Tailspin

by Sandra Brown

  “Hey!” Timmy whipped out a knife.

  “I have to make sure the door is shut properly,” Rye said. “Unless you’re okay with being the first one to fall out if you didn’t do it right.”

  Timmy leaned back so Rye could reach the door, but he kept the knife unsheathed, tapping the flat of the blade against his thigh. After making sure the door was secure, Rye strapped himself in.

  Timmy said, “Don’t try anything tricky.”

  “Or what? You’ll knife me? Killing the pilot wouldn’t be a very smart move, would it?”

  “No, which is why I would knife your girlfriend instead. Not kill her. Just make her bleed a lot.”

  Rye didn’t respond to that. But as the plane lifted off the runway, he said, “Oh, hell.”

  Timmy looked at him with alarm. “What?”

  “I forgot to take my meds.”

  4:04 p.m.

  As Rye had predicted, he had to dodge several storm cells, which had added time to their flight. Their descent had been bumpy, but he executed a smooth landing and was now taxiing toward the far end of the runway, where, through the window of the plane, Brynn could see a vehicle waiting. It looked like something used by the Secret Service.

  Nate lamented the sad state of his designer suit, which was only semi-dry after having been rained on. “I hate to arrive in this soggy condition.”

  Brynn couldn’t stomach Nate’s vanity in light of her defeat, which was a solid and unrelenting pressure against her heart. Throughout the entire ordeal, she had clung to the premise that until the drug was coursing through Richard Hunt’s bloodstream, there was still a chance for Violet to get it. Her optimism now seemed incredibly naïve. How could she possibly have succeeded against such a juggernaut?

  Even worse than being vanquished was knowing that Violet felt abandoned by her.

  When they reached the end of the runway, Rye turned the plane around, so that the right side, on which they would deplane, was facing the long, black SUV. Goliad was standing beside it. As soon as Rye killed the engine and the propeller began to wind down, Goliad approached the plane. He opened the doors to the passenger cabin from the outside, looked in, and motioned Nate out. He alighted with a bounce in his step.

  Brynn ignored the hand Goliad extended to assist her down, and climbed out on her own. Timmy walked down the wing from the copilot’s seat.

  Rye came last. When he reached the ground, he squared off with Goliad.

  After assessing the damage he’d done to Goliad’s face early that morning, he said, “I hope that hurts as bad as it looks.”

  Goliad withstood Rye’s goading with characteristic stoicism. “I would enjoy repaying you, but Senator and Mrs. Hunt are waiting.”

  “Then let’s get going.” Rye took only one step toward the SUV before Goliad flattened his hand firmly against his chest. “You’re not coming.”

  Brynn’s pulse spiked. She looked at Rye with alarm and could tell that he didn’t like that arrangement any more than she did. “Lambert said the Hunts were looking forward to meeting me.”

  “Lambert was wrong.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Nate said. “Delores told me herself—”

  One baleful look from Goliad shut him up. Going back to Rye, Goliad said, “This runway is private property. The Hunts reported your landing to the sheriff’s department, who reported it to the local FAA office. Turns out, the agency is already familiar with you. You’re meeting with an investigator tomorrow about that crash up in Howardville. Add this trespassing matter, and you have a lot to answer for. Starting now.”

  He tipped his head. They all looked in that direction. A police car was speeding up the intersecting road toward them, lights flashing.

  Rye whipped off his sunglasses and took a step toward Goliad. “You gotta be kidding.”

  “Kidding? No. The FAA didn’t think it was funny, either. You can’t charm, trick, or talk your way out of this one, Mallett. You’re over.”

  The squad car, with the sheriff’s department seal on the side, came to a halt beside the SUV. Two uniformed deputies got out. As they approached the group, one said, “Rye Mallett?”

  “Me.”

  “We’ve been looking for you since last night. Had people chasing all over the city, running down cell phones in trash cans and such. And here you are, landed in our backyard.”

  The second deputy said. “More accurately, the senator’s backyard. He’s filed a formal complaint of trespassing.”

  “And I filed a flight plan,” Rye fired back.

  “We know. We called the flight service ourselves soon as we saw you touch down. The guy you talked to remembers you bragging about the red carpet treatment you’d get upon arrival.”

  “My point exactly. The Hunts knew I was coming.”

  “But without invitation,” the deputy said. “They’ve got their own jet and two pilots on staff.” He gave Rye a scornful once-over. “Why would they resort to using your services?”

  “This is absurd!” Brynn exclaimed. She spun around to Nate. “You know this is a farce. You made the arrangements. Do something, say something.”

  His eyes were cool, calculating. “At your urging, I agreed to fly with him, Brynn. But I don’t know anything about aviation rules and regulations. If he’s in violation of them, that’s hardly my fault.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “In good conscience, you can’t let his happen, Nate.”

  But apparently he could. Goliad motioned him toward the SUV. “The Hunts are waiting for you, Dr. Lambert.” Without an instant of hesitation, Nate strutted to the vehicle and climbed up into it.

  Goliad took Brynn’s elbow. She jerked it free. “I’m not going.”

  “The Hunts requested to see you,” Goliad said. “Specifically.”

  “I don’t give a damn what the Hunts requested. Specifically. I’m not leaving until this matter is settled. Rye flew to this airstrip with the Hunts’ full knowledge, permission, and gratitude.”

  The two deputies looked at each other, then came back to her. One said, “That’s not what we were told, miss.”

  “Then they lied. Mr. Mallett didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Goliad moved closer to her. “Maybe your father would vouch for him.”

  The veiled threat, softly spoken, hit Brynn like a freight train. Her lips parted, but only a thread of breath escaped. No words.

  Goliad added, “A deputy could be dispatched to pick him up. His parole officer would be notified, of course.” Through the slits of his swollen lids, his eyes were implacable.

  She looked at Rye and made a gesture of helplessness.

  “It’s okay. Go. I can take care of this.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t stick your neck out for me. I’ll be gone tomorrow anyway, remember?” To punctuate that, he put his sunglasses back on, blocking her from seeing into his eyes. Despite his softly spoken words as he buckled her seat belt, this was another shutdown, another goodbye.

  Goliad took her arm again, and this time she didn’t have it within herself to resist. She got into the SUV. As Timmy scooted in beside her in the back seat, he said, “Ohhh. You gonna miss him?” He made smooching noises close to her ear.

  She ignored his mockery. To respond, even with as little as a dirty look, would require energy she no longer had. Her fighting spirit had been drained dry.

  4:17 p.m.

  Rye would have fought tooth and nail to keep Brynn out of that SUV, if not for Goliad’s threat regarding Wes. Whether Brynn admitted it or not, she loved the scoundrel. She had looked stricken at the thought of him and his parole being placed in jeopardy.

  Rye knew if he acted unmoved and detached, she would believe it. He could tell by her hurt expression that he’d been convincing. He would apologize later. First he had to get through to these deputies that he’d been set up and that Brynn’s situation was precarious.

  As the SUV pulled away, he turned to them. “Have you talked to a Deputy Wilson or Rawlins? From Howar
dville? They’re up to speed on what’s really happening here. Dr. O’Neal may be in danger.”

  “In danger from you. We know. That’s why the Howardville SO put out a BOLO on you two last night after you abducted her from a garage.”

  “Abducted? No. Listen. A lot has happened since then. Brynn’s life was threatened today. That little guy, looks like a fox? He’s been holding her at knifepoint all afternoon. Lambert is in just as much danger, only he can’t see past his own ego. No love lost between him and me, but I’m afraid for him, too. I just didn’t let on now because—”

  He broke off, realizing that, for all the reaction he was getting from them, he had just as well have been speaking a lost language. Neither appeared alarmed by what he was telling them. Neither had even blinked. That’s when it hit him: They were on Hunt’s under-the-table payroll.

  If he implicated the senator in any wrongdoing, he would be taken straight to lockup. He would be denied even his one phone call. The lock on his cell would corrode before he was released. That’s why Goliad had said You’re over with such succinct confidence.

  Rye scanned the horizon. No cavalry was coming over the hill. The pine tree–lined road intersecting the runway was empty. He was on his own.

  One of the deputies went through the motions of being an honest cop and consulted his notes. “You’re not the registered owner of this plane, Mr. Mallett.”

  “A buddy loaned it to me.”

  “Did he? Because we called the owner. Jake Morton? He said, yeah, he let you charter it, but with reservations. Didn’t know much about you.”

  “I told him not to…” Rye stopped himself.

  “What?” The deputy moved in closer. “Told him not to what?”

  Rye said nothing else. Jake hadn’t trusted these guys, either. He’d only done what Rye had advised, but that advice might very well hang him now.

  “Did Mr. Morton know you planned to fly his plane, unauthorized, to a private landing strip belonging to a U.S. senator?”

  “No. It was a rushed, last-minute change of plan. But it wasn’t ‘unauthorized.’ I believe the arrangements were made through Mrs. Hunt. Maybe she forgot to inform the senator.”

  “Close as they are, I doubt that,” one of the deputies said. “Besides, it’s not like Mrs. Hunt to forget anything, much less something that threatens their personal security.”

  Rye didn’t comment, afraid that whatever he said from this point would soon reach the ears of the Hunts, placing Brynn in even greater peril.

  One of the deputies asked him if he was armed.

  “No.”

  “A Glock is registered to you. And you have a CHL.”

  “Y’all have gathered all this intel on me in only a couple of hours? You’ve sure been industrious.”

  “We feared for the senator’s safety.”

  “You think I look scary? What about the two guys in the black suits?”

  “The little guy is new, but we’re well acquainted with Goliad.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “Nice guy. Solid.”

  “Hmm.” Solid as the kickbacks he doled out.

  He was patted down despite his denial of being armed. One of the deputies said, “We’ll continue this conversation at the department annex.”

  “I promised to return Jake’s plane tonight.”

  “Sorry, that’s a promise you’ll have to break.”

  “From here, the flight to the FBO where he hangars it will only take about twenty minutes. You can pick me up there.”

  One snuffled a laugh. “We let you get back in that cockpit, what’s to keep you from taking off for Timbuktu?”

  “Fuel capacity.”

  The quip didn’t go over well. One of the deputies unsnapped his holster and curved his hand around the grip of his pistol. “Are you going to give us a hassle, Mr. Mallett?”

  He raised his hands. “No hassle, but how about this? One of you flies over there with me.”

  “And become your hostage?” Both scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

  “No. Swear to God—”

  “Hands behind your back.”

  “Seriously? You’re really arresting me?”

  One pulled out flex-cuffs. “You have the right—”

  “Don’t do this. Please. I’ve got to be in Howardville tomorrow morning at nine sharp. I can’t miss that meeting, or I could lose my pilot’s license.”

  “You should have thought of—”

  “Wait a goddamn minute!” Rye shouted when one secured both his wrists behind his back. “I can’t leave my buddy’s plane unsecured.”

  They ignored all his protests and finished reading him his rights as he was roughly escorted to their car and pushed into the back seat. “You’re making a terrible mistake.” The car door was slammed in his face.

  They drove away from the landing strip. When they rounded the same bend in the road that Goliad’s SUV had taken a few minutes earlier, Rye got his first look at the Hunts’ mansion.

  Sitting atop a hill, it looked as impregnable as a castle. The dense cloud cover had created a premature dusk, which had activated the strategically placed landscape lighting around the house, bathing it in an incandescent glow.

  Freaking Camelot, Rye thought. Complete with treachery within.

  Brynn was up there. Inside. Doing what? Making her profound apology to the Hunts for her subterfuge? No. No way. Not Brynn. She wouldn’t grovel, but she would honor her professional oath and assist Lambert if he asked her to. She had told Rye she wouldn’t let the precious, single dose of GX-42 go to waste, even if Violet wasn’t the one to benefit from it.

  But what really concerned Rye was what would happen to Brynn afterward. He had warned both her and Lambert that once the drug was inside Richard Hunt’s system, he would be more determined than ever to safeguard the secret of his illness and how he’d schemed to get the drug. The only way to guarantee that the secret would never get out would be to permanently silence anyone who was privy to it.

  Rye’s blood ran cold. He had to get to Brynn.

  Once again, he tried appealing to the deputies. “Listen, guys, there’s a whole lot more at stake here than you realize. Lives are on the line. Dr. O’Neal and Nate Lambert are—”

  He was cut off and hurled against the far door when the deputy who was driving gave the steering wheel a sharp turn to the right in order to avoid a head-on collision with a vehicle in the opposing lane that crossed the center stripe.

  The deputy overcorrected to keep from plowing into the ditch, but managed to straighten out as he stood on the brakes. The squad car went into a rubber-burning, fishtailing skid before coming to a jarring stop on the narrow shoulder.

  The other vehicle backed up and came alongside the squad car. The darkly tinted driver’s window came down. Rawlins’s bellicose face appeared in the opening.

  Chapter 36

  4:51 p.m.

  Goliad ushered Nate and Brynn into the mansion through the front door. Timmy came in behind them.

  “I know the way.” Nate struck off in an impatient and self-important stride toward the sitting room in the master suite.

  With no enthusiasm whatsoever, Brynn followed.

  She had been here twice before, the first being when Nate and she had explained to the couple the application process for compassionate use of an experimental drug, and then again when Nate had laid out his plan to bootleg a single dose.

  “For a price,” Brynn remembered him saying. At the time, she had thought only in monetary terms. Now, she was thinking of the real price: Violet’s life.

  She entered the sitting room through a set of double doors. Tall, handsome, and imposing, Richard Hunt stood in the center of the room beneath a chandelier, waiting for Nate and her to approach him.

  The senator shook hands with Nate and told him he was glad to see him. “Likewise,” Nate gushed. “It’s been a day, to say the least.”

  The senator’s American-eagle gaze moved to Brynn. He took in her
dishevelment with obvious disdain. “Dr. O’Neal.”

  With an equal shortage of warmth, she said, “Senator.”

  Standing beside her husband, Delores looked as radiant as a blushing bride. Her cashmere sweater and wool slacks were the color of cream and so well tailored, they looked as though they had been poured over her shapely figure. Her blond mane was shiny, her makeup impeccably applied, jewelry expensive but understated.

  The frostiness in her gaze belied her smile. “Dr. O’Neal. I understand that you journeyed all the way to Tennessee today to see Violet.”

  “Yes.”

  “Such an adorable and precocious little girl. Was she enjoying the special day the senator and I arranged for her?”

  The woman’s saccharine tone made Brynn want to grind her teeth. “I don’t know.” She looked at Timmy where he stood sentinel with Goliad in front of the double doors, now closed. “I was waylaid before I could see her.”

  “What a pity. A wasted trip, then.”

  Delores executed a graceful turn to welcome Nate with a quick hug and air kisses on both cheeks. Then she reached for her husband’s hand and clasped it between hers. “Finally. Let’s do this, for godsake.”

  An IV pole had been positioned at the side of an oversize easy chair. Aimed toward it was a video camera already mounted on a tripod. Ancillary lights had been placed around the room, but, after looking through the camera, Nate decided he liked the warmer, cozier, non-clinical nuance created by lamplight alone. He dimmed the chandelier.

  The camera set-up belonged to the Hunts, but Nate was both star and director of the video that would document what he referred to as “this monumental moment in medical history.”

  Brynn was happy to be excluded. Even if he had invited her to share his limelight or to comment on camera, she would have declined.

  The entire scene disgusted her. She felt like a stage prop in a surreal play, and wouldn’t have believed it was actually happening if she couldn’t feel Goliad’s unwavering dark stare on her. It was as though he’d been commissioned to see to it that she didn’t try to abort the infusion. If she made an attempt, he would stop her.

  Days in advance, Nate had brought in all the apparatus he would need. A portable table had been set up for his use. He draped it and the senator’s chair with sterile sheets. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves, snapping them against his wrists. He inserted the IV shunt into the vein in the bend of the senator’s elbow.