Only then did Brynn realize that the box was no longer on the bed. It was nowhere in sight.

But she didn’t have time to ask Rye what he’d done with it. The chain fell loose against the jamb. He flipped the lock on the doorknob. The large Hispanic man caught her doing up her jeans when he came in, shouldering Rye out of his way. The punk—Rye’s description fit him to a tee—followed his partner inside and snickered as he took in the scene Rye had staged.

For effect, Rye was buttoning his fly with his left hand, unhurried, looking not in the least embarrassed, but extremely put out with her. “‘No strings,’ you said. I should’ve known better.”

She ignored that and addressed the tall man. “All right, you’re in. Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

“We were sent to check on you.”

“I need checking on?”

His dark gaze took in the room, Rye, then came back to her. “Apparently.”

“I explained to Dr. Lambert—”

“Wasn’t him who sent us,” he said, interrupting her. “Your patient has been fretting over you getting back in time.”

“There was no cause to fret. I’m well aware of the deadline, Mr.…?”

“Goliad.” He tipped his head in the other’s direction. “That’s Timmy.”

“And how do I know you work for…my patient?”

“You want to verify it, fine. Call him. He and his missus will be glad to know we finally tracked you down.” He gave the room another survey, stopping on the bed. “Can’t say they’ll be happy to learn the reason for your delay.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“We started looking for the blue Honda, but that was taking too long. So we tracked your cell phone. Signal brought us right to you.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to find me.”

“That’s what I get paid for.”

“But I saw you in the café. If you were looking for me, why didn’t you come over and make yourselves known to me then?”

He gave her a meaningful look. “While you were in the company of a deputy sheriff?”

“Oh. Well, the reason for that had nothing to do with my medical errand. Soon after I got here last night—”

Goliad interrupted her. “We know all about it.”

“Oh? How?”

“Dr. Lambert,” he replied smoothly. “He explained everything to my boss. First, the plane crashed.”

She gestured to Rye. “He was the pilot.”

Rye was leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, which Brynn was beginning to recognize as a pose typical of him. He looked annoyed, but not especially interested in what was being discussed. However, she noticed that his hands were stacked between his butt and the wall, within easy reach of the pistol in his back pocket.

His eyes were at half mast as he said to Goliad, “What do you know about the crash?”

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.”