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Which actually made it the ideal time. It was doubtful anyone would answer, he wouldn’t have to talk, but the call would be registered. He could honestly claim that he’d made an attempt.
He punched in the number. The call went through. He disconnected on the third ring. Done.
But then he realized that the number of his spare phone wouldn’t be recognized. That call hadn’t counted. He still had it to dread.
Dash would be up. Dash was always up. Rye called. Dash answered in his customary snarl, and when Rye identified himself, he said, “Well, it’s about time. I’ve been—”
“My phone was busted, and before you light into me, let me fill you in on a few details that the deputy who called you last night didn’t know.”
For once in his life, Dash held his tongue for as long as Rye talked. He concluded by telling Dash how sorry he was about the Cessna. “I did my best. Wasn’t good enough.”
“Shit, Rye. The plane’s insured. I’ll collect the money and sell the undamaged parts, and come out ahead. It’s worth more wrecked than it was intact. But if you’d’ve been killed—”
“You wouldn’t have collected a thing. I’m not insured. My life isn’t worth a dime.”
“Don’t joke.”
“Wasn’t.”
After a short, tense silence, Dash asked, “You’re sure about the laser?”
A tide of anger washed over Rye. “Don’t insult me, Dash.”
“Just asking a simple question. Don’t read nothing into it.”
Rye knew there was much more behind Dash’s simple question, but he left it alone. “The beam hit me square in the eyes.”
“All I needed to hear. I’d like to castrate the bastard.”
“Get in line.”
“Have the cops rounded up any suspects yet?”
This was going to be the dicey part. “I didn’t tell them about it. I let them think I screwed the pooch.” Rye figured Dash was too astonished to speak. He continued before he could. “Wouldn’t have done any good to tell them, Dash. They’d only have my word for it, and I can see the eye rolls now. If I’d cried laser, it would’ve looked like I made up a far-fetched excuse for missing the runway.”
“And that’s worse than having them think it was your error?”
“This time, yeah.”
“Want to tell me why?”
“It’s complicated.”
Dash snorted. “That much I know.”
“It has to do with the client.”
“Dr. Lambert, or the one who came to meet you?”
“Both, I think. This whole thing is off somehow. She protects that box like it’s the Holy Grail.”
“She?”
“Dr. O’Neal.”
“The Dr. O’Neal you’ve been talking about is a she?”
“What? You’ve got something against female doctors?”
