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.