Tailspin

by Sandra Brown

  The spell was broken by two quick toots of a car horn. Jake had pulled in behind them. They had no choice except to brave the rain. Rye held the back seat door of Jake’s car for her; he got in front. Shaking rain out of his hair, he thanked Jake for meeting them on such short notice. “How was your flight?”

  “Business as usual.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d be back this early or not.”

  “Barely. Haven’t been home yet.” He was still in uniform, except that he’d loosened his necktie.

  “You up for a quick round-trip flight to Knoxville?”

  “Now?”

  “Soon as we can get wheels up. We’ll pay you, of course.”

  “It’s not the money,” Jake said. “Hell, I would do it gladly. But I have to fly again this evening. Rules say I need eight hours in the sack.”

  “I know all about rules,” Rye grumbled. “They’re killing me.”

  “I could provide taxi service if you still need it.”

  Rye shook his head. “No, if you can’t fly us yourself, what I really need is your Bonanza.”

  Chapter 33

  7:49 a.m.

  Jake was taken aback, but he didn’t respond to Rye. He concentrated on getting them out of the congested parking lot. He sped across a heavily trafficked boulevard and pulled up to a restaurant that didn’t open until five o’clock. They had that lot to themselves. Jake put the car in park but left the motor running.

  “You need my plane? You got it.”

  “Not that simple.” Rye looked at his wristwatch. “This negotiation needs to be quick, but let me emphasize that you should think hard before agreeing.”

  Then Rye laid out the basics of the situation. “We need to fly to Knoxville. I’m omitting the details for your own protection. Less you know, the better.”

  “I picked up on that last night. Save the explanations. You’ve got the loan of my plane. You only had to ask.”

  “Not a loan. I pay you.”

  “Cover the gas, that’s all.”

  “If you don’t let me pay for it, no deal. It needs to be a charter.”

  “You can return me a favor sometime.”

  “I’ll do that anyway, but I’m paying you.” He paused. “Shames me to say it, but the FAA and NTSB are on my case.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Nothing official yet, but they’re conducting an investigation.”

  “Into what?”

  “What I consider to be a minor crash. Their opinion may differ. I wasn’t drunk, wasn’t using drugs, wasn’t running drugs. I’m not breaking the law now, only outrunning it to avoid a tie-up that Brynn doesn’t have time for.”

  Rye looked over his shoulder at her before continuing. “I know your offer to help is earnest, Jake, and I appreciate it. But these aren’t small considerations. If lawmen come looking for us, don’t stick your neck out. Tell the truth. I was licensed, instrument rated, my money was good, and that’s all you asked. Tell them you sensed we were in a jam, you just didn’t realize how serious it was.”

  “How serious is it?”

  “Serious. Because here’s the other thing. We’ve crossed swords with people in high places, and they have knee-crackers and throat-slitters at their beck and call. I shit you not.” He held up his left hand so Jake could see the cuts across his knuckles.

  “I’m lucky the fingers are still attached. So, if someone who doesn’t have a badge comes asking after us, lie your ass off. Don’t challenge a thing they say. You’re as dumb as dirt, as innocent as the day you were born, you never heard of us.”

  “What happens when you get to Knoxville?”

  “As far as you’re concerned? Nothing. I fly your plane back. It should take only a few hours to cover the round trip.” He took a breath. “Look, Jake, any other time, I wouldn’t ask a stranger—”

  “I’m a stranger to you; you’re no stranger to me.”

  Rye chuffed a bitter laugh. “About that legend stuff, I’m not the guy you think I am, not the man you heard stories about, most of which were barracks bullshit. The hero doesn’t exist. Never did. But I swear I can fly the plane, and I’ll return it to you in one piece, not a scratch on it.”

  “I’m not worried about the plane. It’s the two of you. The thought of cutthroats being after you—”

  Rye interrupted. “If you’re feeling any hesitation, say no. Don’t do it.”

  “I’m not saying no. I only wish you’d let me help more.”

  “The help we need is the use of your plane.”

  Jake turned to Brynn. “Life or death, you said.”

  “Yes. And time is running out.”

  He looked at Rye. “Another rescue?”

  Rye hesitated, then said, “Something like that.”

  “You always did volunteer for the most dangerous missions. And that’s not barracks bullshit. It’s a matter of record.”

  Rye didn’t say anything to that.

  “You’ve got my plane,” Jake said.

  Rye reached across the console. “Thank you.”

  As they shook hands, the other pilot gave a dry laugh. “Don’t thank me. I just flew in from KC. Have you looked at the radar?”

  8:28 a.m.

  Jake rented hangar space at an FBO twenty miles west of Atlanta. It was controlled, but Rye would be the only pilot flying in or out any time soon.

  When the three of them came in, dripping rainwater, two corporate jet pilots waiting out the weather were sprawled in armchairs in front of a TV, watching a football game being played someplace where the sun was shining. The woman at the desk was engrossed in a paperback novel.

  Brynn and Rye stayed in the background while Jake explained to her their determination to take off, despite the weather. Brynn overheard the words “Family medical emergency” and “may be their last chance to say goodbye.”

  Rye filed his flight plan. He and Jake put the plane through its preflight check. Because of the rain, Jake arranged for them to board inside the hangar and have the plane towed out.

  When all was ready, Brynn hugged Jake goodbye. “You’re doing a tremendous service. Some day I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Good luck with your patient.”

  Rye thanked him again, but issued a final word of warning. “Remember what I told you. If anyone comes around asking, cover your ass.”

  Jake slapped him on the shoulder and wished them a safe flight.

  On their taxi, rain bombarded the windshield. Poised at the end of the runway, Rye reached over and squeezed Brynn just above her knee. She jumped. He smiled over her startled reaction and spoke above the engine noise. “Scared?”

  She shook her head.

  “Liar.”

  He’d noticed her white-knuckling the edge of the copilot’s seat. Although the cockpit view of the elements was intimidating, she preferred sitting beside Rye to being in one of the four passenger seats behind the cockpit.

  Solemnly, Rye looked directly into her eyes. “Brynn. This is what I do.”

  His confidence calmed her. “I wouldn’t be here with any other pilot.”

  He held her stare, then verbally acknowledged the clearance he’d received in his headset.

  She recalled what he’d told her last night in the bar about the anticipation he felt before each takeoff. I still can’t wait.

  When he gave it the throttle, she experienced the same level of exhilaration.

  9:12 a.m.

  Goliad would rather have taken another drubbing than return to the Hunts’ mansion with nothing to show for his efforts except failure.

  The housekeeper admitted him into the house. “They’ve been waiting for you to show up. They’re having breakfast. I’ll tell them you’re here.”

  Dispassionately, she asked if he would like an ice pack for his nose. It was swollen and red and, unless he underwent corrective surgery, would probably be permanently misshapen. But he declined the ice pack. Swelling nose and eyes were the least of his worries as he made his way to
the sitting room of the master suite, where private meetings were customarily conducted.

  He didn’t have to wait long before Richard strode in, Delores close behind. She was immaculately dressed, perfectly groomed, but, as during any high-stakes situation, the air around her seemed to crackle with her unique brand of energy.

  The senator walked straight up to Goliad, his expression demanding. “I gave your disappearing act the benefit of the doubt. I told Delores to relax, that you must be hot on the trail of Dr. O’Neal. But here you are, and no doctor.”

  “I located her, but she managed to get away.”

  “What about that?” Richard asked of his nose.

  “Mallett. With the help of a corrupt cop, I tracked them to a hotel. It was late. Since nothing happened overnight, I saw no reason to disturb you. This morning, I intercepted them as they were leaving.” He described the encounter. “I hoped to talk the doctor out of it without creating any trouble.”

  “Obviously she didn’t go for that idea.”

  “She saw an opportunity to run, and did.” He told them about getting caught in the elevator. “There was nothing I could do until I closed in on Mallett at the exit. He stunned me. By the time I got outside, all I could see were their taillights. I didn’t get a plate number on the car.”

  “‘There was nothing I could do’?” Delores repeated. “I don’t accept that, Goliad.”

  “There was nothing I could do without the risk of implicating you, ma’am. Or you, senator.”

  “I would have denounced you,” Richard said. “That’s always been our agreement. If you’re caught committing a crime, you’re on your own.”

  “That’s still our agreement,” Goliad said. “On any other day, I would have shot both of them up there on the seventh floor. If caught, I would have expected you to disavow any knowledge of it. Today, however, I thought you would rather avoid any and all dealings with the police.”

  “He’s right, Richard,” Delores said. “Investigators would have linked him to us like that.” She snapped her fingers. “We can’t have any more policemen showing up at our gate, asking questions, probing. Today of all days, discretion is essential.”

  “Discretion?” The senator turned to her. “That’s a curious word to use in light of what’s happening as we speak.”

  “That’s foolproof, darling. The inevitable will happen. It has no connection to us, except in recognition of our timely benevolence to the dying child and her family. It’s the best press we could possibly hope for.”

  Goliad could feel the tissue around his eyes getting puffier by the minute. His nose was throbbing. The discomfort was distracting, but that’s not why he was having trouble following their thread. “I’m sorry. What am I missing?”

  Delores smiled up at him. “While you were chasing after Dr. O’Neal through a hotel, a better plan was hatched and implemented.”

  “By who?”

  “Of all people,” she said with a light laugh, “Timmy.”

  Goliad looked between them to make certain that they were serious, that he’d heard correctly. Last night, they had treated Timmy like a leper they couldn’t wait to get out of their home. Now, they looked smugly pleased with him.

  Richard consulted the clock on the mantel. “We should be hearing soon.”

  “Hearing what?” Goliad asked.

  Delores said, “That our problem has been taken care of.”

  10:02 a.m.

  The weather around Knoxville was no better than it had been in Atlanta, but Rye made a perfect landing through ponderous rain at a municipal airport located on the fringes of the bedroom community in which the Griffins lived. As at the other airfield, there was little activity. At one end of the lobby, two men were playing cards. Another was asleep in a chair.

  An older man was manning the desk. While Rye conferred with him, Brynn called an Uber car to take them to the Griffins’ home.

  “He’ll be here in five to seven minutes,” she told Rye when he rejoined her. “You have time for this.” She passed him a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks. Did you call the Griffins?”

  “I’ve wrestled with it, but decided not to.”

  “Still afraid that letting them know will jinx it?”

  “Silly, I know.”

  “Not silly. Pilots are superstitious, too.” He took a sip of coffee. “Once there, you’ll be ready to roll?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Griffin signed the consent forms when we applied for compassionate use, but I’ll go over everything with them again.” She began explaining the steps she would take but broke off when she noticed that Rye was listening with only half an ear. She was stuck with a sudden realization. “You’re not coming with me.”

  He looked down at her half-empty cup. “Finished with that?”

  Dumbly she handed it to him. He carried it along with his over to a trash can. When he came back he said, “No, I’m not going with you. But I’ll stick around here until I’ve heard from you that you’re inside the house and that all is good.”

  “You have plenty of time to make that flight to Columbus this evening.”

  “No rush to make that.” He told her the extent of his last conversation with Dash. She was flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I needed some time to absorb the shock.”

  “I could tell when you got back in the car that his call had made you angry.”

  “At first,” he admitted. “But I can’t really fault Dash. This could impact his livelihood.”

  “You meet with the accident investigators tomorrow?”

  “Early. They’re not screwing around. It’s up to them to decide how reckless and irresponsible I was.”

  “You weren’t reckless and irresponsible.”

  “They may think otherwise.”

  “This is serious, then.”

  “Serious. Not life-threatening.”

  “But it is, Rye. It’s threatening to your life.”

  He held her gaze, then shifted it beyond her. “There’s your ride.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Please come, Rye. I want to talk to you some more about this.”

  “What good will talking do?”

  “All right, we won’t talk about it. Just come. You only have to stay long enough for me to introduce you to Violet and her family. They’ll want to thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary.”

  “I understand completely that you want to get Jake’s plane back, but surely one hour won’t make a difference.”

  “That’s not what you’ve been telling everyone else.”

  “I haven’t slept with anyone else!”

  Then she was struck with another realization, this one like a slap to the face. She gave a mirthless laugh. “Of course. What’s wrong with me that I didn’t catch on sooner? It’s because we’ve slept together that you are so eager to part ways.”

  He didn’t say anything, only assumed a familiar air of impassivity.

  “Or could it be that you’re afraid to come face-to-face with a sick little girl? Afraid that you might actually be touched, experience a human emotion, feel something?”

  “That’s not why.”

  “Then why?”

  “This is your show, Brynn. Go be the star of it.”

  She covered her heart with her hand. “Oh, that’s very sweet. You’re staying away for my sake.” She dismissed that notion with another sardonic laugh. “Why don’t you admit it? You’re a little glad that you have that meeting tomorrow morning. It gives you a good excuse to cut and run.”

  “I just don’t see the point of dragging this out.”

  “Nor do I,” she snapped. “I have a life to save, and it isn’t yours. You’re a lost cause. You’re hell-bent on flying straight into the heart of guilt and unhappiness. Until the day it kills you. Well, have at it.” She motioned toward Jake’s plane out on the tarmac. “Don’t let me hold you up any longer.”

  10:09 a.m.

  She pushed through the door and
didn’t look back. She got into the car. It drove away.

  Someone behind Rye snuffled. “That went well.”

  He turned. One of the pilots who’d been playing cards was standing behind him, grinning. Apparently he’d overheard at least some of what Brynn had said.

  “Fuck off.” Rye nudged him aside and ignored the epithets muttered in his wake as he walked toward the pilots’ lounge. His cell phone dinged, indicating he’d gotten a text. It was from Dash. Didn’t give your number, but IMPORTANT u call!!! The message was followed by a phone number.

  Rye didn’t feel like talking to anybody, but if one of the federal agents was trying to reach him regarding tomorrow’s meeting, he figured he should start sucking up now. He dialed the number.

  “Rawlins.”

  “Oh, fabulous,” Rye said. “My day is officially made.”

  “Don’t hang up.”

  “Name me one good reason.”

  “We impressed on your pal Dash how important it was.”

  “What did you threaten him with? A shakedown by the FAA and NTSB? Thanks for that, by the way. If they revoke my license, if they even suspend it, I’m going to make your life a misery.”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I think you will. It’s about Dr. Lambert.”

  As though asking after an old friend, Rye said, “How is Nate?”

  “That’s the point, wiseass. He pulled a disappearing act similar to Dr. O’Neal’s. Not at his office. Not at the hospital. Hadn’t even checked in. Last place Wilson and I saw him was at the Hunts’ estate. Called it. Housekeeper told us they’d been trying to reach Lambert, too.”

  “Are you getting to the good part? Soon, I hope?”

  “Lambert owns a condo in a ritzy high-rise. We checked with building staff. The doctor had a visitor late last night. Identified himself as Goliad.”

  “My, my. He gets around.”

  “Yes, he does. We learned through APD about the fracas at the hotel early this morning.”

  “Damn security cameras are taking the fun out of everything.”

  “We retrieved your flight bag.”

  “Thanks. Bring it to the meeting tomorrow morning.”