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"Is she?"
"Yes."
"How do we know?"
"Because he was with me all night."
"Screwing?"
It would have taken more than Pat Bush's substantial bulk to stop Lucky then. Roaring like a pouncing lion, he launched himself across the room toward the agent who had practically spat the nasty word in Devon's face.
He threw the agent off balance and into the table, sending it crashing to the floor. Cheap wood splintered. Devon gave a surprised cry, sprang from her chair, and backed toward the door out of harm's way.
But then Chase pulled open the door and came barreling through, nearly mowing her down. He'd been waiting in the squad room, but at the first hint of trouble had come charging in to offer assistance to his younger brother. The second agent, the one not being pummeled by Lucky's flying fists, charged forward to help his cohort. He was grabbed from behind. "Not so fast, buddy," Chase growled into the agent's ear as he restrained him.
Pat, recovering from his dismay, dodged Lucky's fists, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him to his feet. "What the hell's the matter with you?" he shouted. "This isn't going to help."
He slammed the younger man against the wall and pinned him there by splaying one hand open over Lucky's chest. With his other hand he assisted the agent to his feet.
Lucky's torso was heaving from exertion and fury. He aimed his index finger at the agent. "You son of a bitch. Don't you ever talk to her—"
"I'm filing assault charges against you!" the agent shouted. He took a folded white handkerchief from his pocket and tried to stanch the flow of bright red blood from his cut lip.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Pat declared in a loud voice. "If you do, I'll go to your superiors and lodge a formal complaint against you for the way you've conducted this interrogation. You intentionally badgered and humiliated Ms. Haines, who was doing her best to cooperate with your investigation."
"He's right," Chase said through gritted teeth. He had the agent's hands up between his shoulder blades. He pushed them higher. The man groaned. "Isn't he right? Before you answer, maybe you should know that half a dozen deputies and I were listening through the door to every word said in this room."
"Maybe," the agent gasped, "maybe he did get a little out of hand."
"Chase," Pat barked, "let him go. His eyes are bugging out."
Lucky was virtually unaware of what was going on around him. He had tasted blood and wanted more. Glaring at the agent malevolently, he threatened, "I'm gonna nail you—"
"Lucky, shut up!" Pat called forward a deputy from among those congregated in the doorway. "Take him upstairs and lock him up."
"Huh?" The sobering thought of a jail cell snapped Lucky out of his murderous mood. "What for?"
"Suspected arson, remember?" Pat said calmly, nodding the deputy toward Lucky.
"But I'm innocent!"
"That's how you can plead before the judge later this afternoon. In the meantime I recommend you teach your mouth some manners and cool off your temper."
Lucky was too dumbfounded to resist the deputy's manhandling. Besides, this deputy had played on the same regional championship baseball team with Lucky and had been a friend for years. He looked at Devon. "Take her home, Chase."
"Right," his brother said. "Stay the hell out of trouble, will you?"
"See you in court," Lucky quipped as he was escorted through the door. His smile vanished, however, when the crowd of deputies, clerks, and dispatchers parted for him, and he noticed a spot of color in the otherwise monochromatic gray squad room. Susan Young was standing against the far wall, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and smiling complacently.
* * *
Chapter 14
"That was a damn stupid thing to do."
The pickup truck with Tyler Drilling Co. stenciled onto the doors jounced over a chuckhole. Chase downshifted, giving his brother a fulminating glance across the truck's interior. The upholstery's color was no longer distinguishable. It bore layers of grime from scores of drilling sites.
"Don't you know the penalty for assaulting a federal agent?"
