Tailspin

by Sandra Brown

  “Please. Brady would loan you his pickup if he could.”

  She was looking at him with such appeal, he could tell that it was important to her that he accept. He bobbed his head and gave her a gruff okay. “Thanks. I won’t keep it for long.”

  “For as long as you need it, it’s yours to use. I’ll go get the key.” She turned to Brynn. “Will you still be here when I come down?”

  “I’m afraid not.” She motioned toward the entrance. Wilson was just pulling his car to a stop. “My ride is back. I’m glad I caught you, though. I didn’t want to leave town without checking on your husband’s condition. Please tell him I wish him a speedy recovery. But not to rush it,” she added with mock sternness.

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Brynn reached into her coat pocket. “I wrote down my cell number. I would appreciate knowing how he’s coming along.” Marlene took the slip of paper from Brynn, then clasped her hand as before. “Thank you again for what you did for Brady last night.”

  “It was precious little. I regret not having had the pleasure of meeting him when he was conscious.”

  “Maybe you could come back with Rye.”

  He and Brynn gave each other a fleeting look, but neither made a commitment.

  Sensing the awkwardness she had unwittingly created, Marlene gave Brynn a quick goodbye hug, then told Rye she would soon be back with her car key. The elevator door opened as soon as she pushed the button.

  Then he and Brynn were alone in the lobby. Even the woman at the sliding window had deserted her post.

  Brynn looked up at him, but not directly. Somewhere in the general vicinity of his chin. She said, “I guess this is goodbye.”

  “I guess.” He looked out at the sheriff’s unit. “Wilson’s chauffeuring you all the way to Atlanta?”

  “No. The Ford dealership here in town leases cars. Of course it’s closed today, but, under the circumstances, Wilson thinks the owner might open long enough for me to get a car. But I hated to call him so early on a holiday. I’m waiting until nine o’clock.”

  He nodded to all that but remarked on none of it.

  After the short lapse, she asked, “You’re going out to the crash site?”

  “Yeah.” He looked toward the entrance again. The vapor from Wilson’s tailpipe was adding ghosts to the fog. “Maybe this stuff will burn off soon, and I can get some pictures on my phone.”

  “They won’t be pretty pictures.”

  “’Fraid not.”

  “I’m really sorry about the plane.”

  “Me, too.” He repositioned the strap of his flight bag on his shoulder and tried his damnedest not to notice the strand of hair that kept slipping from behind her ear and curving against her cheek like a black satin question mark. “You’d better not keep Johnny Law waiting any longer.”

  She looked outside and smiled. “I think he’s a little ticked for having to babysit me.”

  Rye noted the time. “Less than two hours till nine.”

  “He’s offered to take me to breakfast while we wait. Maybe a hot meal will improve his mood.” Coming back to Rye, she said, “Well…” and stuck out her right hand.

  He looked down at it, hesitated, then took it. “I hope your cancer patient makes it.”

  With that, her eyes met his head-on. “Thank you. Very much. So do I.”

  He sensed there was hidden meaning in her words, but he couldn’t just stand there gazing into her rain-colored eyes in search of it, so he gave her hand a cursory shake and released it as though it had stung his palm.

  She backed away several steps, then turned around and headed for the door. However, she hadn’t covered but a few yards before she stopped and turned back. “There is one question I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  He rolled his shoulders in a motion of assent.

  “You said, ‘They did what they came to do.’”

  This time he rolled his shoulders to indicate puzzlement. Since it was entirely faked, he added a furrowed brow to help convey perplexity.

  “When we discovered Brady, you said, ‘They did what they came to do.’ You were referring to his attackers, correct?”

  “I don’t remember saying that,” he lied. “But, yeah, I was referring to whoever did it.”

  “You used the plural because there were two sets of footprints.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So if this man who quarreled with Brady was the culprit, he must’ve brought along an accomplice.”

  “Looks like.”

  “Did you mention that to Deputy Rawlins?”

  “Slipped my mind. And, anyway, he’s the detective. He should’ve thought of it himself.”

  “Hmm.” She nodded agreement. “At the time you said that, it sounded as though you had an inkling of who they might be.”

  “I didn’t. Still don’t.” That was true.

  “Or that you had an idea of what their motive was.”

  “No clue.” Also true.

  Her doubtful gaze held steady on him and, becoming impatient with it, he said, “I don’t remember saying that, and I don’t remember what I was thinking. I was talking off the top of my head. Rambling.”

  She gave a skeptical laugh. “You have certain character traits which become immediately obvious to anyone who meets you. Rambling isn’t among them.”

  She continued looking at him as though trying to will him to say more. When he didn’t, she turned away and went through the automatic doors. They closed behind her.

  His gut felt hollowed out.

  He was hungry, was all.

  The elevator arrived. Marlene White alighted, dangling a key fob. “It’s parked in the lot across the drive,” she told him. “Second row. Blue Honda. If you press this button—”

  She broke off when she realized that his attention wasn’t on her or the fob, but on Brynn. She climbed into the passenger seat of Wilson’s car. As they drove away, Marlene said, “Such a sweet young woman.”

  “Yeah.” The taillights disappeared into the fog. He came back to Marlene. “I mean, I don’t know her. But she seems okay.”

  “It’s a miracle how well she turned out, considering her daddy.”

  “I heard mention of him. Wes?”

  “Quite a character.”

  “He’s well known by everybody in the sheriff’s office. Is he a cop?”

  Marlene White looked at him, stunned. “Cop? Goodness no. He’s a convict.”

  Chapter 10

  7:29 a.m.

  Brynn and Deputy Wilson were among the handful of diners in the only café in town that was open that morning. A temporary sign taped to the door had notified potential customers that breakfast would be served from seven until ten-thirty and then the café would close for Thanksgiving.

  A younger man was slumped in one of the booths and appeared to be nursing a hangover. Brynn linked the loner at the counter to the semi that was parked on the shoulder of the highway. She overheard a man in another booth ask the waitress what the special Thanksgiving breakfast consisted of. She told him that a slice of apple pie was added to the Going Whole Hog menu item. Both he and his companion placed their orders for that.

  Except for the waitress, Brynn was the only woman in the place, making her feel conspicuous, and even more so for being seated with a uniformed sheriff’s deputy. She was aware of speculative glances cast their way. Even the young man with the hangover roused himself long enough to look them over.

  She toyed with a stack of pancakes and watched Wilson demolish three sunny-side-up eggs and a half-pound slab of smoked ham.

  Their meal took all of twelve minutes off the clock.

  As the deputy pushed his plate aside, Brynn said, “You don’t have to wait with me. I don’t want to keep you from any plans you have for the day.”

  “My ex has the kids. They’ve gone to her mother’s. Actually, I’m relieved to be missing that.”

  She smiled across at him, because that’s what he seemed to expect.

  But he did
look down at his wristwatch and add, “It probably wouldn’t hurt if you called him before nine o’clock. He’s a nice guy, and I feel sure he’ll be willing to help you out. But I’m betting he would just as soon get the business over and done with before the ball games start.”

  Brynn figured that it was Wilson who would just as soon have the business concluded before the kickoffs. “I would like to get underway sooner rather than later.”

  “So you’ve said. And Dr. Lambert stressed how time-sensitive those blood samples are.”

  He eased back and looked under the table to where she’d sat the box on the floor when they’d claimed the booth. “You think one of them will match good enough to be a donor?”

  Unlike his partner, Rawlins, Wilson had pleasant features and a benign smile. His interest in the samples seemed sincere. Brynn experienced a twinge of guilt over being less than completely straightforward with him.

  In all truthfulness, she said, “We’re hoping for the best possible outcome.”

  “Must be tough, being a doctor, having a patient you can’t cure.”

  “Tougher than you can imagine.”

  “I guess it’s like me having an unsolved case. It gnaws at you.”

  “That’s a fitting analogy.”

  He nodded. “Well, I don’t want you to be held up any longer. Why don’t I call this guy for you right now and give him the skinny?”

  “The request might be better received coming from a law officer. It would seem more official.”

  That must’ve stroked his ego. He smiled at her as he reached for his phone. “I’ll ask him to meet us at the dealership at eight o’clock. How’s that sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  He made the call. By the time he disconnected a few minutes later, a plan was in place. “He can leave right now. He’ll drive a car over here and pick you up, if you don’t mind dropping him back at the car lot on your way out of town.”

  “Of course not. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Should take him fifteen, twenty minutes to get here. Then you’ll be on your way. You should let Dr. Lambert know. Relieve his mind.”

  “Good idea.” She pulled out her phone and sent Nate a brief text.

  After Wilson settled the bill, Brynn draped her coat over her arm and reached beneath the table for the box. “I need to use the ladies’ room, so I’m going to excuse myself. By the time I come out, the man should be here with the car. You don’t need to hang around any longer.”

  He put up token resistance as he slid out of the booth, but she was insistent. At the door, they shook hands.

  “Good luck with your patient, Dr. O’Neal. If I’m ever terminal, I hope my doctor is as dedicated as you.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say.”

  He put on his hat, brushed the brim of it with his index finger, and left.

  Brynn followed a sign with a red arrow and the word “TOILET” stenciled on it. It led her down a long, barren hallway that ended with a right-angle turn. The restroom was on her left. She locked the door behind her.

  After using the commode and washing her hands, she did what repair she could to her dishevelment by applying a lip gloss she’d stuck in a coat pocket before leaving Atlanta. The improvement was slight, but it was the best she could do. She picked up the box, lifted her coat off the hook on the back of the door, and flipped up the lock.

  From the other side, the door was thrust open, and Rye Mallett barged in. He reached behind him, shut the door, and locked it.

  Astonishment sent Brynn stumbling backward several steps. She dropped her coat but recovered immediately, and shock became outrage. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I want to talk to you.” He bore down on her until he had her backed up against the sink. “I want to talk to you about your father.”

  “My father?”

  “Dear ol’ dad. That Brynn! My, how you’ve grown scene had led me to believe you were well known because your old man was the sheriff or something. Turns out Wes O’Neal—”

  “I know his name.”

  “—is a thief! By trade.”

  She took a series of short, shallow breaths. “Who told you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Point is, he’s a crook, in and out of county jail so many times, they considered putting a revolving door on his cell. You were a regular at the sheriff’s office. Staff there played dolls with you while waiting on CPS to send someone for you. You used to cry when they tore you away from people like Myra. You—”

  “All right,” she snapped. “You’ve made your point.”

  “Aw, no. I’m just getting started.”

  Although she didn’t think he could possibly get any closer to her, he crowded in. To keep from touching, she had to arch over the sink. “Get back.” She pushed against his chest with her left hand. “I don’t know what you think—”

  “What I think is that you’re following in Daddy’s footsteps, upholding the family tradition.” He thumped the lid of the metal box tucked under her right arm. “What’s in the box?”

  “You saw what was in it!”

  “What I saw, what Rawlins and Wilson saw, was a dog-and-pony show performed by you and your partner in crime, the self-esteemed Dr. Lambert.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hell you don’t. I was watching you. When Lambert said, ‘accommodate them,’ you looked like you’d swallowed a bug. You were as surprised as the three of us when Rawlins raised the lid and all we saw were tubes of blood. If that’s what they are.”

  “That’s exactly what they are, and I wasn’t at all surprised.”

  “Right, more like disbelieving, holding yourself together while Lambert dazzled us with bullshit.”

  “Everything he said was scientifically sound.”

  “Deliberately scientific. Intentionally over our heads. Meant to distract.”

  “You’re delusional. How do you know what I was feeling, thinking? Are you a mind reader?”

  “Lip reader.”

  “What?”

  “Cockpits can be noisy. I learned to read a copilot’s lips. Nine, four, three, two.” He placed his hands on his hips, thrust his face to within inches of hers, and repeated the numbers in a taunting whisper. “Nine, four, three, two.”

  She braced her hands on the ledge of the sink behind her in order to keep her balance. “The lock.”

  “The lock. I read your lips as you rolled each number into place. Missed the last one. What is it?”

  He’d read her lips? That was almost as unsettling as him being only one digit short of knowing the combination to the padlock. His eyes were like magnets now, holding her in thrall.

  But she looked away, turned her head aside, and tried to regain her equilibrium. “Would you give me some space, please?”

  He eased away from her and took a half step back.

  She took a few short breaths. “How did you bump your head?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got a bump at your hairline.” She reached up to touch it, but he yanked his head back.

  “Banged it on impact. It’s fine. Did you get a car?”

  She was still dazed by his sudden reappearance and confounded as to how she was going to deal with his fresh knowledge of the box and its contents. Her thoughts were darting helter-skelter, overwhelming her with calamitous implications. She willed them to slow down and concentrate on what he had asked her. In stops and starts, she explained the arrangements that had been made.

  “Wilson’s not coming back?”

  “No. He was as relieved to ditch me as I was to be ditched.” Her mind was beginning to clear, and with clarity came questions. “How did you know we were here?”

  “You mentioned that Wilson was taking you to breakfast, and the lady running the admissions desk at the ER told me this is the only place open today. I drove over in Marlene White’s car, saw you through the window, parked, and waited to see what would happen. When Wilson left without you,
and you didn’t return to the table, I hurried around back. Found the delivery door unlocked.”

  “Very resourceful.”

  “Determined.”

  “Determined to chase me down? Why?”

  “Why do you think? I want that number. I want to take another look, see what contraband I flew in here last night.”

  “It’s not contraband. It’s blood samples.”

  “Then what’s the harm in giving me the number?”

  “It’s supposed to be kept airtight.”

  “Good argument, just the right amount of logic, but I don’t believe you.”

  She glared at him and remained silent.

  “Okay, have it your way,” he said. “How long before the car man gets here?”

  “Wilson estimated fifteen to twenty minutes, half of which have elapsed.”

  He glanced behind him at the locked door. “Not long then before you’ll be missed,” he said, musing aloud.

  “Missed? I won’t be missed at all, Mr. Mallett.”

  “From here on, why don’t you call me Rye?”

  “I’m happy to. Go to hell, Rye. But first get out of my way. I’m leaving. If you don’t allow me to leave, I’ll—”

  She didn’t even have to finish before he raised his hands in surrender, stepped aside, and tilted his head toward the door. “You want to go, go.”

  She looked toward the locked door, then back at him. “What’s the hitch?”

  “No hitch. Bye-bye. Been nice knowing you.”

  She stayed where she was. “Why the foreboding undertone?”

  “Did it sound foreboding?”

  “You know it did.”

  He shrugged. “It’s just that if you leave with only a Ford dealer to protect you, who knows what they might do.”

  “They? Who?”

  “The two guys in the corner booth. Both dressed in black suits. One tall, Hispanic, hard body, handsome devil. The other smaller, hyper, pointy nose, and ears like a fox. Did you notice them?”

  “They ordered apple pie with their Whole Hog breakfast. What have they got to do with me?”

  “You tell me, Dr. O’Neal.”

  “I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

  “No? Well, I have. Know when? As I was leaving the sheriff’s office. Know where? They were sitting in a black, late-model Mercedes, parked across the street and almost out of sight behind a hardware store, like they were keeping an eye on the place, like they were waiting for somebody besides me to come out.”