“Not exactly wrong. I just don’t know that you’re right. In my work, I have to deal in absolutes.”

“In my work, too. But don’t tell me that you never go with your gut when it comes to a diagnosis.” He assessed her expression and said, “Thought so. My gut’s telling me that Jekyll and Hyde’s plan was to waylay you. They flubbed it, so they’ve been following you, waiting for the next opportunity. But you were surrounded by sheriff’s deputies up until the time I moved in.”

His theory was sheer speculation, but feasible. “But if they were after the GX-42, why would they have shone that laser at you and risked your crashing?”

“I can’t figure that, either. But at best, their intentions were unfriendly. At worst, I was considered disposable and so was Brady White. Now, if I were you, I’d take that as a bad sign as to my own future.”

She pulled her lower lip through her teeth but stopped when she realized he was watching her do it.

He said, “You’re scared, Brynn. You were scared before I outlined why you should be. You’ve been scared ever since you came creeping out of the fog toward my plane. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see. Could it be because my misconduct could cost me my license to practice medicine? If the patient has a negative reaction to the experimental drug and dies as a result, I’ll have committed murder. Don’t you think that’s enough to make one scared?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get scared.”

He didn’t say it in jest. He was dead earnest. But under her intent scrutiny, he shook off whatever it was that had turned his expression so serious and chinned toward the bathroom. “The water’s hot. I used the bar soap, but there’s some flowery smelling gel.”

“I’m not going to shower.”

“Afraid to get nekkid? I already told you, your virtue’s safe with me.”

“It’s safe with me, too, Mr. Mallett. My concern is time.” She tapped the face of her watch.

“You’ve laid a lot on me, including the fact that I flew an illegal drug across state lines. I could enter a plea of ignorance, and maybe they’d let me off, but it could still put Dash out of business and cost me my pilot’s license.”

She hesitated, then said quietly. “You could avoid those risks by turning me in.”

He studied her as though considering it, then grumbled, “I don’t want the hassle. Another go-round with Rawlins? No thanks. I’m already ensnared more than I want to be.”

“You wish I hadn’t told you, don’t you?”

He didn’t reply to that, but said crossly, “I deserve at least a few minutes to ruminate, don’t you think? While I’m at it, you had just as well avail yourself of soap and water.”

She had to admit that a hot shower was an appealing prospect. She looked with longing toward the open bathroom door, then stood up and shrugged off her coat. She laid it at the foot of the bed and walked toward the bathroom. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’ve probably burned my bridges with the car dealer. While you’re ruminating, try to devise a way for me to get back to Atlanta.”

He may have declared her virtue safe, but she locked the bathroom door anyway.

The water was hot. She used the shower gel, which didn’t smell all that flowery. When she rinsed her hair of shampoo, she was chagrined to see twigs and dead leaves in the water swirling toward the drain, leftover debris from when Rye had kept her pinned to the forest floor.

Best not to think about those few minutes and the pressure of his thighs against hers. Or of the light brown chest hair she’d glimpsed, compliments of his open shirt. Or speculate on the yummy trail that was beneath those few done-up buttons. Or remember the erotic heat that had blossomed in her center when he so perfectly paired their bodies during that kiss. She had let it continue for far too long. And for not nearly long enough.

He wasn’t a pretty boy, not dashingly handsome. But there was an essence of danger about him, a latent volatility, a raw sexuality to which women inevitably responded, unwisely and ultimately with remorse. He was the type of man who wouldn’t remain romantically attached for longer than twenty minutes at a time. But those twenty minutes— Brynn yanked her thoughts away from him. From that. She couldn’t let anything distract her from getting back to Atlanta with the vial of GX-42 in time.

When she emerged from the bathroom, clean but wearing the same clothes, Rye was still lying on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in deep thought. His right arm rested atop the black box. Without prompting, he said, “I told Dash I would try to get to Atlanta later today.”

“How are you going to get there?”

He turned his head on the pillow in order to look at her. “It’s possible that we could persuade Marlene to let us take her car. You could get your juice to your patient. I could fly anywhere in the world from Atlanta.”

“What about the airplane here?”

“It’s still too foggy to take pictures today, and the plane can’t go anywhere until an insurance adjuster sees it. Dash is handling that.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “How would we get Marlene’s car back to her?”

He gave a soft laugh. “You’re worried about the logistics of returning a car when you’re smuggling a bootleg drug?”

She gave him an abashed smile, stood up, and reached for her coat. “It’s a good suggestion. We’ll probably find her at Brady’s bedside.”

“We probably will. When we get there.”

The add-on arrested her in motion. She noticed that he didn’t look like he was going anywhere any time soon. His shirt was still buttoned only halfway, his boots lay on the floor, his bomber jacket was draped over the back of the chair where his flight bag occupied the seat.

He said, “I can’t fly until I get some sleep.”

“You can’t go to sleep now.”

“I’m practically there already. I’ve been up for”—he checked his wristwatch—“going on thirty hours.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“It is if you want my help getting back to Atlanta. And forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look all that perky yourself. Lie down. We’ll sleep—”

“I don’t require your help, you know. I can manage this alone.”

“Great. Glad to hear it. Good luck. Shut the door gently on your way out.” He rolled onto his side and tucked the box against him.

“Give me the box.”

“The box stays with me,” he mumbled, adjusting his head more comfortably on the pillow.

“It’s not yours!”

In a sudden move, he left the box where it was, rolled to his opposite side, came up onto his knees on the edge of the bed, and took her by the shoulders where she stood. “It’s not yours, either, is it?”

She refused to answer.

“How do I know? Two things. You haven’t explained the men tracking you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know who they are, what they want, and it’s probably a mere coincidence that you saw them parked across from the sheriff’s department.”

“Better odds of winning the Powerball. But, for argument’s sake, let’s say it’s a mere coincidence. Reason number two, why haven’t you called Dr. Lambert to report this latest snag? Why haven’t you asked for his help returning to Atlanta?”

She expelled a huff. “Because I didn’t want to alarm him, much less the critically ill patient, by telling them that I’d been further delayed. Besides that, I haven’t had cell service since you whisked me out of that café.”

He glanced beyond her shoulder. “There’s a telephone on the bedside table.”

“With a lock on it! I’d hate for you to be out more than your forty-five bucks.”

She struggled against his hold. He let go of her, but his incisive gaze didn’t. She stared back, refusing to be the first to look away.

Abruptly he asked, “Who thought of the blood sample ruse?”

“Nate. Just in case the box were opened for any reason. But I wasn’t sure the pharmacologist had done it correctly.”

“I was right, then. You were nervous when Rawlins opened the box.”

“Very. The drug is packed inside the foam lining, as you guessed.”

He thought on that. “What’s the deadline before the stuff goes bad?”

“The vial was capped at nine last night. It will take an hour to infuse. Therefore the drip needs to be started no later than eight o’clock tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night? Then what’s the rush? You’ve got plenty of time.”

“Eight o’clock tomorrow is the absolute deadline. I, we, want to make sure it makes it there with time to spare. We want everyone to be relaxed, not stressed. Anxiety wouldn’t be good for the patient.”

“Or for you either, I think.”

She didn’t speak to that.

He looked at her for a moment longer, then said, “I never sleep for very long at a stretch. I’ll set an alarm for five hours.” He began setting his watch.

“Three hours,” she said.

“Four.”

He fiddled with his watch, then held his wrist out to where she could read the time he’d set. “See? I didn’t cheat you a single minute.” He lay down, turned onto his side facing out, and cradled the box.

“You’re a bastard,” she said.