Tailspin(85)

“Whose reputation is shady at best,” Rawlins added.

The twinkle in Wes’s eye turned to a glint. “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him.”

“If it’s any comfort to you,” Wilson said, “we don’t get a sense that he would physically harm Brynn. In fact, if I were to guess, I think he’s protecting her from those two men on Hunt’s payroll.”

“Wait. You said Hunt sent them up to Howardville to see that Brynn got back safely with that box. Why would she need protection from them?”

Rawlins took over the explanation. “We get the feeling that there’s more going on with the senator and Mrs. Hunt than meets the eye.”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock. He’s a politician.”

“Yes, but our speculation is that there was something else inside that box besides blood samples.”

“Such as?”

“We don’t know. But, whatever it is, if it belongs to Richard Hunt, and your daughter has made off with it, then—”

“Hold it right there,” Wes said. “I am—was—a thief. I own up to it. But Brynn? Never.”

“That may be true, but her actions today are questionable, and she’s made herself inaccessible. Her cell phone goes straight to voice mail, and she hasn’t checked in with her answering service. We’ve looked for her in every likely place she might be taking refuge.”

Wes plopped back in his chair, clarity dawning on his wrinkled features. “Oh, I see. Now I get why you’re here. You thought she came running to Papa?”

Wilson assumed an edgier tone. “Have you seen her, Wes?”

“No.”

“Talked to her?”

“No.”

“When was the last time?”

“Two years ago. Three, maybe.”

That jibed with what Brynn had told him the night before.

“I can’t remember when it was exactly,” Wes continued. “Sometime before my last incarceration. She’d finished her residency and was affiliated with the hospital. Doing good for herself.”

“Was she working with Dr. Lambert at that time?”

“Never heard that name before you said it a minute ago. Brynn talked about her work, but only in general terms that I could understand.”

“Did she refer to a patient named Violet?”

“Don’t remember her talking about any patient. Why?”

“Little girl, seven or so now. She’s very sick. Seems to be special to Brynn.”

Wes raised his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. And, anyhow what’s this got to do with what’s gone on today?”

“You watch TV tonight?” Rawlins pointed out the archaic model in the corner.

“It’s busted.”

“Huh,” Rawlins said. Then, with a bead on Wes, he said, “You have no idea where your daughter might be? With a friend, maybe?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know any of her friends.”

“If she’s in trouble, and you’re holding out—”

“I’m not!”

Rawlins came up off the barstool. “You expect us to believe that you haven’t seen or heard from your daughter in years?”

Wes glowered. “I’m a crook, not a liar.”

Wilson interrupted their exchange before it became more contentious. “Calm down, Wes.”

“My ass, I’ll calm down.” He popped up from his chair. “You wake me up, tell me Brynn’s in danger from hit men at the beck and call of a senator, who I’d bet good money is crookeder than me. She’s in the company of a…a…bush pilot, who’s a lightning rod for trouble. Why aren’t y’all out combing the city for her instead of grilling me?”

Wilson stood. “Do you have a phone, Wes?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

He and Wilson exchanged phone numbers. “I’m sorry we upset you, Wes. I hope there’s a logical and harmless outcome to all this. Rawlins and I may be overstepping, completely wrong about the Hunts, Dr. Lambert, all that.”

“But you have a hunch that something’s not square.”

“A strong hunch,” Wilson said. “And somebody’s got to answer for the assault on Brady White. Now I don’t know if Brynn is guilty of wrongdoing or not. But there are a lot of questions pivoting around her. So far she’s failed to provide us with straight answers.”

“You’re making Brynn sound like a criminal on the run.”

Wilson said, “Well, just before we got here, we got a call from the office. Myra. Remember her?”

“Sure, sure. What?”

“A call came into the Howardville hospital from a man asking about Brady White’s condition. People answering the hospital lines had been asked to get as much info as they could from anyone calling about him. Lady got flustered.” He told Wes the gist of the conversation. “He must’ve smelled a rat. Hung up.”

“Or he could’ve been a friend who heard what he wanted to know.”

“Possibly. Except that we got the number, passed it on to local departments, and the phone the call came from was found in a trash can at the airport. Which is a trick that somebody on the run would pull to throw us off their trail.”