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?”

Her expression turned rueful. “No.”

The elevator door opened on the lobby level. They stepped out, and Rye’s heart kicked against his ribs when he saw Brynn alighting from a sheriff’s unit parked in the porte cochere. Wilson was at the wheel. Brynn bent down and said something to him, then closed the door, and he drove away. She entered the lobby through the automatic doors. She was carrying that damn box.

Immediately spotting him and Marlene White, whom she must have recognized from the photograph on Brady’s desk, she made her way over. She acknowledged him with a nod, then turned her attention to Brady’s wife and introduced herself.

Mrs. White clasped Brynn’s hand as she had Rye’s. “Dr. O’Neal, thank you so much for seeing to Brady last night.”

“Call me Brynn, please. And you’re welcome. I only wish I could have done more. What’s his condition?”

Marlene repeated what she’d told him. “He regained consciousness only a little while ago. Just in time for Rye to see him.”

Brynn turned her gaze up to him. “You two talked?”

“We exchanged a few words. Not sure he’ll remember any of it.”

“Oh, he’ll remember,” Marlene said around a laugh. “He won’t forget you telling him that you’ll talk planes.”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t have his pilot’s license,” Rye said.

“He would if he could. All he ever wanted to do was fly. But he has a heart murmur caused by a faulty mitral valve. They discovered it when he was still in his teens, but he was probably born with it. He suffers mild symptoms that are controlled with medication. It doesn’t prevent him from doing pretty much whatever he wants to.”

“Except fly,” Rye said.

“Except fly,” she repeated sadly.

Brynn asked, “Doesn’t it bother him to manage the airfield, watch other people do what he would love to be doing?”

“No, just the opposite. He’s still plane crazy and enjoys the camaraderie with pilots.” She looked over at Rye. “When he heard that you were thumbing your nose at the weather and flying in here last night, he was as excited as a kid. As he left the house, he said, ‘I can’t wait to meet this fellow.’ Now he has. Your visit today will have meant the world to him.”

“When he’s recovered, I’ll come back and take him flying.”