“Tomorrow morning. Nine sharp. You’re to meet them at the sheriff’s office in Howardville. Since you’ve been dashing hither and yon, keeping yourself unreachable, it fell to me to inform you.”
Nine sharp on a Saturday morning. Over a holiday weekend. A crash with no fatalities and no injuries to anyone on board or near the craft. The feds were taking this seriously. Wilson and Rawlins must’ve laid it on thick. “Okay.”
“You’ll be there?”
“I said okay.”
“Okay. After they’ve eyeballed the plane for themselves, heard your explanation, they’ll make a determination on what action to take.”
“Action? Like fine me?”
“Could be.”
“Suspend my license?”
“Rye, listen—”
“Revoke my license?”
“I don’t think they’ll take it that far. Even if they issued a notice of intention, you could demand a hearing, and when all the facts came out, you’d win. But, until that time, I can’t use you.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Pains me, but I have to protect my business. And you know how word spreads like wildfire through the aviation community. You may have trouble getting work from other outfits.
“In fact, my advice is that you waste no time contacting the highest ranking FAA official there in Atlanta. Apologize for not making yourself clear when you called the agent yesterday. You were thinking of him, didn’t want to spoil his Thanksgiving. You’re willing and eager to cooperate with the investigation. Win the guy over before you even meet with him. And, until this is smoothed over, and you’re cleared, don’t fly again.”
Don’t fly. Don’t fly. Don’t fly.
The threat of it alone made Rye’s blood run cold. “Dash. This is an unfair and unfounded overreaction. Even during my two tours in Afghanistan, I never had so much as a hard landing. Since I’ve been flying, never a bobble until this. Not one close call.”
“No one questions your flying ability, Rye. But your head’s not on straight.” His lowered pitch gave the words more heft. “It hasn’t been since you got back. Now, I’m sorry for coming down hard on you, but that’s the truth, and you know it. That incident in Afghanistan has eaten at you until you’re beginning to scare even me, and I don’t scare easy.”
“You’re the one who sent me out on Wednesday night.”
“I know, and I’ve regretted it ever since. That crash. I even wondered—”
“I knew what you wondered. And fuck you. It was caused by a laser beam being shone into my eyes, not the fulfillment of a death wish.”
“I already told you I believe you.”
Rye was aware of Brynn watching him through the car windows, worry etched on her face. He turned his back so she wouldn’t witness him begging. “Don’t ground me, Dash.”
Dash swore again. “You think I take pleasure in it? You’re the best flyer I know. But you need to sort yourself out. You need to sort out this mess with the agencies. Until you do, I’ve got my own interest to protect.”
Rye stared out at the rain, unseeing, dismay and anger warring inside him. Anger won out. “You know what? So do I. You owe me for my last three jobs. Put my check in the mail.”
“Don’t be like this.”
“No, I changed my mind. Send it Fed Ex.”
He clicked off. When the phone rang almost immediately and he saw Dash’s name, he silenced it, but it vibrated in his hand for a long time. He didn’t get back into the car until it stopped.
“What’s happened? What did he—”
An abrupt shake of his head cut Brynn off. “Give me a minute.” More gently, he added, “Please.”
He sat there, tapping the phone against his chin, considering his choices. They boiled down to two. Do as Dash advised, kiss the agencies’ asses, and, until things were smoothed over, don’t fly? Or, forever grieve another death he possibly could have prevented?
His career was in jeopardy. But so was his soul.
“Screw it,” he muttered and motioned for Brynn to start the car. “To Walmart.”
While on the way, he pulled a business card from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and began to tap in the number printed on it. Brynn asked, “Are you calling Dash back?”
“No.” Rye hadn’t intended to keep the card that had been pressed into his palm during a strong handshake, much less use the contact fewer than twenty-four hours later. “I’m calling Jake Morton.”
7:38 a.m.
Walmart’s parking lot was filled to capacity with diehard Black Friday shoppers undaunted by the weather. It took Brynn a while to find a parking space. Then she called Wes and asked how his day was going.
He described the bedlam inside the store. “Three shoplifters. Two fistfights. One overturned display. And five more hours till my shift’s over.”
She told him where his car would be when he got off work. “Fifth row in on the west side. Second car. Thank you for letting us use it.”
“You said it could be a few days before you got it back to me. Mission accomplished?”
“Dad, you’re truly better off not knowing.”
“In other words, no. Are you safe? Just tell me that much.”
She thought about Goliad, handguns, a chase through a hotel, a narrow escape.
“I’m safe.”
“Mallett still with you?”
“Yes.”
He snorted. “Then you’re not safe.”
“On the bright side, I could be on the lam with the Hendrix boy.”
“By comparison, that hoodlum is looking a lot better.” He sighed. “Leave the car key in the ignition. It’d be a lucky break for me if somebody stole the clunker.”
“Bye, Dad. Thanks again.”
“Brynn? Call me. If you ever get a hankering to.”
“If you’ll stay out of trouble.”
He laughed. “Fair terms.”
He had taken a baby step toward reconciliation. To protect herself from heartbreak and disappointment, she wouldn’t plunge headlong into reestablishing a relationship with him. She would approach with caution. But it was a start that made her smile as she disconnected the call and placed his key ring beneath the driver’s floor mat.
Rye asked, “Has he nabbed any shoplifters today?”
“Three so far. By the way, he thinks I would be better off with the wild Hendrix boy.”
“He’s right.”
“He’s concerned for my safety.”
“He should be. I about had a heart attack when you took off running down the hallway of that hotel. You should have given me warning.”
“What would you have done?”
“I don’t know.” Holding her gaze, his aspect changed. He reached across and stroked her cheek, then pressed the pad of his thumb against the corner of her lips. “You also should have given me warning about forgetting a condom the second time.”
She took a small, swift breath. “Yes, I should have, but I wasn’t thinking of—”
“Me, either,”
“—that. For the first time ever.”
“Me, too.”
Neither moved or said anything, only looked at each other with searching eyes, a taut silence stretching between them.
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.