“What a pity. I hope he recovers soon.”
Nobody responded to that. Then Wilson said, “Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time. Please notify us if you see or hear from either of them.”
There were handshakes all around and promises to share information should any become available. Delores herself walked the officers to the door and saw them out, then returned to the sitting room, went straight to the bar, and poured a drink.
“Just when we need to be our most surreptitious, Brynn has got these yokels nipping at our heels,” Nate groused. “I could kill her.”
“That’s certainly an option,” Richard said. “But we have to find her first. You know her better than we do. You see her almost every day. Have you thought of where she might have gone? What resources she has at her disposal? A second home? A second car? A roadmap to Violet Griffin’s house in Tennessee?”
Compared to the near shout on which he’d ended, Delores’s tone was soft and perfectly controlled. “You made a blunder, darling.”
“A colossal one,” Richard said. “When we trusted Dr. O’Neal.”
“When you mentioned bloodshed.”
Richard’s gaze snapped to hers.
“The deputies hadn’t said anything about blood. How would we know there had been bloodshed unless we knew about his knife fight with Timmy?”
9:37 p.m.
Wilson and Rawlins climbed into the SUV. They waited until they were clear of the gate and underway before Wilson looked over at Rawlins. In unison, they said, “They’re lying.”
Chapter 23
9:41 p.m.
The taxi driver hadn’t been exaggerating about the amount of traffic on the interstate highways. It took longer to get to where they were going than Rye had anticipated, and when he assisted Brynn from the back seat, she looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
The neighborhood was dicey, bordering on sinister. Streetlights had either burned out or been shot out. The few enterprises still in operation were closed for the night. Most had metal grills protecting their windows and doors from break-ins. The street was shuttered, dark, and best avoided.
But since Rye didn’t like either their taxi driver’s beady eyes or his attitude, he asked him to drop them two blocks shy of their destination. Grudgingly Rye tipped him the promised extra twenty, for which he received no thanks. He waited until the taxi’s taillights disappeared around a corner, then drew Brynn into the recessed entrance of an abandoned store.
“You’re out of luck. The place is shut down.” She brought his attention to the faded “For Sale” sign taped to the door. “Has been for some time now, looks like.”
“This isn’t where we’re going. I didn’t want the cabbie to know our final destination.”
“I don’t know our final destination.”
“Remember that beach bar you and your friends went to? I told you there was a hangout like it near every airfield in the world.”
“We’re going to such a place?”
“Couple of blocks from here. Rough neighborhood. Rough and rowdy bar.”
“Lots of pornography.”
“You’ll see. But if you want to fly to Tennessee, you’ve got to go where the flyers are.”
“There’s an international airport within shouting distance. It has lots of airplanes and pilots to fly them.”
“It also has passenger manifests, TSA checkpoints, and ID requirements. If anyone having, say, congressional authority, checks to see if you’re on a flight—”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Richard Hunt will. He’ll check the car rental outfits, too.”
“So what do I do?”
“You let me broker you a deal with a private pilot.”
“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious.”
“I can’t fly you, Brynn. Even I have limits. I wouldn’t get into a cockpit again until I’ve had some sleep.”
“I’ve never chartered a flight. How much will it cost?”
“Depends on the aircraft. But I won’t let anyone take advantage of you. I’ll get you a fair deal.”
“It will probably put my credit card over the limit.”
“You shouldn’t put a charge on your card, anyway. I’ll call Dash. He’ll cover it. You two can settle up later.”
“He would do that?”
“He’ll gripe, but he’ll do it. What do you say?”
She sighed, looked around, clearly in a quandary.
He put his hands on his hips. “Decide, Brynn. Do we do this or not? Your call.”
She deliberated for another second or two, then said, “I’m not committing to it yet, but you dismissed the taxi, and the chances of getting another on this street are slim to none. I guess as long as we’re this close to the hangout, it wouldn’t hurt to look into a charter.”
“Wait.” He caught her arm before she could move away. “One more word of caution. The place will be full of guys who’ll take one look at you and see fresh meat. Most will be drunk, uncouth, talking raunchy.”
“I can handle that.”
Her flippant dismissal amused him. He drawled, “Is that right?”
“I wasn’t raised in a convent.”
“No, but have you ever been groped by a flyboy? They don’t fool around. No time for subtlety. He’ll be flying out in an hour or two. Gotta get it while he can.” He put his hand on her ass and pulled her to him, tilted his head, and lowered his lips to hers.
“No.” She pushed him away, but her hands stayed flat against his chest inside his jacket. “What if you had slept a solid eight hours, Rye?”
He didn’t say anything.
“No answer. Answer enough.” She dropped her hands and stepped back. “That was going to be a goodbye kiss, wasn’t it? Once you pass me off to the next flyboy, you’ll make your grand exit.”
“As a favor to you! That’s what you said you wanted. Never to see me again. Remember?”
“Exactly. So why bother with kissing? I didn’t even ask for your help.”
He wanted to kiss her now more than ever, if only to prove that he could and still leave without a backward glance, without regret. The problem was, who would he be proving it to? To her? Or himself?
He should be sleeping. He should be long gone. Yet here he was, lending expertise and assistance in an effort to fix her problem. Any decent person would do the same, if not for Brynn, for the sick kid.
He would see this through and then split with a clear conscience. But if Brynn could do without kissing, by damn so could he. “You want to get to Tennessee?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Then you need to move on it before half the population of Atlanta, plus Wilson and Rawlins, are breathing down your neck. If you don’t favor this plan, fine. You don’t want any more of my help? Even better.” He sliced the air with his hands. “I’ll see you as far as the main airport, and we’ll go our separate ways from there. But make up your mind.”
She crossed her arms over her center, toed a dead weed in the wide crack in the sidewalk, looked at the barred windows, and reread the “For Sale” sign.
When her eyes reconnected with his, she said, “How graphic is the pornography?”
9:53 p.m.
To Brynn the noise level was raucous, but Rye, shouting directly into her ear in order to make himself heard, said, “It’s Thanksgiving. Light crowd.”
With an unbreakable grasp on her elbow and a proprietary demeanor, he steered her around tables where groups of men huddled over beer mugs and plates piled high with carbohydrates.
Billiard balls clacked amid whoops of triumph and curses of defeat. Top Gun was playing on a TV larger than Brynn’s living room wall. Music was piped at a deafening level through scratchy overhead speakers.
There were only a handful of women in the place, all younger and less modestly clad than Brynn. Nevertheless, she received her share of speculative once-overs, whistles, and leers.
Rye headed toward a table on the periphery, which was a bit more secluded and where the lighting was dimmer. It was occupied by two men whose nachos had been reduced to crumbles. On the table was a collection of empty drinking glasses. Rye leaned down. “I’ll buy you a round in exchange for the table.”
They looked up at him, ogled Brynn, and one said, “Two rounds.”