“The pharmacologist didn’t dare. He was terrified he would get caught mixing one and smuggling it out.”
Rye walked back toward the bed, and when he came even with Brynn said, “Hunt has had sixty years Violet will never get.”
“We can’t play God, Rye.”
“Somebody did. Who picked the senator over the little girl?”
“Nate and I reached a mutual decision, based on numerous factors.”
“Such as?”
“The patient’s general health, the patient’s autoimmune—”
“Bullshit. It was decided by the patient’s pocketbook. How much?”
“I wasn’t privy to that conversation.”
“You mean negotiation.”
Not quite meeting his eye, she said, “I’m told the Hunts committed a sizable amount toward future research, but on the condition—”
“That he got it. You think God gave a thumbs-up on that deal?”
“He must have.” Looking angry, she stood up, went around him, and thumped her water bottle onto the dresser. “Because last night when I took matters into my own hands, look what happened. You crashed. Brady is in ICU. I’ll pay dearly for skipping out on Nate and the Hunts tonight. Character assassination will only be the beginning.”
“They can’t shred you without admitting to wrongdoing themselves.”
She dismissed that argument with a chuff. “They’re capable, believe me. They’ll probably figure out a way to have my medical license revoked. Which I was risking anyway. But the worst of it…” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “The worst of it is that I can’t save Violet.”
“You can save Richard Hunt.”
“After leaving Nate’s office? No. They wouldn’t let me near him. I campaigned hard for Violet. In the end, Nate won out, I conceded. But I guess neither he nor the Hunts were convinced of my commitment.”
“So Goliad and Timmy were sent up to Howardville last night to keep tabs on you, make sure you didn’t abscond with that box.”
“Which is precisely what I had planned to do, and was willing to suffer the consequences.” She raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “You know what happened to that plan. So, on the long drive back to Atlanta, I looked at it from a purely objective standpoint.
“The GX-42 wouldn’t be wasted. A life would be spared, and, as you reminded me last night, I swore under oath to save lives. Any life. I had geared myself up to assist Nate tonight, and to be glad about it.” She paused for breath. “But then you sent me that text.”
“Which you could have ignored. Why didn’t you?”
“Honestly? It provided me a good excuse to abandon Nate, the Hunts, all of it. Turns out that my objectivity wasn’t so strong after all. Knowing Violet was lost, I lost heart.
“Now they’ll know without doubt that I’m a traitor to the cause. Nate will be livid with me for making him look bad with the rich and powerful Hunts. On the other hand, if the drug works as we fully expect it to, he’ll be delighted not to have to share the praise.”
“You’ll miss out on getting the credit.”
“Violet will miss out on much more.” She swiped a tear off her cheek, turned quickly away, and headed for the bathroom. “Excuse me. When I come out, I’ll call for a car.”
“Brynn—”
“I never cry in front of anyone.” She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. The lock clicked.
Rye went to the door and knocked. “Brynn.”
“Give me a few minutes. Please.”
Cursing under his breath, he backed away. He supposed she had earned a crying jag.
He lifted his bomber jacket off the bed and took his cell phone from the pocket. He sat down on the end of the bed where Brynn had been, holding the phone in his palm, bouncing it a couple of times in indecision, then, before he chickened out, tapped in a number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom.”
She gushed a breath around his name. “Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
“I called this morning.”
“It said unknown caller.”
“Yeah, I’m using a spare. Anyhow, the day got away. I’m not interrupting Thanksgiving dinner, am I?”
“No, we ate early. Enough food to feed an army. We’ve got leftovers that can easily be warmed up if you’re calling to tell me you’re on your way.”
The hopefulness in her voice made him squeeze his eyes shut. “I’m a long way from Austin. In Atlanta. Grounded by fog.”
“It’s been on the news. You’re not flying—”
“Not tonight. Tomorrow.”
“Where are you off to?”
Did it matter? No. But he told her anyway. Then, “Do I hear a baby crying?”
“That’s Cameron. He’s been fussy all day. He’s teething.”
Cameron, his youngest nephew. He’d seen him only in pictures his proud brother had texted, along with subtle admonitions that if he could fly from coast to coast on a daily basis, surely he could make a stop in Texas to see his family.
He cleared his throat. “So, uh, the whole brood is there today?”
“Except for you. You’re missed.”
“I miss everybody, too. But, you know, work. It’s crazy.” Of course work wasn’t the reason he didn’t go home, and she knew that.
“Your dad’s out on the porch. He’ll want to—”
“No, don’t bother him. I’ll try to call again in a day or so, talk to him then.”
“Rye—”
“I’d better go and let you get back to the party.”
“Rye. We want to see you. We don’t have to talk about…about anything you don’t want to. Please. Can’t you come home for a couple of days, at least?”
“I’ll try to do that.”
“When?”
He plowed his fingers through his hair and held his forehead in his palm. “When I can, Mom.”
She didn’t ask when that might be. She had asked before and had never received a definitive answer. He didn’t have one to give her.
Her voice husky with restrained emotion, she said, “Be careful, sweetheart.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“I love you, Rye.”
“Love you, too.”
He disconnected, held the phone against his lips, then, fed up with himself and life in general, tossed it onto the dresser. It landed just as Brynn opened the bathroom door.
She glanced at the discarded phone, then looked at him. “Who was that?”
He stayed as he was, just looking at her where she stood poised on the threshold between the two rooms, hair a mass of dark swirls backlit by the bathroom vanity lights. Those damn gray eyes, lined with the blackest of black eyelashes, now wet and spiky from recent tears, were regarding him with concern.
He said, “Come here.”
Her footsteps were hesitant, but she came to stand directly in front of him. He placed his hands on the sides of her waist, pulled her between his legs, and pressed his face into the hollow where her ribs separated.
She settled her hands on his head, so tentatively that at first he thought he’d imagined it. “Rye? What are we doing?”
Running his hands up and down the backs of her thighs, he nuzzled her middle, then tilted his head back and looked into her face. “Nothing.” He reached for his jacket again and spread it open across his thighs. “It’s a shame you don’t like her.”
Brynn looked down at the painting and gave a faint smile. “She’s growing on me.”
“Yeah? That’s good. Because she definitely has her uses.”
Brynn looked again at the pinup girl, then regarded him warily. “I’m not sure I want to hear what they are.”
He grinned. “I’d enjoy detailing some of them, but I can’t make you late.”
“Late?”
He worked his fingers into a small tear in the seam where the silk lining was stitched to the leather, then reached for Brynn’s hand and turned it palm up.
“Before Lambert and the Hunts get to you, you’ve got to get this to Violet.”
In her palm lay the bubble-wrapped vial of GX-42.
Chapter 19
6:41 p.m.
Deputies Wilson and Rawlins watched Nate Lambert back his Jag from his reserved parking space and drive out of the garage.