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Ignoring Rye’s question, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Something better than Go-lee-ad.”
Goliad continued to stare at him. Rye shrugged and told him his name.
Goliad stared a few seconds longer, as though committing Rye’s face to memory, then returned his attention to Brynn. “Bottom line, you walked into a crime scene and were taken to the sheriff’s office to give your statement.”
“Which took much longer than I anticipated,” Brynn said, feigning asperity when what she actually felt was apprehension. There was no question now that Rye had been right. These men had been keeping track of her on behalf of the Hunts.
Trying not to appear unnerved, she continued. “Thanks to Dr. Lambert’s intervention, the matter was settled. Did he tell you about my car?”
The man nodded.
“Since it can’t be driven, Deputy Wilson was kind enough to arrange a car rental for me. When you saw us in the café,
we were waiting for the man to deliver it.”
“Except you snuck out the back with the flying ace.” That from the fox-faced Timmy, who gave Rye a wicked grin. Rye didn’t grin back.
Brynn said to Goliad, “It seemed to be taking a long time. I feared there had been a breakdown in communication. In the meantime, Mr. Mallett had borrowed a car, the Honda you mentioned.” She tilted her head, asking Goliad, “By the way, how did you know about that?”
“Go on with your story.”
“There is no story. Mr. Mallett offered to give me a ride to Atlanta.”
The punk made a nasal sound. “In exchange for nooky.”
Rye moved nothing except his eyes, which cut to Timmy. “Bet your mouth wouldn’t be so clever if you didn’t have that blade up your sleeve.”
Timmy’s smug grin vanished. He took a step toward Rye. “You wanna—”
“Timmy. Drop it.”
Goliad’s voice snapped like a whip, effectively halting Timmy and whatever form of attack he had planned. He backed down but continued to glare at Rye with malevolence.
Goliad said to Brynn, “Dr. Lambert assured my employers that you would be rushing back. But you’re not. What are you doing here with him?”
“None of your damn business,” Rye said.
“But it is, Mr. Mallett.”
“I don’t see how. The doctor here is a grownup. She isn’t married.” He looked over at Brynn. “Are you?”
Before she could respond, Goliad asked, “Where’s the box?”
Rye muttered, “That damn thing.”
The big guy turned to him. “What’s it to you?”
“I hauled it from Columbus, having no idea what was in it. If I’d’ve known, I would have put it in the back of the plane, the far back, not in the seat right next to me. Feel like Dracula. I’ve flown lots of weird cargo, but never a box of blood. Or if I did, I didn’t know it.”
Brynn jumped in. “He saw what was inside when the deputies made me open the box.”
Goliad’s obsidian gaze gave the room another sweep before returning to her. “I ask again, where is it?”
Before she could answer, Rye said, “It was kinda killing the mood for me. I shoved it under the bed.”
At a gesture from Goliad, Timmy went down on one knee, raised the hem of the bedspread, and looked beneath the bed. He stood up with the box held between his hands.
