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She smiled at him as they approached one of only three ICU beds. “He would never forgive me. But he doesn’t know about the crash yet. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it.”
“No. Of course not. Has he said who attacked him?”
“He doesn’t even remember it. The last thing he remembers is talking to you on the radio and hearing your engine. The doctor said it looked like he was struck from behind. Deputy Thatcher agreed.”
Through the glass wall, Rye could see the man on the bed. He was hooked up to a variety of monitors that looked more complicated than a cockpit panel.
Brynn would know what they were for.
He hesitated on the threshold. Marlene went in ahead of him, then bent over her husband and said something to him. Rye saw his legs stir beneath the sheet. Marlene turned and motioned him in.
Rye walked to the bedside. Brady White wasn’t recognizable as the man in the picture, but that was understandable. There was a bandage on his head. His eyes were open, but he seemed to have trouble focusing. However, he gave Rye a feeble smile and groped for his hand.
Rye took his and shook it, glad to feel its warmth. Going through his mind like a looped recording was, Thank God you didn’t die. Thank God you didn’t die. He couldn’t have borne that.
“Thanks for coming out for me last night,” he said. “I hate this happened to you. I want you to know how sorry I am.”
Brady tried to shake his head but grimaced with the effort. In a scratchy voice, he said, “You made it in okay?”
Rye held his hands out to his sides to show that he was uninjured. “Whenever your number of safe landings equals your number of takeoffs…” He smiled, and it was returned.
Brady held up his first two fingers in a V. “Two beers.”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten. We’ll have them and talk flying.”
Brady nodded. His eyelids flickered, then closed.
“Mrs. White.” A nurse had come in, their signal to leave.
Marlene kissed her husband’s forehead then rejoined Rye in the hall. As they walked back toward the elevator, she told him she would ride down with him.
While they waited for the elevator, Rye asked her if she thought the guy who rented space in Brady’s hangar had been the one to attack him. “If so, that must’ve been some quarrel.”
“I don’t know the man except by name, and only through Brady. He described their argument as ‘heated,’ but that could have been an understatement to keep me from worrying. When Deputy Thatcher asked me if Brady had any enemies, I couldn’t think of anyone else that he’s been crosswise with.”
Rye knew little of Brady White, but he seemed like a man who made more friends than enemies. Even if this dispute over the cost of fuel had cultivated him a violent enemy, how would that guy have known Brady was going to be out there last night when every other airport was shut down? Oh, and have a laser with him. And one angry lessee didn’t compute with two sets of footprints.
Much more likely was that whoever had attacked Brady knew he would be on duty at the airfield, which meant they knew that Rye was scheduled to land there.
“Marlene, besides you, did Brady tell anybody about me coming in, give anyone my ETA?”
“Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“Just narrowing down the suspects.”
“That’s hardly your responsibility.”
“I feel responsible.”
She patted his arm. “The assault on Brady had nothing to do with you.”
Maybe not directly. But did it have to do with Brynn O’Neal?
The elevator arrived. As they boarded, Rye switched subjects. “I take it that Brady is an aviation buff.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Does he fly?”
