“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Richard Hunt will. He’ll check the car rental outfits, too.”

“So what do I do?”

“You let me broker you a deal with a private pilot.”

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious.”

“I can’t fly you, Brynn. Even I have limits. I wouldn’t get into a cockpit again until I’ve had some sleep.”

“I’ve never chartered a flight. How much will it cost?”

“Depends on the aircraft. But I won’t let anyone take advantage of you. I’ll get you a fair deal.”

“It will probably put my credit card over the limit.”

“You shouldn’t put a charge on your card, anyway. I’ll call Dash. He’ll cover it. You two can settle up later.”

“He would do that?”

“He’ll gripe, but he’ll do it. What do you say?”

She sighed, looked around, clearly in a quandary.

He put his hands on his hips. “Decide, Brynn. Do we do this or not? Your call.”

She deliberated for another second or two, then said, “I’m not committing to it yet, but you dismissed the taxi, and the chances of getting another on this street are slim to none. I guess as long as we’re this close to the hangout, it wouldn’t hurt to look into a charter.”

“Wait.” He caught her arm before she could move away. “One more word of caution. The place will be full of guys who’ll take one look at you and see fresh meat. Most will be drunk, uncouth, talking raunchy.”

“I can handle that.”

Her flippant dismissal amused him. He drawled, “Is that right?”

“I wasn’t raised in a convent.”

“No, but have you ever been groped by a flyboy? They don’t fool around. No time for subtlety. He’ll be flying out in an hour or two. Gotta get it while he can.” He put his hand on her ass and pulled her to him, tilted his head, and lowered his lips to hers.

“No.” She pushed him away, but her hands stayed flat against his chest inside his jacket. “What if you had slept a solid eight hours, Rye?”

He didn’t say anything.

“No answer. Answer enough.” She dropped her hands and stepped back. “That was going to be a goodbye kiss, wasn’t it? Once you pass me off to the next flyboy, you’ll make your grand exit.”

“As a favor to you! That’s what you said you wanted. Never to see me again. Remember?”

“Exactly. So why bother with kissing? I didn’t even ask for your help.”

He wanted to kiss her now more than ever, if only to prove that he could and still leave without a backward glance, without regret. The problem was, who would he be proving it to? To her? Or himself?

He should be sleeping. He should be long gone. Yet here he was, lending expertise and assistance in an effort to fix her problem. Any decent person would do the same, if not for Brynn, for the sick kid.

He would see this through and then split with a clear conscience. But if Brynn could do without kissing, by damn so could he. “You want to get to Tennessee?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Then you need to move on it before half the population of Atlanta, plus Wilson and Rawlins, are breathing down your neck. If you don’t favor this plan, fine. You don’t want any more of my help? Even better.” He sliced the air with his hands. “I’ll see you as far as the main airport, and we’ll go our separate ways from there. But make up your mind.”

She crossed her arms over her center, toed a dead weed in the wide crack in the sidewalk, looked at the barred windows, and reread the “For Sale” sign.

When her eyes reconnected with his, she said, “How graphic is the pornography?”

9:53 p.m.

To Brynn the noise level was raucous, but Rye, shouting directly into her ear in order to make himself heard, said, “It’s Thanksgiving. Light crowd.”

With an unbreakable grasp on her elbow and a proprietary demeanor, he steered her around tables where groups of men huddled over beer mugs and plates piled high with carbohydrates.

Billiard balls clacked amid whoops of triumph and curses of defeat. Top Gun was playing on a TV larger than Brynn’s living room wall. Music was piped at a deafening level through scratchy overhead speakers.

There were only a handful of women in the place, all younger and less modestly clad than Brynn. Nevertheless, she received her share of speculative once-overs, whistles, and leers.

Rye headed toward a table on the periphery, which was a bit more secluded and where the lighting was dimmer. It was occupied by two men whose nachos had been reduced to crumbles. On the table was a collection of empty drinking glasses. Rye leaned down. “I’ll buy you a round in exchange for the table.”

They looked up at him, ogled Brynn, and one said, “Two rounds.”

“Done.”

With nudges and winks, they wished Rye good luck, then left them. As they sat down in the vacated chairs, Rye said, “I recommend sticking to the basics like a cheeseburger and fries, or nachos.”

“What else is on the menu?”

“Sides.”

“What are they?”

“Chili and jalape?os.”

“I’ll take the cheeseburger. No sides.”

He signaled a passing busboy and, as he was clearing the table, Rye said, “Couple of cheeseburgers, please.”

“I ain’t the waiter.”

Rye gave him a pained look. “Give me a fuckin’ break and bring out two cheeseburgers, okay?”

The young man looked even more pained. “Fries?”

“What do you think? And two Cokes.”

“Bourbon in those?”

Rye shook his head. “I may be flying tomorrow.”

“Rum?”

Rye laughed. “Straight Coke.”

After the young man moved away, she said, “You seem right at home.”

“Yep. And I know how the system works. Wait here. Keep your head down. Don’t make eye contact, or he’ll take it as encouragement.”

“Who?”

“Pick one, any one.”

He left the table and waded his way to the bar, where he motioned the busy bartender over. He paid for the drinks of the two men who’d given up their table, then conferred privately with the bartender.

Brynn read the names and dates and vulgarities carved into the tabletop.

Rye returned. “I put a bug in the bartender’s ear.”

“He’ll find a pilot for me?”

“He won’t have to. The pilot will find us.”

“That’s the system? You put the word out and see who comes around?”

“Basically. But don’t be scared. Whoever winds up taking you will have met my qualifications. He won’t be a rookie.”

“Thank you.”

“Save it for when you’re on your way.”

She took a look around. “You were teasing me about the porn.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He indicated the wall nearest their table.

She looked at it, then realized that every inch of wall space was covered with pictures of airplanes. Every era of aviation was represented, so was every type, shape, color, and size of aircraft.

Rye said, “I call it ‘plane porn,’ because it’s what every guy in here gets off on.”

“Flying.”

“Flying.” He handed a five-dollar bill to the busboy, who had returned with their food and drinks.

They doctored their burgers using the condiments grouped into a beer six-pack in the center of the table, then dove in hungrily. When Brynn came up for air and took a sip of her drink, she said, “Why do you love it so much?”

“Tabasco?”

He’d poured a puddle of it onto his plate, but she knew he was using the quip to dodge giving her an answer. “Why do you love flying so much?”

“Early exposure, I guess. Most of my growing up was done on Air Force bases.”

“Was your father a pilot?”

“He had his license, but flying bothered his ears. Pulling Gs made him sick.”

“He didn’t have the stomach for it.”

He responded to her joke, but then his smile relaxed into a thoughtful expression. “He didn’t have the—” Coming up empty, he made a gesture of dismissal.

She ate one last French fry, then moved the plastic plate aside and wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “Didn’t have the what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

He dabbed the last bite of his burger into the pool of hot sauce, but returned it to his plate without eating it. He took a drink, shifted in his seat, turned to see if perhaps the bartender had forgotten him. When he finally resettled and his gaze lighted on her, she said, “Rye, this may be the last private conversation we ever have. Make it count.”

“Why?”

“Because, it’s been roughly twenty hours since you knocked me to the ground. That was the high point. Since then it’s been one calamity after another. Aren’t I entitled to take away something meaningful from this experience?”

“You turned down a grope and a damn good sloppy kiss in the making.”

She held his stare.

He relented by exhaling a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. “Thing of it is, I don’t know how to explain it, any more than I know how to explain my fingerprints. They’ve always been there, and so has the obsession for flight. It goes beyond liking it, or even loving it. It’s…” He paused, searched for the word, and again drew inspiration from his fingerprints. “Ingrained.”