He said, “The doctor tells us your plane is banged up pretty good and not going anywhere for a while.”

“It can’t be buffed out, no.”

“She gave us the general vicinity of where it is. We’ve got officers going out to take a look.”

Rye grimaced. “I’m required to call the FAA and file an accident report. My phone was busted, and since discovering White, I haven’t had time. I need to get some pictures of the craft, as is, so tell your guys not to disturb anything.”

“I’ll tell them,” Rawlins said, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to do it. “What caused your instruments to blink out?”

“A glitch. It’s an old plane.”

Rawlins looked doubtful. “I’m no pilot, but I know this is a tough place to fly in and out of. We had a guy fly in here last year. Sunday pilot. Came in too low, clipped the power lines as he—”

“I’m not that guy.”

Rye’s curt interruption seemed to rub the deputy the wrong way. “Oh, no?”

“No.”

The lawman looked him over then gave a skeptical snort and wrote something on his pad. “What was so all-fired important that you had to fly here tonight?”

“I fly freight.” Rye didn’t think that would cut it, and it didn’t.

“For who?”

“For whoever pays me.”

“What kind of freight?”

“All kinds. Big, little, dead or alive. You name it.”

“I’d like for you to name it. What were you flying tonight?”

“That.” The deputy followed the direction of his pointing finger to the box where it still sat in the chair adjacent to the door.

“What is it?”

“Exactly what it looks like.”

Impatience evident, the deputy shifted his weight. “What’s in it, Mr. Mallett?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

The first statement was true, the second a lie, and gauging by the deputy’s dubious expression, he knew it was. “The doctor didn’t volunteer it?”

“No.”

“Is that typical?”

“In my business, there’s no such thing as typical.”

“Who dispatched you?”

“The name of the company is Dash-It-All.” Rye gave him the contact information, and he wrote it down. “If you don’t mind,” Rye said, “I’d like to call the owner myself and be the one to break the news about his plane.”

“I do mind.”

He gave Rye a smile that Rye would’ve enjoyed wreaking havoc on. Instead, he gave an indifferent shrug and nodded down at the notepad. “You’ve got his number.”

Rawlins called over another deputy, who was older but apparently lower in the department’s pecking order. Rawlins ripped off the sheet of paper that had Dash’s phone numbers on it and gave it to the other officer. He muttered instructions to him that Rye couldn’t hear and pretended disinterest in.

Before the other deputy moved away, he said to Rawlins in an undertone, “Know who she is?” He bobbed his head toward Brynn.

Rawlins leaned back in order to see around the other deputy to where Brynn was being questioned. “Should I?”

“Wes O’Neal’s daughter.”

Rawlins’s eyes narrowed on her. “You don’t say.”

“Wasn’t sure at first, but then I heard her name. I’d see her around the department when she was just a kid. In and out of there a lot.” The older deputy withdrew, presumably to phone Dash.

Rye’s curiosity got the better of him. “Who’s Wes O’Neal?”

Rawlins said, “You’re not from around here, or you’d likely know. Where are you from, Mr. Mallett?”

“Not from around here.” Rawlins gave him a baleful look, and Rye decided that annoying him further wasn’t worth the time it would cost him. “Everywhere and nowhere. Air Force brat. We moved every couple of years, so I don’t claim a home town or even a home state.”

“Where do you live now?”

He rented an apartment in Oklahoma City only so he would have a mailing address. He had no personal attachment to the city. He’d chosen it for convenience. It was in the center of the country, making it easy to get into on his way back from somewhere and easy to get out of on his way to somewhere else.

He hadn’t really lied to Brynn when she’d asked where he lived. The rental was more a storage unit for his few belongings than it was a residence. As often as not, he was far from there, sleeping in a cheap motel or in the back room of an FBO until somebody needed a pilot on short notice.

Like tonight.

His eyes were drawn again to Brynn. She was talking, making small gestures. She reached up and looped a hank of hair behind her ear. As she listened to the deputy’s next question, her teeth tugged at the corner of her lower lip, like she was nervous. Like she was lying.

“Address?”

Rawlins’s question brought Rye back. He provided Rawlins with the address of his apartment. The deputy added it to his notepad. “After you crashed, what happened?”

Rye explained how he’d managed to get out of the airplane. “I was trying to figure out which way back to the road when Dr. O’Neal showed up.” Leaving out how sneakily she’d acted when she found the plane, he related the rest.