by Sandra Brown
"You didn't have to." He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. She whimpered quietly. Glancing down at the peaked centers of her breasts, which were making impressions against her blouse, he whispered, "Just like before, your body says it for you."
* * *
Chapter 17
Pat Bush was sitting on a picnic table in Dogwood Park, drinking from a long-neck bottle of beer. It was against the rules to be drinking in uniform, but it was against the rules to hand over official crime reports to civilians, too, so he figured he might just as well be hanged for a sinner as a saint.
Devon scanned the top sheet of the stack of documents. One of the park's halogen security lamps provided her with enough light to read by. She had slipped on her glasses. "What's a trailer?"
"A trail of fuel leading back to the building," Pat explained. "There were several radiating out from the garage like spokes on a wheel. They set the flares to them."
"Then ran like hell," Lucky contributed from the adjacent playground, where he was sitting in a swing.
"Whoever did it was smart," said Pat, playing devil's advocate. "Apparently the perp shut off the ventilation system in the building first. The gasoline fumes collected like air inside a balloon. One spark introduced into those compressed fumes, and kablooy. You've got yourself an explosion hot enough to melt metal."
"Maybe we'll see something when we've gone over the material more carefully." Devon tried to inject some optimism into her voice, but Lucky knew that her hopes were as faint as his own. He rued the day he'd bought those flares, which the roughnecks sometimes used at night to mark the route to an out-of-the-way drilling site.
Pat finished his beer and conscientiously placed the empty bottle in the trash barrel.
"Guess I'd better get home. It's late. If y'all turn up anything, let me know. But for the love of God keep your investigation covert. Don't do anything conspicuous."
"Don't worry, Pat. If we're caught, your name would never enter into an explanation of how we got the crime report."
"You didn't have to tell me that," the older man said to Lucky. He doffed the brim of his hat to Devon and ambled off through the park toward his squad car.
"Ready?" Lucky asked.
Devon pocketed her glasses, picked up the stack of documents, and allowed him to hold her hand as they moved in the opposite direction from Pat, toward Lucky's Mustang. The house was dark when they arrived. Laurie had already gone to bed. A light shone from beneath Sage's door, and she had a radio on, but for all practical purposes she had retired to her room for the night, too.
At the door of the guest bedroom, which Laurie had hospitably prepared for her, Devon turned to Lucky. "Tomorrow we'll begin again, asking questions about anybody who might be harboring a grudge against you. One by one we'll eliminate them."
"Okay."
"Let me know if you think of anyone else, and I'll add him to my list."
"Okay."
"Are you listening?"
"Of course." Actually he wasn't. "You sleepy?"
"A little."
"I'm not. I've never been so keyed up."
"I started out this morning with a hundred-mile drive, remember?"
He nodded, but his eyes were fastened on her neck with the single-mindedness of a vampire. "Is, us, is the bedroom okay?" he asked, reluctant to leave her. "Is the bed comfy?"
"I haven't tried it yet, but I'm sure it will be fine."
"Is the room hot?"
"Not at all."
"Too cool?"
"It's just right, Lucky."
"Got everything you need?"
"Yes."
"Towels?"
"Yes."
"Soap?"
"Yes."
"Toilet paper?"
She smiled. "Your mother is a thorough and gracious hostess. I even have a candy dish I stocked with little candy bars."
"Oh well, then I guess you've got everything."
"Mm-hmm."
"But if you need anything else…"
"I won't."
"…like extra blankets, pillows…" He bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers.
He kissed her, fluidly, first touching the tip of his tongue to hers, then melding their mouths together. Groaning, he placed his arms around her and drew her against his body, which was full and feverish with a desire he'd studiously kept at bay until now, when he couldn't restrain himself any longer. Just one taste of her. Only one. Then he might survive the night. But, by the second, his mouth became more possessive, his tongue more intimate, his hands more seductive. She ground protesting fists against his chest. He moaned her name when he finally surrendered and raised his head.
"We can't, Lucky."
"It's just a kiss."
"No it isn't."
"Just one kiss."
"It's wrong."
"I know, I know."
"Then let me go. Please."
He released her but didn't move away.
Their eyes met and locked in a searing gaze. It gratified him to hear that she was as breathless as he, and that her protests were without conviction.
She slipped through the guest-room door and closed it behind her, but not before he saw in her eyes pinpoints of confusion and passion that matched those burning in his.
He hardly slept a wink that night, knowing she was only two doors away but unable to do a damn thing about it.
* * *
After three days of that he was on the verge of going stark staring mad. One by one the names on their list of possible suspects had fallen through the cracks of logic, reason, and fact. No one who had a recent grievance against him could have set the fire.
His mood was foul, his disposition sour, his language vulgar, his patience depleted, and all because he was desperate for Devon.
Her fourth morning in Milton Point she told him over coffee, "The farmer was our last chance, and he was in Arkansas buying cattle. It seems that the only people in town that night were those who love you. I don't know what else to do."
"Is that right?" He sneered. "I was under the impression that you knew everything. I thought you had a bag of tricks. Don't tell me you've run out."
Furiously she scraped back her chair and stood up, heading for the kitchen door. As she sailed past his chair he put out his arm, encircled her waist, drew her between his wide-spread thighs, and ground his forehead against her stomach.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He butted his head against the soft heaviness of her breasts and rubbed his face in the fabric of her blouse, breathing in her fresh, clean scent. "I know I'm acting like a jerk, but I'm slowly dying, Devon. I'm going to explode if—"
"Somebody's coming."
She backed out of his reach only seconds before Laurie entered the kitchen, followed by Sage. If Laurie noticed the steamy atmosphere and their rosy, guilt-ridden faces, she didn't acknowledge them. Sage, however, split her knowing look between the two of them and winked saucily.
"Well, hello. We're not interrupting anything, are we?"
Lucky snarled at her.
"What's on your agenda today?" Laurie asked.
"Actually we hadn't decided on anything specific," Devon said feebly.
"Well, if you ask me, which I realize you haven't, you're overlooking the obvious."
"What's that, Mother?"
Lucky glanced up at her, curious in spite of his longing to thrash his impudent kid sister.
He welcomed his mother's opinion—anything, in fact, that would momentarily distract him from his physical discomfort.
"That Cagney oaf and his unsavory friend."
"Little Alvin and Jack Ed Patterson?"
Laurie gave a delicate shudder at the very mention of their names. "Detestable people, especially Jack Ed. And those Cagney children were hellions from birth."
"But they're so obvious," Lucky argued.
"Maybe they figure that's what everyone is thinking and are using it to their benefit."
Devon and Lucky's eyes met as they conside
red the possibility. "She's got a point," Devon said. "They certainly were peeved at you."
"But they've got ironclad alibis."
"Lies," Sage retorted succinctly. "They've terrorized people into lying for them."
Lucky gnawed his lower lip as he thought it through. "It wouldn't be too smart to confront them. We promised Pat there would be no more trouble. Besides," he said with a grin, "I might not come out alive if I have another fight with Little Alvin."
"So, what are you thinking?" Devon asked.
"Little Alvin is as strong as an ox and meaner than Satan, but he's no mental giant."
"I agree. Jack Ed would have masterminded the fire."
"So let's use Little Alvin's cerebral weakness to our advantage."
"How?" she asked.
Lucky leaned back in his chair and slapped his thighs with satisfaction. "With the thing I do best. A con."
* * *
As they pulled up in front of the rusty mobile home, Devon nervously wet her lips and asked, "How do I look?"
"Plumb mouth-watering." Lucky switched off the Mustang's motor.
She tipped up the lenses of her dark glasses. "With this?" Sage had done an excellent job of painting on a black eye, using her vast array of eye shadows and shading crayons.
"Even with that." He was tempted to lean across the car's console and kiss her. But glancing at the windows of the mobile home, he realized Little Alvin could be watching them.
"You'll have to open your own door." He vaulted over the driver's door and headed for the trailer without giving her a backward glance. He knocked loudly on the front door of the trailer, then bawled over his shoulder at her. "Hurry up, will you?"
She moved into place beside him and muttered out the side of her mouth. "Macho Pig."
The whispered words were barely out of her mouth when the front door was opened with such impetus, the entire building rocked on its concrete-block platform.
"What the hell do you want, Tyler?"
With admirable aplomb, Lucky stood his ground and growled back. "First off, I want to be invited inside."
"What for?"
"I'll tell you when I get inside."
"When bore hogs grow teats. Get the hell off my porch."
Little Alvin tried to slam the door in their faces, but Lucky caught it before it closed.
"We either come in now alone, or come back later with Sheriff Bush. Then the decision won't be left to you."
Alvin regarded Lucky suspiciously, then gave Devon a lecherous leer. "Would the little lady like to come in by herself?"
"The little lady would not," said Lucky, grinding his teeth.
Alvin cursed, then turned inside and indicated with his head that they should follow. Lucky was about to step aside and let Devon go first, when she gave him a slight shove as a reminder that he was supposed to be portraying the role of a heel.
The place was a pigsty. It was furnished cheaply and littered with the debris of numerous meals and a collection of empty liquor bottles and beer cans. The only decorations were centerfolds that had been cut out of the crudest men's magazines and taped to the walls.
One look at those and Lucky felt Devon stiffen beside him. Just to be ornery, he walked over to one and studied it at length, murmuring an "hmm" of approval. He didn't wait for an invitation to sit down, but sprawled on a sofa. Taking Devon's hand, he dragged her down beside him and threw an arrogantly possessive arm around her.
"Whaddaya want?" their host asked.
"A cold beer would be nice. One for me and one for her," Lucky replied, jerking his head down toward Devon.
Scowling, Little Alvin lumbered into the adjacent kitchen and returned several moments later with three beers. After handing them theirs, he sat down across from them in what was apparently "his chair." There was a greasy spot on the headrest and worn spots in the upholstery where his behind fit into the seat and on the cushion where his feet rested when it reclined.
"Well?" he asked belligerently, after taking a sucking swig from his can of beer.
"Pat Bush gave me twenty minutes to make a deal with you."
Little Alvin barked a laugh. "You gotta be crazy, Tyler. I ain't making no deal with you about anything."
"I told you he wouldn't do it," Devon muttered.
"And I told you to keep your mouth shut and let me handle this," Lucky snapped, shooting her a threatening glance. "He may be dumb, but he's not stupid."
"Now just a damn—"
Lucky interrupted. "You want to hear this or not? Because every minute that you sit here shooting off your fat mouth is one minute you come closer to spending time in federal prison."
"For what?"
Devon laughed. Lucky frowned with impatience. "For what?" he repeated scornfully.
"Look, Alvin, cut the crap, all right? They've got enough evidence on you guys to send you to jail … even without a trial."
They saw a chasm open up then in his armor of insolence. His smug grin faltered. "What do you mean? What evidence?"
"Evidence, okay? There's not enough time to detail it all."
"When are you going to tell him about the paper?" Devon whined.
Lucky cursed, acting as if she had distracted him. "Will you put a lid on it and give me time to get this other business over with first?"
At the prearranged signal Devon removed her sunglasses and revealed her black eye. "I don't care about that stupid fire. You said—"
"What about the evidence the sheriff's got?" Little Alvin asked anxiously, cutting into their lovers' spat.
"Let me handle my business with the man first, okay? Then we'll get to yours." Lucky turned back to Alvin and lowered his voice. "She looked so damn good in the place, you know? Now…" He flung up his hands in exasperation. "Might have ended up better for everybody if you'd got her that night instead of me. Anyway, where was I?"
"The evidence they've got on me," Alvin squealed.
"Oh yeah, well, they're keeping the files officially closed. All I know is that Pat promised to pick up Jack Ed first, but who knows how long that might take? He could arrive any minute now." For good measure he glanced over his shoulder through the ratty curtains at the window.
"They're picking up Jack Ed?" Sweat popped out on Little Alvin's porcine face.
"As we speak. You know what a weasel that little s.o.b. is. He'd rat on his own mother. Lord only knows what he's gonna tell them about you. Probably that the fire was all your doing."
Little Alvin Cagney made a whimpering sound like a toddler who'd momentarily lost sight of his mother and lunged for the door. Anticipating that, Lucky was right behind him, catching him by the collar and hauling him back.
"We're here to help you, Alvin."
"You think I was born yesterday, Tyler?"
"If you turn state's evidence, you'll get a lighter sentence. Otherwise, you're history."
"Liar." Little Alvin twisted and turned, trying to work himself free. Lucky hung on tenaciously. "Why would you come to warn me, Tyler?"
"I wouldn't. But Pat would. He needs one more piece of evidence to nail Jack Ed. Since he knew we were coming to see you on this other matter, he asked me to offer you a deal. Real decent of him, wasn't it? See, everybody knows that Jack Ed was the brains behind the arson, but they can't prove it."
"Th-that's right," Little Alvin stammered. "Hell, I wasn't even thinking straight that night. You had kicked my nuts up to the back of my throat. But Jack Ed said—"
"Save it," Lucky hissed. "Give all the details to Pat when he gets here, things like where Jack Ed got those flares."
"His sister's garage," he babbled. "Her husband works for the highway department. Jack Ed said they'd think you did it because you carried flares—"
"I said save it. I'm not interested. When they find the flares, they're sure to find the gas cans, too."
"Yeah. We got them out of his brother-in-law's gar—"
"I said save it for Pat." He pushed Little Alvin back into his chair. The football lineman
was quivering, a hairy blob of perspiring ectoplasm.
"Now that that's out of the way, will you see to my business?" Devon asked in a petulant tone.
Lucky blew out a breath. "Sure, sure. Get him something to write with."
"Write? Write what?" Alvin's eyes darted warily between Devon and Lucky.
"Did you read in the newspaper about her old man being in prison?"
Dumbly, Alvin nodded.
"Well, he accused her of taking up with me long before the night of the fire. He claims we'd been seeing each other even before he went to the pen. If the prison guards hadn't restrained him…"
Gesturing toward her black eye. Lucky trailed off ominously. "Anyway, could you just jot down a statement that I picked her up in the place? That it was just an accidental meeting."
"Sure, sure. I can do that."
"Good. I don't give a damn what her old man thinks, but she kept nagging me about it. You know how women are." Devon handed Alvin a piece of paper and a pencil. "While you're doing that, I'll call Pat on his mobile phone. I hope we're not too late. I'll tell him you're ready to talk. Right?"
"Right, right," Little Alvin agreed eagerly. "My folks warned me not to trust Jack Ed."
"They were right," Lucky said sagely. "When it comes to brains, you can't even compare you two." He clapped Alvin on the shoulder as though they were old friends. "His brother-in-law's garage, huh? I don't even want to know where he lives."
"Off Route Four. By that big grain silo." Lucky looked at Devon over the top of Alvin's head and smiled.
* * *
Chapter 18
They laughed so hard that tears streamed down their faces and they kept collapsing against each other. "By the time Pat got there, Little Alvin was blubbering like a baby about the atrocities inflicted on celebrities like him in prison. I always suspected that underneath his meanness he was nothing but a chicken-livered coward. Now I know it's true."
The Tylers were gathered in the living room. Chase, Tanya, Laurie, and Sage were the enthralled audience.
"I actually started feeling sorry for him," Devon said.
"Is that why you brewed him a cup of tea?"
"Tea?" Chase hooted. "Little Alvin sipping tea?"
"She borrowed a tea bag from one of his neighbors in the trailer park, brewed him a cup, and insisted he drink it while Pat and a deputy were waiting for Alvin's attorney to get there so they could take his deposition."