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When the van stopped, I jerked my head up. If we were going to the BITES lab, I assumed we'd go via helicopter as it seemed that was the quickest way to get there. We were parked at a small airport, but I didn't see any helicopters with lights on. The only activity was centered around a small airplane. We pulled up alongside, and Chance was wheeled up a ramp. I followed along behind.
I was relieved to see Cassie pacing around the cabin. I rushed over. "I'm glad to see you. How's Jared?"
"Not good. Chance?"
"The same. I figured we were going to the BITES lab, but this isn't a helicopter. Do you know where we're headed?"
"A private facility is all I've been told."
As I hugged Cassie, I looked over her shoulder. "Gracie Layne? What are you doing here?"
"I was worried about you and Chance, so Mark said I could come along." I moved around Cassie to hug my sister. "I'm glad you're here."
"Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for takeoff," a male voice said over the speakers. After I was seated beside Gracie Layne, I looked around the cabin. There was no sign of Chance, Jared, or the medical team. They had all disappeared behind a curtain that sectioned off the rear of the plane.
Once we were in the air, I pulled out my list of questions. "Jared must have felt OK if you made the trip home," I said. "What happened?"
"His wound seemed to be healing well. He used the medication Dr. Wainwright gave him and everything was fine. We went for a horseback ride, and he started feeling ill. By the time we got home, he could barely keep himself in the saddle. I got him inside and checked his fever and it was nearly 105. The wound had these weird red veins branching out from it. I swear they hadn't been there the day before."
I shared the story of what happened with Chance. It seemed pretty clear that whatever was wrong with them had the same cause and the only similarity we could find was the medication provided by Dr. Wainwright.
"When Dr. Wainwright examined Jared in Texas, did he accept responsibility for what's going on?"
"Not really," Cassie said. "He really didn't say much at all. It was all very rushed. He was totally focused on Jared, and I figured that was OK."
"What did you mean 'did he accept responsibility?' Gracie asked. "You can't believe Mark would have purposely harmed Chance or Jared." I should have realized that she'd defend her man. I hadn't considered the complication of her involvement with Wainwright.
"I'm sorry, Gracie Layne. I pulled the tube of medication out of my bag and handed it to her. "This is what Dr. Wainwright gave Chance and Jared to put on their wounds. I didn't look closely at it until we were home. It seems odd to me that there's no labeling on it. At first, I thought it was some sort of sample he got from a drug company, but then I realized they'd have it plastered in labels if that were the case."
"I'm not sure what's going on," Cassie said, "but something about all this just doesn't add up. I'm sorry, Gracie. I know you like him. I hope we're wrong about what he's up to, but..."
"Up to? What is it exactly that you think he's up to?" she asked, punctuating her question with air quotes around the "up to" part.
Cassie looked at me. "How much does she know about the medical stuff we're involved with?"
I hadn't really gotten into much detail about that with my sister, but now that she'd been dragged into this situation, she deserved to know as much as we did.
As we shared our stories, two things became clear—Gracie Layne cared enough about the good doctor to defend him, and he had shared more information about my medical situation with her than HIPAA would allow. To me that was just another indication that Dr. Wainwright didn't feel constrained by the pesky laws that govern medical treatment and research in this country.
We all said what we had to say and an uncomfortable silence followed. I heard footsteps and saw Dr. Wainwright headed our way with a tray of tall glasses.
"Since you're all three southern ladies, I thought you might like a nice glass of sweet tea. I can assure you it's authentic. Gracie taught me how to make it." He handed each of us a glass, bending down and kissing Gracie as he handed one to her.
"We have some questions," Cassie said.
"Of course you do, and I'll be happy to answer them once my patients are out of danger."
"What danger are they in?" I asked, but he was already walking away.
"I want to see my husband," Cassie called out just as he reached the curtain.
"It's best if you just relax for now. We're taking good care of them. You'll be able to see them soon."
"Let him do his job," Gracie said. "He's a good doctor."
"How would you know?" Cassie asked. "You're the only one of us he hasn't treated."
Gracie Layne crossed her arms over her chest in a classic defensive posture and glared at Cassie and I. "Something's not right," I said, pulling out my cell phone. I was texting a message to DHS Agent Driscoll, when a tattooed arm reach over my seat and grabbed my phone from my hand.
"You can't use that until we land. I'll just hold on to it for you. Ladies, why don't you hand your phones over too. I don't want you to be tempted to disobey the rules."