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“This is fine.”
She was carrying nothing except what was in her coat pockets as she started up the incline toward the house. A minivan, presumably belonging to the family, occupied the driveway. TV vans were parked end to end along the curbs on both sides of the street.
Also parked in front of the house were two limousines.
And, last in line, Nate Lambert’s Jaguar.
Upon seeing it, Brynn stopped. There was no mistaking that it was his car. She parked hers next to it every day in the garage of their office building.
There could be only one reason he was here, and that was to get the drug away from her before she administered it to Violet. Why hadn’t she foreseen this? He would have predicted that, once she learned Violet had been sent home, she would follow. He had beat her here.
But she had a strong advantage over him. Dr. Brynn O’Neal was Violet’s overseeing physician. Both the child and her parents had utmost faith in her. When they learned that she was here, and why she had come, they would be overjoyed.
Nate couldn’t very well tell them that he was denying the drug to Violet so he could give it to his patient. He wouldn’t arm-wrestle Brynn for ownership of it. He was hamstrung. There was nothing he could say or do without exposing his perfidy.
As long as you’re in possession of the game ball, you’re winning.
Bolstered by Rye’s words, she continued walking toward the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Blocking the sidewalk, hunkered beneath umbrellas, was a congregation of neighbors, whose curiosity hadn’t been dampened by the weather.
She was still some distance from them when, out of their midst, Nate appeared. As he made his way toward her, he didn’t look like his cocksure and overconfident self, however. Without an umbrella, hood, hat, or raincoat, he looked bedraggled and panicked.
“Nate?” She said his name aloud, but she was actually talking to herself, puzzled by his uncharacteristic demeanor.
“He’s a little wound up.”
The statement came from so close behind her, she felt the speaker’s breath in her hair. She turned quickly to find herself face-to-face with Timmy. He was wearing a rain jacket, the hood up.
He said, “Unless you want to get cut, don’t do anything stupid.”
She looked down. The tip of a slender silver blade was pressed against her coat at waist level. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
“More’s the pity.” His evil grin made her shiver.
Nate reached them, near hyperventilating, wringing his hands, almost in tears. “Brynn. Give me the drug.”
“It should go to Violet, Nate, and you know it. Your name is on that exemption application for her as well as mine. You know she’s—”
“For godsake, it’s too late to argue about it,” he said, his voice cracking. “Give it to me or—”
“Or he offs the kid.”
She looked at Timmy with misapprehension. “What?”
“Since Lambert here seems to have lost the power of speech, I’ll explain,” Timmy said. “The situation is this. If you don’t give the potion to Dr. Lambert, he’s going to push air into the kid’s IV. If she’s dead, she no longer needs the drug, right? Right. Freeing it up for you-know-who.”
Flabbergasted, she turned to Nate. “He’s not serious.”
“Deadly serious. Give me the drug.”
Brynn’s mind was reeling. “Have you seen the family? Violet?”
His head wobbled a yes. “She’s all right. Rather tired. Listless. But happy
to be at home. I…I…” He cast a nervous glance toward Timmy. “I asked to examine her more thoroughly after…after…”
“Elsa,” Timmy said. “She’s in there now putting on a show. Off and on, you can hear her singing. She and the mayor got here at the same time. Separate limos.”
Nate was breathing as though he’d climbed Everest without oxygen. “When the special guests arrived, everyone else was invited to wait outside. Me included.”
