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“A buddy loaned it to me.”
“Did he? Because we called the owner. Jake Morton? He said, yeah, he let you charter it, but with reservations. Didn’t know much about you.”
“I told him not to…” Rye stopped himself.
“What?” The deputy moved in closer. “Told him not to what?”
Rye said nothing else. Jake hadn’t trusted these guys, either. He’d only done what Rye had advised, but that advice might very well hang him now.
“Did Mr. Morton know you planned to fly his plane, unauthorized, to a private landing strip belonging to a U.S. senator?”
“No. It was a rushed, last-minute change of plan. But it wasn’t ‘unauthorized.’ I believe the arrangements were made through Mrs. Hunt. Maybe she forgot to inform the senator.”
“Close as they are, I doubt that,” one of the deputies said. “Besides, it’s not like Mrs. Hunt to forget anything, much less something that threatens their personal security.”
Rye didn’t comment, afraid that whatever he said from this point would soon reach the ears of the Hunts, placing Brynn in even greater peril.
One of the deputies asked him if he was armed.
“No.”
“A Glock is registered to you. And you have a CHL.”
“Y’all have gathered all this intel on me in only a couple of hours? You’ve sure been industrious.”
“We feared for the senator’s safety.”
“You think I look scary? What about the two guys in the black suits?”
“The little guy is new, but we’re well acquainted with Goliad.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Nice guy. Solid.”
“Hmm.” Solid as the kickbacks he doled out.
He was patted down despite his denial of being armed. One of the deputies said, “We’ll continue this conversation at the department annex.”
“I promised to return Jake’s plane tonight.”
“Sorry, that’s a promise you’ll have to break.”
“From here, the flight to the FBO where he hangars it will only take about twenty minutes. You can pick me up there.”
One snuffled a laugh. “We let you get back in that cockpit, what’s to keep you from taking off for Timbuktu?”
“Fuel capacity.”
The quip didn’t go over well. One of the deputies unsnapped his holster and curved his hand around the grip of his pistol. “Are you going to give us a hassle, Mr. Mallett?”
He raised his hands. “No hassle, but how about this? One of you flies over there with me.”
“And become your hostage?” Both scoffed. “I don’t think so.”
“No. Swear to God—”
“Hands behind your back.”
