“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.”

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?”

“Yes.”

He snorted. “Then you’re not safe.”

“On the bright side, I could be on the lam with the Hendrix boy.”

“By comparison, that hoodlum is looking a lot better.” He sighed. “Leave the car key in the ignition. It’d be a lucky break for me if somebody stole the clunker.”

“Bye, Dad. Thanks again.”

“Brynn? Call me. If you ever get a hankering to.”