Her voice had risen. Timmy, grin in place, said through clenched teeth, “Pipe down, doc.”

She looked behind her. No one was paying them any mind. The attention of all the media people and other onlookers was focused on the front of the house in order to see the celebrities when they came out. Alerting any one of them to trouble without Timmy’s knowledge would be impossible.

She came back around to Nate and looked at him with unmitigated disgust and condemnation.

His lips trembled. “He came to my apartment!” he said, spraying spittle. “Issued veiled threats. Forced me to drive him up here.”

“On the Hunts’ orders?”

“I thought it up myself,” Timmy replied.

“He talked to Delores around dawn,” Nate said.

“And she sanctioned this?”

“Yes. No, no. She didn’t say anything, just hung up.”

Nate knew as well as Brynn what that indicated. So did Timmy. When she looked at him, he said, “Bosses are pleased as punch.”

“You haven’t got the drug yet.”

“About that, my patience is wearing real thin.”

Nate moaned her name in a pleading tone. “Please do as he says. Richard will get the drug as he was supposed to all along. This will be over.”

“For Violet, certainly.”

“Either way, it’s over for her.”

“You would actually kill her?”

“That’s just it! If I don’t—”

Timmy smacked his lips. “Violet and me are friends. Like this.” He crossed his index and middle finger.

Brynn was horrified. She turned to Nate. “You let him get near her?”

“I didn’t have a choice! He threatened to cut off my ear.”

“He introduced me as his personal assistant,” Timmy said. “I did a magic trick for Violet. She laughed at my knock-knock jokes. Nobody will suspect a thing if I return to her bedroom. She’s wearing a pink nightgown. Has a crown on it.”

Brynn thought she might be ill, but she took a defiant stance. “You kill a child in her own bed. How do you propose getting away with it?”

He snickered. “I won’t have to worry about that, because you’re not gonna let that kid die. We all three know that. You wouldn’t risk calling my bluff, would you now?”

No, she wouldn’t. She recalled Rye telling her dad that Timmy was a twisted kid with a lot to prove.

Nate pulled her from her disturbing thoughts. “Did the family know you were coming, Brynn?”

She shook her head.

“Had you told them we acquired the drug?”

“No. I didn’t want to build up their hopes and not deliver.”

“Then neither Violet nor her parents will ever know what she missed out on. And, possibly, compassionate use will be approved for her before the new regulations are enforced.”

“New regulations?”

Realizing his slip, he said, “We can discuss it later.”

“Nate, damn you. What?”

In rapid and broken phrases, he explained about the upcoming Senate committee hearing on experimental drugs and clinical trials.

“And Senator Hunt’s position on the clamp-down?”

Nate’s abashment said it all.

“So this is the only dose available now, and more than likely the only one for the foreseeable future.”

“Now that’s a damn shame.” Timmy nicked her coat with the tip of his knife. “Give it up.”

“Brynn, for heaven’s sake,” Nate groaned. “You’ve lost. Lose gracefully.”

“Or lose your life,” Timmy said.

She scoffed. “You wouldn’t kill me in front of all these people.”

He moved with the speed of a striking snake, creating a slice in the fabric of her coat from one side seam to the other, deep enough to expose the fiber insulation. “See? I would. The next cut will open up your pretty, smooth belly. I could have you stuffed into Lambert’s Jag and bleeding out before anybody noticed.”

He had made a believer of her. Her heart was in her throat. She’d lost her capacity to breathe. Sensing her surrender, Nate began patting down her pockets while she stood frozen in fear.

He located the bubble-wrapped vial and took it out.

Timmy astounded them both when he snatched it from Nate and tossed it up like a baseball, catching it in midair. “Be careful with that, you idiot! Give it to me,” Nate demanded, holding out his hand.

“I’ll keep it.”

“I would rather safeguard it myself,” Nate said.

“Do you have a knife?”

“Knife? No.”

“Then shut up.”

Nate backed down and watched with uneasiness as Timmy tucked the vial into an inside pocket of his rain jacket.

“All right, we’ve got it, let’s go.” Nate glanced at his watch. “It’s elevenish now. That puts us back at three, three-thirty. Time enough.”

“You and I will ride in the back seat.” Timmy grabbed Brynn by the arm and began pulling her toward Nate’s car.

“Brynn!”

As one, she, Nate, and Timmy looked toward the source of the shout. Rye still had one leg inside the back seat of a car stopped at the corner. He clambered out, slammed the door shut, and began running toward them.

“Christ,” Nate moaned. “All we need. He’s a jinx.”

Renewed hope surged through Brynn.

With feline swiftness, Timmy executed an agile move that brought him to Brynn’s side, the blade of his knife pressed into her left armpit.

“Stop right there, Mallett.” He spoke softly, but in a voice that, in itself, sounded lethal.

Rye halted with such suddenness, inertia pushed him forward. He nearly lost his balance.

Timmy said, “I’ll slice off her tit, then stab her in the heart. It’ll burst like a balloon.”

Rye said, “You wouldn’t live to brag about it.”

“Let’s try it and see.”

Brynn’s breath gusted out. “I’m all right, Rye.”

“So far,” Timmy said. “But she won’t be if you don’t back off.”

“Your face looks like hell, Timmy,” Rye said. “What color are your balls this morning?”

“I owe you for that.”

“I agree. You want to use your knife, come after me. Let Brynn go.”

Brynn could see herself and Timmy reflected in the lenses of Rye’s sunglasses. She reasoned he was wearing them so Timmy couldn’t tell exactly where he was looking. Brynn intervened. “There’s no need for another fight.”

“Why’s he holding a knife on you?”

“He’s got the drug, and wants to make sure that it gets to the senator.”

“That’s right,” Nate said, his self-importance reasserting itself. “As was the original plan. This nonsense was totally unnecessary, Brynn. None of this would have happened if you had left well enough alone.” To Timmy, he said, “Let’s go. It’s a long drive back.”

Calmly, Rye said, “Why don’t you all fly back with me?”

“I don’t think so, ace,” Timmy said. “I already saw you crash.”

Brynn’s knees had gone weak with relief at his suggestion. Ignoring Timmy’s remark, she said, “That’s a wonderful idea. Don’t you think so, Nate?”

His gaze ricocheted among them, landing on Timmy. “It is a good idea. It would save hours. But we don’t need him to fly us. The Hunts’ jet is available.”

“But not the pilots,” Brynn said.

“What?” Nate asked.

“Abby, at the outpatient hotel? She told Rye and me last night that they were off duty until they fly Violet back on Tuesday.”

Rye said, “That’s right. She did.”

“Then I guess it’s you, or a four-hour drive,” Nate said.

Timmy still looked reluctant and distrustful. “You got a plane big enough?”

Rye made a show of sizing him up and finding him lacking. “Big enough for you.”

Nate pressed his argument. “Time-wise, it would give me a wide comfort zone I wouldn’t have if we drive back. After all this, you don’t want to disappoint the Hunts by being late.”

Timmy capitulated, but said to Rye, “No funny stuff, or your girlfriend dies.”

11:22 a.m.

The pilot whose car Rye had asked to borrow had repeated his words back to him: “Fuck off.”

Rye had to call for a car. It had arrived in under four minutes, which had seemed like hours. The drive to the address Brynn had given him earlier had also seemed unending, and then, when he arrived, he wondered just where the hell the police were. He’d expected the area around the Griffins’ house to look like an armed camp with Timmy in custody for kidnaping Lambert.

But apparently Wilson and Rawlins had dropped the ball. They hadn’t notified their local cohorts.

Instead of a huge police presence, Rye had been met by a terrifying tableau that had almost caused his own heart to burst. He and God hadn’t been on speaking terms for a long time, and Brady White’s death had all but severed the fragile connection. Nevertheless, Rye found himself praying that Brynn would somehow get through this unharmed.

It was a lot to pray for, considering that Timmy was the threat. He overcompensated for his meager physicality with meanness and spontaneity. He had remembered Rye’s Glock and had made him produce it and drop it into the street drain, discreetly, so not to draw the notice of the crowd of gawkers in the Griffins’ yard.