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“You know it did.”
He shrugged. “It’s just that if you leave with only a Ford dealer to protect you, who knows what they might do.”
“They? Who?”
“The two guys in the corner booth. Both dressed in black suits. One tall, Hispanic, hard body, handsome devil. The other smaller, hyper, pointy nose, and ears like a fox. Did you notice them?”
“They ordered apple pie with their Whole Hog breakfast. What have they got to do with me?”
“You tell me, Dr. O’Neal.”
“I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
“No? Well, I have. Know when? As I was leaving the sheriff’s office. Know where? They were sitting in a black, late-model Mercedes, parked across the street and almost out of sight behind a hardware store, like they were keeping an eye on the place, like they were waiting for somebody besides me to come out.”
His eyes scaled down from her face to the toes of her boots and up again. “As nice a prize as you would make, I don’t think they’re after your sweet self, so much as that box you’re welded to. More to the point, they’re after what’s in it.”
Of their own volition, her lips parted with alarm.
“Riiiight,” he said. “That weird pair were waiting for you, and you are going to tell me why, and you are going to tell me now.”
She raised her chin in defiance. “Or what?”
8:32 a.m.
Rye gave the small of Brynn’s back a nudge to get her across the threshold, followed her into the room, and closed the door with a solid thunk. He pressed the button on the doorknob and slid the chain lock into place. The curtains were drawn, but there was an inch-wide separation in the middle of the window. He overlapped the edges to close it.
The decor was standard mountain-cabin-in-the-woods à la the sixties. The artwork on the knotty pine–paneled walls was reminiscent of the bear in Brady White’s office, the bedspread striped in earth tones, the lampshades made of burlap. In the bathroom, everything was tan and basic motel issue.
While he conducted his brief inspection of the layout, Brynn didn’t move from the spot where she’d taken root just inside the door. She said, “After a drive long enough to make me car sick—”
“Mountain roads. It’s not my fault they’re winding.”
“But I thought you were going to the airplane.”
“I thought so, too. Change of plan. Besides, it’s still too foggy to take pictures.”
“What are we doing here?”
He set his flight bag on the seat of a chair, then removed his bomber jacket and tossed it onto the bed. It landed with the lining side up. Brynn frowned with distaste.
“Don’t be so hard on her,” he said. “She’s kept me warm many a night.” He waited a beat, then added, “But since you’re here…” He left the suggestion hanging.
“Dream on. I’m not a pinup girl.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth, and then to her breasts, and when it reconnected with hers, he said, “You’d do.”
Suddenly they were no longer sparring. Those two words, and the raspiness with which he’d spoken them, had caused a seismic mood shift. Worse, both of them were aware of it.
To set things right again, he turned away from her and forced a light laugh. “Relax, Dr. O’Neal. I don’t have designs like that on you.”
“Answer my question.”
“I forgot what it was.” He sat down on the bed, pulled off one boot and let it drop, then the other.
“What are we doing here?”
“Oh, that. I’m waiting you out.”
