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“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.”
