Tailspin(105)

Still raspy, Rye said, “Why don’t you just back off and let the kid have the drug?”

“Because she’s not who I work for.”

“Stubborn son of a bitch.”

With the hilt of his pistol, Rye rapped Goliad hard, right on the bridge of his nose, then pivoted and pushed through the door. Rain and cold air blasted him in the face, but it felt good. It cleared his head in time for him to leap backward, out of the way of an oncoming, speeding car. Wes’s car. Brynn behind the wheel.

The car skidded to a stop inches from him. In his haste to get the passenger door open, he nearly dislocated his shoulder. Brynn accelerated before he’d pulled in his right leg. Through the glass exit door, he saw Goliad down on one knee, holding a hand to his face.

Rye and Brynn didn’t speak until they were out of the parking lot, up the ramp onto the freeway, and speeding along in the outside lane. By then, Rye had almost regained his breath. “Tell me you still have it.”

“I still have it.”

“Intact?”

“Yes.”

He laid his head back and closed his eyes. “That’s what matters.”

“You matter, too. Are you in pain?”

“I’ll live.”

“Goliad?”

“Not as pretty as he used to be. He’ll need a nose job.”

“But he’s all right?”

“Nothing life-threatening, and he’ll recoup, so we’re on borrowed time. Not only him to worry about, though. All my talk about security cameras? Wasn’t crap. Our altercation won’t go unnoticed. Somebody will get the plate number on this car. Make and model, too. It could get back to Wes.” He raised his head and looked over at her. “Damn, I hate that, Brynn.”

“Believe me, he’s been in tighter spots.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never put him in one before.” He thought for a minute. “Drive to Walmart.”

“Dad’s Walmart? Why?”

“When I switched out the license plates, I put his under the carpet in the trunk. I’ll put them back on, then we’ll leave his car and let him know where it’s parked. If somebody comes looking for it, they’ll find him at work, and his car on the lot of the store.”

“Thanks for thinking of that.”

“I don’t want him to get into trouble.”

“Neither do I, but without the car, how will we get to Tennessee?”

He leaned forward and looked up through the windshield at the torrential rain and bottom-heavy, opaque clouds. “We fly.”





Chapter 32

7:20 a.m.



They exited the freeway and pulled into a self-operated car wash, which wasn’t doing any business today. Brynn pulled into one of the bays. In a matter of minutes, Rye had replaced the original plates on Wes’s car.

He was just getting back in when his cell phone rang. “Only one person has the number,” he said to Brynn as he fished the phone from the front pocket of his damp jeans. “Hey, Dash.”

“I’ve called you three times.”

“I silenced the phone after our last text so I could sleep. You’ll be glad to know I got several hours. I’ll be fresh for the flight this evening.”

“I gave the job to somebody else.”

Rye, disbelieving what Dash had just said, shot a look toward Brynn, then mumbled an excuse to her, got out of the car, and walked several yards away. There was no way Dash could know about his change of plan. He was still expecting Rye to fly on the passenger flight from ATL that evening.

“The schedule is tight, but not that tight. I told you I would make it, and I will.”

“It’s not about the schedule, Rye.” He paused. Sighed. Swore. “The FAA office in Atlanta called me at the butt crack of dawn. Seems those two deputies from Howardville wiggled their way up the chain of command and finally got to the top dog there. The upshot is that after talking to them, he’s thinking the accident report you called in yesterday morning was inaccurate and incomplete.”

“I told him I would send a full report and photos when the weather cleared. It hasn’t.”

“Yes, but you fudged on the amount of damage done to the craft and—”

“It was dark and foggy. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, much less accurately assess the damage.”

“No mention of a laser.”

“I didn’t want to say anything about it until I could do so without getting everybody in a tizzy.”

“He got in a tizzy when he heard that the crash had put a guy in the hospital.”

“It didn’t! The crash occurred at least a mile from where Brady White was attacked. When I called in the accident report, it hadn’t been confirmed—and still hasn’t been—that the crash and the assault on him are related.”

“Yeah, well, that isn’t washing with the FAA. And now the NTSB. Those deputies sowed seeds of doubt about the degree of your involvement in a felony. The feds want to hold a party at the crash site, and they want you to be the guest of honor.”

Fuck! “When?”

“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.”