Tailspin(106)

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?”