeared to be listening, but like people who were trapped at a banquet with a boring after-dinner speaker at the podium.
Nate was so caught up in his own elocution, he didn’t realize that their interest was marginal at best. They were indifferent to what he was saying into the camera.
Suddenly, Brynn recalled Rye’s cautionary words about what would happen after Richard Hunt received the drug.
Are you sure they’ll call the dogs off?
She now realized why the Hunts looked complacent and smug, and were comfortable with Nate making the recording. So many factors would prevent him from ever exploiting it. First, he wouldn’t have access to it. The camera belonged to them. But even if Nate did somehow obtain it, he would be hesitant to share it. With his overblown speech, he had hanged himself. Lastly, if he ever was foolish enough to threaten to expose them, Richard and Delores wouldn’t be beyond taking measures—extreme measures—to ensure that he didn’t.
The skin on the back of Brynn’s neck prickled. She looked again at the picture-perfect couple. Their attentiveness to Nate was feigned. He wasn’t their focus.
She was.
Nate picked up the syringe. “Are we ready?”
“Not quite.” Delores gracefully stood. “This is such a personal moment for Richard and me. I wondered if we might clear the room.”
“Excellent idea,” Nate said. He turned to Goliad and Timmy. “Gentlemen. Allow us some privacy, please.”
Delores looked at Brynn and smiled. “She goes with them.”
5:18 p.m.
Deputy Wilson helped Rye from the back seat of the squad car and warned him to keep his mouth shut.
Rawlins took the other two deputies aside and began by apologizing for nearly running them off the road. “I was afraid he would get away again.” He thumbed toward Rye over his shoulder.
He told them that the trespassing allegation would be added to the list of those they had on him, but that they needed Rye in Howardville in the morning and asked that he be remanded into their custody. “We, the FAA, and NTSB have got first dibs on him.”
The deputies weren’t swayed. The negotiation went back and forth for several minutes while Rye tried his best to look contrite. Eventually Rawlins won out. Still handcuffed, Rye was packed into the back seat of the SUV. Rawlins started the motor but let it idle as they watched the other car disappear behind a rise.
Rye was the first to speak. “What took you so fucking long?”
“We were halfway to Howardville,” Rawlins said. “Took time to turn around. It was pissing rain, and you’ve got your nerve to complain.”
“I was beginning to think you hadn’t understood my cryptic message.”
“How’d you pull it off?” Wilson asked from the passenger seat.
“Three-way on my cell phone. I went to recent calls, called you back with one tap. As expected, Timmy got suspicious, stopped me there. When he gave me the go-ahead to call the flight service, and I got them on the line, I merged the calls. He didn’t notice. I was afraid you’d start blabbing into the phone, and I’d be blown.”
“No, the message came through.”
“I packed as much info as I could into that conversation about the flight plan, hoping you’d catch on.”
“We understood.”
“I thought you might have ignored me again. Why warn me about Timmy and Lambert being at the Griffins’ house if you weren’t going to send help?”
“We tried,” Wilson said. “Full explanation to local PD took a long time. It finally reached the brass, but they were squeamish. They knew that when their officers showed up there, they would be on TV. Didn’t want to get a bad rap for busting up the dying girl’s party with the mayor, organized by a senator.
“By the time they mustered enough guts and manpower and sent a unit out to the house, there was no sign of any of you. Didn’t know what airport you were at, or what plane you’d flown. Couldn’t track your cell phone or Brynn O’Neal’s. I’m sure you have yourself to thank for that. Tried Dr. Lambert’s, but with the weather—”
“Okay, okay, that’s history,” Rye said. “Thanks for showing up here. Those two who arrested me are dirty. They work for Hunt. Come on, Rawlins. Get going.” He nodded toward the steering wheel.
“Get going where?”
“To the Hunts’ place. We’ve got to get Brynn out of there.”
The two exchanged a look before Rawlins turned back to him. “Look, Mallett, Wilson and me played your phone game, drove all the way back here and saved you from a couple of cops on the take, only so you could send us to fetch your girlfriend? Does she even want to be fetched? Or is she glad to be rid of you?”
Rye leaned forward. “She’s no doubt glad to be rid of me, but she’s in trouble. Timmy? Why do you think I dropped his name? He was holding a knife on her while I was playing that phone game! We gotta move it. Now!”
Neither leaped into action. Wilson said, “We know Richard Hunt and his wife to be liars. We caught them in one about your altercation with Timmy. But Hunt is still a U.S. senator. Last time we showed up at his house, we left with our tails between our legs. We won’t go busting in again until we know why.”
“There’s no time to explain,” Rye said. “It’ll take too long.”
“Then you’d better get started,” Rawlins said, folding his thick arms across his chest. “From the top, and don’t leave anything out. Otherwise, we’re not going anywhere except back to Howardville, and we’re taking you with us.”
Rye looked at the clock on the dash. Twenty-five minutes past five. He’d been separated from Brynn for more than an hour. An eternity. Timmy needed only a tenth of a second to kill her.
Rye started talking and made each word count.
He told it straight, even admitting to ways in which he’d tried to confound them. He told them about the GX-42. He told them about meeting Jake in the bar and how
he had come to his and Brynn’s rescue, twice.
“Leave him alone,” Rye said. “He didn’t know I was going to ‘trespass’ in his plane. He saw a pilot in trouble, he helped out. He would’ve done the same for any other aviator.”
“I doubt that,” Rawlins remarked. “You said he was starstruck.”
“I said no such thing.”
“Implied it. You said he’d heard of you in Afghanistan.”
“Airmen with time on their hands talk,” Rye said in a mumble, turning his head aside to look out the passenger window. It was raining again. The sky had turned stormy. He could no longer see the house on top of the hill.
Rawlins said, “Myra dug a little deeper on you and uncovered the details of what happened over there, learned about the crash of the plane you were supposed to be flying.”
“Myra’s a jewel.”
“Is that what’s the matter with you?”
Rye turned back to look at Rawlins. “Who said anything is the matter with me?”
Rawlins gave him a look. Wilson coughed behind his fist.
Rye cussed under his breath. “Okay, I carry around some shit; doesn’t everybody?”
“Way we heard it, you weren’t responsible.”
“Felt like it. I know I’m responsible for Brady. Weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have been there that night.”
“He doesn’t hold it against you. In fact, he wants to see you again tomorrow when you’re in town.”
Rye’s heart bumped. He looked at Rawlins. Was the deputy baiting him? He turned to Wilson.
“Brady’s doing good,” he said. “Stable condition.”
Rye turned back to Rawlins. “You asshole! You told me he died during surgery.”
“I told you he arrested. They worked on him, got him back. You hung up on me before I finished.”
Rye’s ears were ringing. “But he’s okay?”
“What part don’t you understand?” Rawlins said.
“Look, you son of a bitch, I’ve been dying a little myself over thinking that Brady was dead.”
“Well, he’s not.” Rawlins made an impatient motion. “Go on with your story.”
“Haven’t you heard enough?”
“What about Wes O’Neal?”
Rye sighed. “We got to his house while you were still there. He loaned us his car.” He paused, looked between them, and then admitted to switching out the license plates. “That’s hardly worse than a parking violation. Don’t go after him. He’s trying to make a go of it.” Again, he split an anxious look between them. “Can we roll now?”
“You’ve told us everything?”
“Yes, dammit.”
Everything except that he and Brynn had made love.
Made love?
He would review the terminology later, and in private. Right now, he had to impress upon them the potential danger she was in. “Y’all don’t like me. I get it. I royally fucked up your Thanksgiving.
“But Brynn is a dedicated doctor who’s been giving it her all, putting her reputation on the line, putting up with me, trying to save the life of a kid with blood cancer. Now if that sounds like criminal activity to you, God help you. But it sure as hell doesn’t sound like it to me.”
“According to you, Hunt’s getting the drug.”
“Right now.”
“So, that’s what they were after. Everybody will be happy. What do you think is going to happen to Dr. O’Neal? She’ll be disappointed, maybe, but why do you think she’s unsafe?”
“Because she tried to keep Hunt from getting it. He and the missus aren’t going to take that betrayal lying down. Plus, they can’t afford for anybody to find out about this. Any of it. Goliad is faithful to a fault. He’ll do whatever they tell him, including making sure that nobody lives to tell of it.”
Wilson looked skeptical. “I can’t see them actually ordering a person’s murder.”
“Bet you’ll change your mind if Brynn and Lambert turn up dead.”
Wilson said nothing to that.
“Even if that isn’t the plan,” Rye continued, “there’s Timmy, and Timmy is frigging psychotic. He may do something without being told to. For the hell of it. There’s something off about him, but I can’t nail it.”
“He’s a street kid with an attitude,” Rawlins said, “but, so far, all we’ve got on him is his fight with you. And honestly, if you’d hit me in the face with a fire extinguisher, and I’d had a knife…”
“Okay, Rawlins, point made, but—” Rye gnawed his lower lip. “That first night, in your office, I asked you why I would want to beat up Brady after he’d talked me down through the fog. Remember? You had no answer to that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. So here’s a question that I don’t have an answer for. If Timmy was up there to guarantee that Brynn returned with the drug that I was flying in, why in hell did he use that laser on me and risk a crash? What was his motivation?”
“Doesn’t need motivation,” Rawlins said. “He’s psycho. You said so yourself.”
“I guess.” Rye put his back to the door and began rubbing his wrists together, chafing against the unbreakable flex-cuffs. “But then today, when I offered to fly them back to Atlanta, shave off hours to get the drug to Hunt in time, Timmy didn’t jump on the idea. He’s scared of flying. That was real, but it’s like he didn’t…”
He stopped, squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated. “Like he didn’t care whether we got it back in time or not.” Suddenly he had it. “He wanted to crash me. Destroy the plane, destroy the drug. Right?” When neither said anything, he repeated it. “Right?”
“Why would he want to destroy it?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” By now, he was in a desperate struggle to get out of the flex-cuffs. “Get these goddamn things off me. I’m going up there.”
“I told you, we can’t go barging back in there without—”
“Fine. You stay. I’m going.”
Hands still bound, he groped for the door latch and lifted it. The door swung open. He tumbled out backward and landed hard on the pavement.
Chapter 37
5:33 p.m.
Goliad pointed Brynn toward an upholstered bench against the wall outside the sitting room from which she’d been expelled. “Why don’t you sit there while we wait?”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Sit down. Please.”
She sat.
Timmy took up a slouched position against the opposite wall. He produced a knife from wherever it had been secreted, exposed the blade, and began nonchalantly flipping it into the air, letting it turn end on end several times before catching it by the hilt.
Brynn tried to ignore him, but his pastime was unnerving.
Goliad must’ve thought so, too. He said, “Cut it out.”
Timmy stopped and pushed away from the wall. “I’m hungry. Is that old lady who works in the kitchen still here?”
“She was given the rest of the day off.”
Timmy made a face. “Well, I’m gonna scrounge.”
“Not now. They may need us.”
“I’m hungry, man. I’ve been to Tennessee and back.”
Goliad considered it, then said, “Don’t be long.”
Timmy ambled off in the direction of the kitchen.
Through the wall behind her, Brynn could hear muffled conversation in the sitting room but couldn’t understand what was being said.
“Is that drug going to cure him?”
Goliad’s question surprised her. Up till now, he hadn’t expressed any interest in the outcome of all this.
“The prospect is very good,” she replied. “No one will know for certain how effective it is until it’s tried.”
Goliad nodded thoughtfully. “The little girl, is she going to suffer? At the end, I mean.”
“Not if I can help it. But there’s nothing I can do about her family’s suffering.”
He stared at Brynn, then glanced toward the kitchen. “
I’m going to check on him. Don’t go anywhere. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
He left. Brynn checked the time. Only a few minutes had elapsed since she’d been banished from the sitting room, but it seemed much longer than the hands on her watch indicated. She wondered how far along Nate was in the process.
Had the syringe of GX-42 already been injected into the IV solution?
5:34 p.m.
When Goliad entered the commercial-size kitchen, Timmy was sitting on the countertop, bumping his heels against the cabinet door below, eating a banana. Goliad motioned him down. “Back to work.”
Timmy hopped off the counter and did a hook shot with the banana peel into the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You hang around ’cause you want to fuck her, don’t you?”
Goliad, who had already turned away, came back around. “What?”
“The boss lady.” Timmy made an obscene gesture with his tongue.
Goliad’s swollen face turned dark with anger.
Timmy chuckled and tapped the corner of his eye. “I see these things. I know.”
“You don’t know anything.” Goliad turned again to leave.
“There you’re wrong. I know you’re never going to get in Delores’s panties. And I also know where a kidney is. Right about here.”
He jabbed a stiletto into the right side of Goliad’s back all the way to the hilt. Goliad arched up and back. He staggered as he turned to face Timmy, who bugged out his eyes and whispered, “Boo!”
Goliad dropped to his knees in front of him, then fell facedown onto the polished tile floor. Timmy said, “Adios, amigo.”
Bending over Goliad, Timmy placed a hand in each of his armpits and dragged him across the floor, grunting. “Like a sack of cement.”
The walk-in pantry was enormous by most standards, but it barely accommodated Goliad’s large form. In order to get out after pulling Goliad in, Timmy had to carefully step around him.