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Goliad looked at him.
All glibness gone, Rye said, “If you hurt her, I will kill you, and I don’t care how many witnesses there are.”
Goliad’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but he shifted his gaze back to Brynn. “Your boyfriend here, I had just as soon see dead. But I don’t want this to end badly for you, because you seem like a caring lady, and I admire that.”
“Thank you.”
“Just give me the drug, I leave, you go on about your business.”
“The drug is my business.”
“And this is mine,” he said, tightening his grip on the pistol.
She drew a steadying breath. “You know that Senator Hunt has much more time. The progression of his cancer—”
“I don’t make these choices.”
“But you should,” she stressed. “Did you watch the news story about Violet? If so, you saw how temporary she is. This is her only hope.”
“Give me the drug.”
He spoke with the slow, precise emphasis that Rye associated with him. The Hunts’ stranglehold on him was unassailable. It superseded compassion and human decency, perhaps even his own moral convictions. Regardless of how passionate and persuasive Brynn’s appeal, this man wasn’t going to be swayed.
She looked at Rye as though asking what she should do. He blinked in a way that said, Better hand it over.
To Goliad she said, “It’s in my coat pocket. Don’t shoot me for reaching for it.”
He gave a nod, then held up a hand to halt her. “You,” he said to Rye, “move back ten feet, put your bag on the floor, turn around and raise your jacket and shirttail.”
“You think I’m carrying? What would be the point? I haven’t replaced the clip you took.”
“Now, Mallett.”
Rye looked at the other man with consternation, but did as told, and showed Goliad his waistband all the way around. When they were facing again, Goliad told him to keep his hands up and away from his body, which he did.
Goliad made a motion to Brynn, who unzipped her coat pocket, and took out the bubble-wrapped package. “It’s sensitive to light and heat, and any exposure to bacteria would be—”
“I’ll be careful.” Goliad extended his hand.
Startling them all, a door opened a short distance away, and a housekeeper pushed a rattling cart into the corridor. In a singsong voice, she wished them a cheerful good morning.
Taking Goliad completely off guard, and shocking the hell out of Rye, Brynn went around Goliad and walked briskly toward the woman in the pink uniform. “I’m so glad you arrived when you did. We used all our towels last night. May I please have some extras?”
Without waiting for a response, Brynn lifted several from the stack on the cart and then broke into a sprint. Both Goliad and Rye charged after her, but Goliad had a ten-foot head start.
The housekeeper flattened herself against the wall in fright. As Goliad passed her, he one-handedly hauled her cart into the middle of the hallway. Running full out, Rye barreled into it, knocking it over and scattering everything it carried. He hurdled piles of fresh laundry and rolls of toilet tissue.
Brynn’s intention had probably been to take the fire stairs, but just as she drew even with the elevator, the bell above it dinged. She heaved the stack of towels toward Goliad. He batted them down, stumbled over them, kicked them aside as he chased after her.
The elevator doors opened. Brynn stepped in. Goliad, pistol held close to his side and out of sight, got in behind her. Rye put on a burst of speed and slipped in between the two closing doors.
He crowded in behind Goliad to make room for himself, because there were five other people in the elevator: a silver-haired couple looking annoyed for having been herded to the back; two teenage girls wearing earbuds and staring into their phones; a heavyset man in shorts and flip-flops.
Affably, he bellowed to the newcomers, “Morning, folks. Headed down to the buffet? The biscuits and gravy are tops. Grits, too.”
The teenagers continued to peck on their phones without looking up. The older couple smiled politely, but neither spoke. Brynn was on Rye’s left, huddled in the corner of the elevator, as though trying to go unnoticed. She didn’t speak. Rye thought she might have been holding her breath.
Goliad turned around to face out. Rye had kept his back to the door, so he and Goliad were now eye to eye. With everyone else in the cubicle unaware, Rye poked the short barrel of his pocket pistol into Goliad’s stomach. The man’s eyes registered surprise, and his abs contracted, but he didn’t react so that anyone else would notice.
