“Know what he called me?”
“Sorry?”
“Goliad. I overheard him talking to one of the guys who chauffeurs the Hunts around. Goliad called me a cockroach.”
“That was certainly unkind of him.”
“Unkind?” Timmy laughed. “Highest compliment he could’ve paid me. Know why? Because cockroaches have survived for kazillions of years because they’re adaptable.”
The doctor didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“Well, see, I’m adaptable.” He used both hands to point to his chest. “If a situation does an unexpected one-eighty on me, and things go to shit, I don’t look back to see what went wrong and cry over it. No. I stay cool and keep my eyes forward.” He made an arrow of his hand and aimed it ahead of him. “And—I swear, I’ve got the devil’s own luck—the turnaround usually winds up working to my benefit.”
With a maneuver he’d mastered over years of practice, he removed the switchblade from his sleeve and flicked it open. The doctor jumped like a rabbit. Flashing him a cunning smile, Timmy calmly began flipping the knife end over end, catching it by the handle each time.
“This brouhaha is over the lady doctor making off with the magic potion, or youth serum, or holy water, whatever it is, right?” He laughed at Lambert’s startled expression. “I can see that you, like everybody else, thought I didn’t know that, but how stupid would I have to be not to figure it out?
“I saw the paperwork Mallett had such a hard-on for. That metal box came from some pharmaceutical lab in Ohio. All hush-hush. Two doctors competing for possession of it. And a senator frantic to get his hands on it.” He stopped the flipping and pointed the knife at Lambert. “What is it?”
Lambert’s gaze was fixed on the switchblade. He probably couldn’t work up a spit, but he eked out, “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Timmy held his pose for a long time, then shrugged abruptly. The doctor flinched again. “That’s okay,” Timmy said. “I probably wouldn’t understand your medical mumbo jumbo, and anyhow I don’t give a fuck what it is.
“I just know that the Hunts want it, and want it bad. What do I want, you ask? I want to win their favor, get in good with them, suck that sugar tit that Goliad’s had to himself all these years. The way to do that? Solve the problem.”
The doctor’s eyes shifted from the knife up to Timmy’s eyes. “How do you propose to do that?”
“It’s so simple, it’s a mystery to me why nobody’s thought of it.” He laughed and took another swig of the whiskey.
Chapter 28
12:50 a.m.
Brynn missed his weight on her, the tickle of hair against places where her body was smooth, the scent of his skin, the overall feel of him on her and inside her. The tumult was over, but she wasn’t done savoring the aftermath.
With regret, she opened her eyes.
Rye lay facing her, perfectly still, staring at her as though he’d been waiting for her to come out of the post-orgasmic daze in which he’d left her. He touched her neck with the tip of his index finger. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
“I didn’t mean to bite that hard.”
“You didn’t. My skin bruises if you look at it hard.”
“Any bruises from last night when I held you to the ground?”
“One.” She rolled toward him so he could see her back.
He grimaced and gently stroked the spot just above her hip. “I’m sorry. I’ve been rough on you.” As though talking to himself, he added, “I’m rough on everybody.”
“The person you were talking to on the phone earlier?”
His eyes sharpened on her. He stopped caressing, but his sudden withdrawal was more than tactile.
“I came out of the bathroom just as you tossed your phone onto the dresser. You seemed upset.”
He turned onto his back. “How much did you overhear?”