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They would lose the advantage if the tear gas dissipated. Dale scrambled after him, fighting the urge to vacate the room, but Heather appeared, blocking Lester’s path, a gun pointed at the man’s chest.
“Don’t kill him,” Dale rasped. He couldn’t be sure through his blurred vision, but it looked like she was naked except for something around her mouth.
“Why not?”
“Motivation for the rest of the bettors,” he said.
She pulled the trigger anyway. Dale ducked, waiting for Lester to fall, but another scream of pain and the loud crash of a body came from behind him.
A second shot rang out and Lester jerked back, hopping on one foot, the obscenities expressing his temper and pain muffled by the powerful tear gas.
Dale prayed the relatively still bodies around him meant an end to the ordeal.
“I have the guns,” Heather said, kneeling at his side. “And the key.”
He felt her working at the cuffs, felt her hands trembling, as they hurried into the other room. He tried to offer soothing words, but his throat was raw. When she’d freed his hands, he wrapped his arms around her. He wanted to tell her she was amazing, but the words stuck in his throat.
Too soon, she wriggled free of his embrace and he felt lost before he realized she was opening the doors to clear the room.
“The knife?” he asked when he could talk. Lester and his men were still debilitated by the gas, rubbing at their eyes and making the problem worse. Dale didn’t bother to correct their mistake.
“Got that too,” she assured him.
He blinked, struggling to see her clearly. “You’re naked.”
“Wasn’t much time to dress.”
He watched her pull on the nearest garments—his shirt from last night fell to mid-thigh, covering everything important. While he didn’t want Lester or his men getting a look at her, he decided he missed the sexy view.
“They looked under the bed,” he said, sounding stupid even in his head. “It’s closed off.” He’d stubbed his toe on the damn box they used instead of a bed skirt.
“It’s a façade,” she explained, cringing at the bloody shoeprint on her field pants. “I hope they don’t seize these as evidence,” she joked, wiggling the pants up over her hips anyway. “They’ll be here any second.”
“Who?” He was unprofessionally distracted by her choosing to go commando rather than make an effort to find underwear.
“Police! Open up!”
One question answered. Dialed back into the moment, he rolled to his feet, ignoring the pain. “I’ll get it.” He didn’t want her to see Bingham.
She hesitated and he seized the opportunity to put himself between her and more death. “Cover me,” he said, attempting a smile.
Her lips curved in response. “Sure thing.” She turned, training her weapon on the men sprawled and groaning on the floor of the bedroom.
God, she was beautiful. He opened his mouth to tell her, but the police broke down the door, taking immediate note of the body blocking their path.
Dale raised his hands and identified himself as FBI, patiently waiting for someone to register the words.
Deputy Morris and Sheriff Cochran were right behind the first tactical unit. “Where is my sister?” Morris demanded.
“Watching the prisoners,” Dale said proudly. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “She’ll be happy to see you.”
And he would be sorry to see her go.
They were quickly separated by both the legal process and her brother and the questioning commenced in gas-free areas. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when she left without so much as a backward glance under the shelter of her brother’s arm.
But it was.
Wounds were treated, Lester and his men hauled away. Dale gave his statement repeatedly, hating the void and questions left by Bingham’s betrayal of the system they’d sworn to uphold.
