“Would you accept an e-signature?” Goliad asked.

“I would,” Rye said. “But the codger who sent me has probably never even heard of an e-signature, and wouldn’t trust it. He’s leery of technology, and he’s even more leery of people showing up in the wee hours to claim cargo not addressed to them.

“He said get Lambert’s John Hancock, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll hand-deliver the box. After Lambert signs off, what happens to it, or to any of you, is none of my concern. I’ll be out of it, free and clear, and so will the charter company.”

“We’ll deliver it to Dr. Lambert,” Goliad said. “Get his signature and email you a copy.”

Rye scoffed. “Cross your heart?”

Unfazed by the taunt, Goliad said, “Dr. O’Neal and I will take full responsibility. This won’t come back on you or the charter company. She and I will see that Dr. Lambert gets the box.”

Rye hugged it more closely. “I’m supposed to trust that? Sorry, but I have no confidence at all in your truth-telling. Doll face here has been lying to me from the get-go. Now you two show up, looking like B-movie muscle, claiming to work for somebody who tracks other people’s cell phones. I don’t know who that person is, don’t know you one-named wonders, don’t know her, and, if Dr. Lambert doesn’t produce a photo ID when we meet, he’s not getting this box, either.”

Timmy was restless, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Why don’t we just kill him and take it?”

“Tell him why that’s a bad idea, Goliad,” Rye said. “No? Okay, I will.” He looked at Timmy. “Because it would create a lot of time-consuming problems to deal with. My corpse. Trace evidence. A mess to clean up. According to Goliad your boss doesn’t want any trouble, and, besides that, he’s obsessed with the ticking clock.” Going back to Goliad, he added, “Am I right? If not, I would already be dead.”

Brynn’s heart was in her throat. He was all but daring them. Goliad, however, didn’t respond, leading her to believe that Rye had tapped into the heart of it.

He continued, “Look, I don’t know what your racket is, nor do I care. It can be innocent or criminal in nature, makes no difference to me, except that if it’s criminal, I want to be clear of it so my license isn’t jeopardized.

“So I’m sticking to the rules. I’m going to deliver the box to the name on my sheet. Once it’s in Lambert’s hands, I’m gone, and it can’t be soon enough to suit me. We can wrap this up real easy, real quick by loading up and getting on the road to Atlanta.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Sound like a plan?”

Brynn was trying to read Rye’s mind and discern what his actual plan was. But how it would play out wasn’t left to either of them.

Goliad made the choice. “It’s an excellent plan, Mr. Mallett. We’ll all ride together.”

Chapter 14

2:02 p.m.

When Deputy Rawlins answered his cell phone, Wilson asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to watch a football game, but one of the nephews vomited crab dip all over the rug, so I had to pause the game while they’re cleaning it up.”

“I’ve got the game on. Want to come over here?”

“The wife would kill me.”

“Tell her we’re working a case.”

“Are we?”

“The guy who quarreled with Brady White? His alibi is solid. He’s skiing in Colorado.”

“I wasn’t sold on him anyhow.”

“Then you’re gonna love this. Dr. O’Neal didn’t take delivery on the car I arranged for her. She skipped.”

“Be right there.”

“Bring a bag of chips. Never mind the crab dip.”

They lived no more than a five-minute drive from each other, but by the time Rawlins got to Wilson’s apartment, Wilson had a six-pack iced down in his Igloo. He uncapped two bottles and, as he sank into his recliner, passed one to Rawlins. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

They clinked bottles and drank.

Rawlins took a seat on the sofa, opened the bag of chips and munched a couple, then got down to business. “Where’d she go?”

“To the restroom.”

Rawlins stopped chewing and looked quizzically at Wilson.

Wilson explained what he’d gleaned from the car dealer and the waitress at the café. “Nobody’s seen her since.”

“Wanna bet?” Rawlins drawled and took another sip of beer.

“Mallett?”

Rawlins shrugged. “He’s the type.”

Wilson nodded in grudging agreement. “Damn his hide.”

“His hide and hair.”

Wilson, who’d lost more than half of his, gave his partner a wounded look.

“That hurt.”

Rawlins chuckled.

After taking another drink of his beer, Wilson began absently scraping the bottle label with his thumbnail. “I’ve got an ear worm.”

“What song?”

“Not a song. Something I overheard, at the department, as we were walking upstairs with them. The doctor and Mallet had an exchange there on the landing.”

“I remember you telling them to move along.”