“The ER, sir. My guess is that she went to see about White, the airfield guy. The deputy returned for her a few minutes later. They went to a café. Timmy and me went in, sat fairly close, but not so close that they’d notice. They talked a little, ate breakfast.”
“Talked about what?”
“We weren’t close enough to hear. But they were smiling, friendly.”
He described how the two had parted company. “She went down the hall to the restroom. She didn’t return in a timely fashion. I went to check. Restroom door was open, nobody in there. An exit opened into an alley. I ran to both ends of it. She was nowhere in sight.
“When I rejoined Timmy in the dining room, there was a man asking the waitress had she seen the doctor, said that he was to meet her there with a car. The waitress pointed him toward the back. He was out of sight less than a minute, returned looking steamed. He left in the car he came in.”
“Did you go in search of her?” Delores asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Wasted no time. There’s not much to downtown. We covered every bit of it. Twice. All the businesses are closed. No place for her to go. She was just…gone.”
“How could she have disappeared, in that short span of time, on foot?”
“I can’t explain it, sir.”
No one said anything for a time, then Richard said, “Well? That’s it? ‘We lost her.’”
“I had an idea,” Goliad said.
“Praise be,” Delores said.
Goliad continued. “The last place she was before going to the café was the ER. We went back to check it out. I left Timmy in the car and went inside. Nobody was there except a woman with a bleeding finger wrapped in a dish towel, and the admitting nurse. I told her I was looking for Dr. O’Neal and described her. She said she’d seen her talking to White’s wife. And the pilot.”
Delores and Richard looked at each other. She raised a brow. “That sounds cozy.”
“That’s what I thought,” Goliad said. “So I chatted up this lady some more. Turns out Mrs. White lent the pilot her car so he could drive out to the crash site.”
“Do you think he and Dr. O’Neal rendezvoused outside the café?”
“Didn’t see him. This might be nothing.”
“But it could be something,” Delores insisted.
“Could be. The pilot left the sheriff’s office on foot, but he’s got wheels now. The doctor doesn’t. Only thing is, all we have to go on is that the car he borrowed is ‘blue.’”
“What’s the airfield guy’s first name?” Delores reached for a pad and paper.
“Brady. Brady White.”
She wrote it down. “I’ll get people checking on cars registered to that name. What county?”
Goliad told her.
“It shouldn’t take long,” Delores said. “I’ll text you the license plate as soon as I have it.”
“We’ll start by going to the crash site,” Goliad said. “But, like I said, this might be nothing.”
Richard warned, “I don’t want to hear any more buts, Goliad. Or any other kind of excuse.”
“No, sir.”
“And keep a leash on that Timmy. What the fuck was he doing with a laser?”
“He won’t be using it again, sir. A creek runs through town. The laser’s at the bottom of it.”
“Call us with better news next time.” Delores disconnected, then scooted off the bed, taking the phone with her. “We need that license plate number ASAP. I’ll rouse someone on staff, make up a reason that’ll convey urgency, but not panic.” She was already rapidly punching in a phone number.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Richard chuckled. “I love to see a take-charge woman in action.”
She blew him a kiss. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Then, into the phone, “This is Mrs. Hunt. The senator requires some information. Immediately.”
She gave the order with the confidence of someone who knew it would be acted on without delay. She disconnected and instantly began tapping in another number.
“I hope you’re calling Nate Lambert,” Richard said.
“He was awfully cavalier an hour ago,” Delores said. “I have some hard questions for him. Starting with if he knows where the hell his colleague is.”
Chapter 12
9:39 a.m.
Brynn had survived her childhood, which in itself was a miracle. Even more miraculous was that she hadn’t been too badly scarred by it. While other people encountered stumbling blocks in the course of their lives, her impediments had been comparable to mountain ranges.
The first had been the loss of her mother, who succumbed to pancreatic cancer when Brynn was only five years old. Her upbringing then had fallen to her father.
Anyone who had ever met Wes O’Neal liked him. He was described as a “real character,” radiating bonhomie and always ready with a joke. He was good-natured, gregarious, and, in an odd twist, generous. Odd, because he also had a larcenous streak.
During his repeated incarcerations, Brynn was placed in foster homes. Sympathetic teachers and townsfolk also took her under their wings, making certain she had Christmas and birthday gifts, providing clothing when needed, seeing to it that she didn’t miss out on extracurricular activities, simulating as normal a life as possible.
But for all the many kindnesses they extended her, they feared that her personality would be warped. Who could possibly withstand that level of instability without suffering permanent psychological damage? Wes O’Neal’s girl wasn’t expected to amount to much.
Brynn had resolved early on that she would.
The day after graduating high school, she’d left Howardville. Wes had been serving three-to-five in state prison, so he hadn’t been there to see her off. His absence was noted by her but not bemoaned. Long before then, she had accepted that in order to get anywhere, she must go it alone.
She hadn’t enjoyed the typical college experience. From freshman year through med school, she’d been awarded most of the various scholarships and grants for which she had applied, but she’d had to supplement them with part-time jobs. Between studies and work, there hadn’t been much time for a social life.
Occasionally, she would fall into a romantic relationship, but none of the men had meant as much to her as her quest for success. Only one had broken her heart with his repeated infidelities, but one day she came to the realization that he wasn’t worth the anger and anguish she’d spent on him. She’d excised him without regret.
All the sacrifices had paid off. She was now affiliated with a hospital that was renowned for its research. She was financially secure and self-sufficient in every area of her life. She’d earned the respect of her colleagues. Her patients trusted and relied on her.
Most important, Brynn O’Neal relied on no one.
But as Rye Mallett shut the bathroom door in her face, she acknowledged that she was out of her element and at a total loss as to what she should do next.
Having squeaked past the authorities, she wasn’t going to draw them back in by reporting herself stranded with—she wouldn’t go so far as to say kidnapped by—Rye Mallett. Bringing the attention of law officers to herself was the last thing she wanted, and she reasoned that Rye had counted on that reluctance.
And the two men in the café? Had they been responsible for the events of last night, as Rye suspected? If so, and if it was the box they were after, she could be in danger from them.
If she were physically able to wrangle the box from Rye, or if she demanded he give it back, and he did so without contest, what would she do then? Strike out on foot? She’d seen Rye slip Marlene’s key fob into the front pocket of his jeans, so there was no retrieving it, and, even if she could, she wouldn’t steal the lady’s car.
It seemed that she was stuck. But she couldn’t remain in this limbo state. She had to come up with a solution, and fast. At Deputy Wilson’s suggestion, she had texted Nate from the café, but she’d been ambiguous about her departure time. She’d told him “soonish.” He hadn’t texted a reply, but that wasn’t unusual. He often couldn’t be bothered.
Even so, he and the Hunts would expect her to be halfway to Atlanta by now.
Whatever fallout she faced when she got there, she had to get there, and her options had dwindled down to one.