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“Well, I would swear that they were also at the airfield last night to meet the plane.”
“Why would they attack Brady?”
“So he wouldn’t call in a 911 when I crashed. They needed time to intercept you.”
“You’re guessing.”
“You think I’m wrong?”
“Not exactly wrong. I just don’t know that you’re right. In my work, I have to deal in absolutes.”
“In my work, too. But don’t tell me that you never go with your gut when it comes to a diagnosis.” He assessed her expression and said, “Thought so. My gut’s telling me that Jekyll and Hyde’s plan was to waylay you. They flubbed it, so they’ve been following you, waiting for the next opportunity. But you were surrounded by sheriff’s deputies up until the time I moved in.”
His theory was sheer speculation, but feasible. “But if they were after the GX-42, why would they have shone that laser at you and risked your crashing?”
“I can’t figure that, either. But at best, their intentions were unfriendly. At worst, I was considered disposable and so was Brady White. Now, if I were you, I’d take that as a bad sign as to my own future.”
She pulled her lower lip through her teeth but stopped when she realized he was watching her do it.
He said, “You’re scared, Brynn. You were scared before I outlined why you should be. You’ve been scared ever since you came creeping out of the fog toward my plane. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see. Could it be because my misconduct could cost me my license to practice medicine? If the patient has a negative reaction to the experimental drug and dies as a result, I’ll have committed murder. Don’t you think that’s enough to make one scared?”
“I don’t know. I don’t get scared.”
He didn’t say it in jest. He was dead earnest. But under her intent scrutiny, he shook off whatever it was that had turned his expression so serious and chinned toward the bathroom. “The water’s hot. I used the bar soap, but there’s some flowery smelling gel.”
“I’m not going to shower.”
“Afraid to get nekkid? I already told you, your virtue’s safe with me.”
“It’s safe with me, too, Mr. Mallett. My concern is time.” She tapped the face of her watch.
“You’ve laid a lot on me, including the fact that I flew an illegal drug across state lines. I could enter a plea of ignorance, and maybe they’d let me off, but it could still put Dash out of business and cost me my pilot’s license.”
She hesitated, then said quietly. “You could avoid those risks by turning me in.”
He studied her as though considering it, then grumbled, “I don’t want the hassle. Another go-round with Rawlins? No thanks. I’m already ensnared more than I want to be.”
“You wish I hadn’t told you, don’t you?”
He didn’t reply to that, but said crossly, “I deserve at least a few minutes to ruminate, don’t you think? While I’m at it, you had just as well avail yourself of soap and water.”
She had to admit that a hot shower was an appealing prospect. She looked with longing toward the open bathroom door, then stood up and shrugged off her coat. She laid it at the foot of the bed and walked toward the bathroom. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’ve probably burned my bridges with the car dealer. While you’re ruminating, try to devise a way for me to get back to Atlanta.”
He may have declared her virtue safe, but she locked the bathroom door anyway.
The water was hot. She used the shower gel, which didn’t smell all that flowery. When she rinsed her hair of shampoo, she was chagrined to see twigs and dead leaves in the water swirling toward the drain, leftover debris from when Rye had kept her pinned to the forest floor.
Best not to think about those few minutes and the pressure of his thighs against hers. Or of the light brown chest hair she’d glimpsed, compliments of his open shirt. Or speculate on the yummy trail that was beneath those few done-up buttons. Or remember the erotic heat that had blossomed in her center when he so perfectly paired their bodies during that kiss. She had let it continue for far too long. And for not nearly long enough.
He wasn’t a pretty boy, not dashingly handsome. But there was an essence of danger about him, a latent volatility, a raw sexuality to which women inevitably responded, unwisely and ultimately with remorse. He was the type of man who wouldn’t remain romantically attached for longer than twenty minutes at a time. But those twenty minutes—
Brynn yanked her thoughts away from him. From that. She couldn’t let anything distract her from getting back to Atlanta with the vial of GX-42 in time.
When she emerged from the bathroom, clean but wearing the same clothes, Rye was still lying on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in deep thought. His right arm rested atop the black box. Without prompting, he said, “I told Dash I would try to get to Atlanta later today.”
