“What’s funny?”

“It occurs to me that this is our third goodbye today. At the hospital this morning, Nate’s office, now here.”

“May be a Guinness record.”

“May be.” As she looked into his eyes, her smile faltered. “I take back what I said a minute ago about the crashing airplane.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I want to say…This wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for you, flying last night when no one else would. Thank you, Rye.”

“You already said it.”

“I’m saying it again.”

He negated the need for the additional gratitude with an uneasy roll of his shoulders.

The elevator arrived. Before the door opened, he tensed as though expecting someone to pounce out of it. But the cubicle was empty. He placed his hand on the door to hold it open.

“Twenty-four hours to spare,” he said.

“But I’m going to start the drip right away.”

He bobbed his chin. “Good luck. I’ll know it got Violet well when you get famous.”

“That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“I know.”

“Don’t leave thinking that.”

“I don’t.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, but the more she said, the less talkative he became. “Take care, Rye.” She went up on tiptoe and kissed him chastely on the cheek.

But as she was pulling away, he clamped his free hand over the back of her head, and kissed her as though his life depended on it. It was hungry, and hard, and over almost before she realized it had happened.

He pushed her into the elevator. “For a long time, I’m gonna wish I’d gotten inside your clothes.”

He released the door.

When it reopened on the third floor, Brynn’s lips were still throbbing, and Rye’s parting words echoing in her mind. Later, she would dwell on what might have been between them, if only things had been different. If only he and she had been different. But there was more to regret than she had time for now.

She started down the corridor. The doors to all the private quarters were shut. No one was in the snack room or the communal parlor. As she got closer to the room at the end of the hall, butterflies took flight in her tummy, not because of the risk she was taking, but because of the joy she was about to bring to Violet and her family.

She tapped lightly on the door. The attendant on duty opened it and stepped out into the hallway. “Dr. O’Neal.”

Brynn smiled pleasantly and acted as though she always showed up here looking completely exhausted and disheveled, dressed in yesterday’s clothing. “Hello, Abby. How was your Thanksgiving? Did you have to work all day?”

“No. I came on at four this afternoon. How was yours?”

She smiled wanly. “Not at all customary.”

“I’m surprised to see you here tonight.”

“I wanted to check on Violet, ask what kind of day she had.”

The young woman’s smile wavered. “Oh. I thought you would have heard.”

8:01 p.m.

Rye stood staring at the elevator door long after it had shut out his last look at Brynn. He didn’t move away until his cell phone vibrated. It was Dash.

Rye answered querulously. “Is this my wake-up call?”

“You in bed?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s the hotel?”

“To be honest, haven’t really noticed. It’s got a rack. That’s all that matters.”

“And you’re in it?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“Yeah, but you’re lying.”

Rye was surprised that Dash knew that, but he tried to act annoyed. “You’re having me tailed, or what?”

“Do I have reason to?”

Rye swore silently. “Okay. Busted. Why’re you calling? Another job?”

“No. I just hung up from an enlightening chat with a Deputy Sheriff Williams.”

“Wilson?”

“Whatever.”

Rye put his back to the wall and rested his head against it. “What did he want? That mess in Howardville has been cleared up.”

“He wanted to know did I know where you were, because he ain’t in Howardville, and that ‘mess’ hasn’t been cleared up at all. He found blood on the floor of a parking garage in downtown Atlanta, and has a movie of you doing a Jackie Chan impersonation on a kid with a knife.”

Rye pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Guess that answers if it’s true or not.”

He could feature the workout Dash was giving his cigar. For this occasion, he might have lit it. “Listen, Dash, I don’t know why Wilson called you—”

“Only contact they had for you.”

Rye thought of his parents, and his stomach bottomed out. “You didn’t give Wilson any next-of-kin info, did you?”

“Hell, no, I played a regular dunce. But I’d kinda like to know what I’m covering you for. Felony or a misdemeanor?”

“Vengeance. That kid with the knife was the one who zapped me with the laser.”