Texas! Lucky (25 page)

While she was in that frame of mind, fate maliciously matched her with Lucky Tyler. He had revived her dying spirit.

Still, no one had forced her at gunpoint to make love with him. Sure, she had needs; everyone had needs. But society would be plunged into chaos if people went around incontinently gratifying their needs.

Down the hallway she heard approaching footsteps and murmured conversation. Turning from the window, she lowered her hands to her sides, but reflexively clasped them together again. She moistened her lips, wondering if she should be smiling when he walked in. She wasn't sure she could even form a smile. Her features felt wooden.

Laurie Tyler had graciously pressed her suit for her. Devon always took special pains with her appearance when she came to see Greg, wanting her visits to be as pleasurable for him as possible. This morning, however, even the quality cosmetics Sage had loaned her didn't conceal the dark circles beneath her eyes, which hours of sleeplessness had left there.

The footsteps became more pronounced and the voices louder. Devon's heart began to thud painfully inside her chest. She swallowed with difficulty, though her mouth was so dry her saliva glands seemed to have been dammed. She tried to hold her lips still, but they quivered around a tentative smile.

Greg and the guard appeared in the doorway. "Have a good visit," the official said before withdrawing.

Greg looked trim and fit. He had told her that he played a lot of tennis during free time. His tanned skin always came as a mild surprise to her. He spent more time out-of-doors now than he had during the days of his trial, when he'd had a pallor. The inmates here didn't wear prison garb, but their own clothing. Greg was always immaculately dressed, though his three-piece suits had been replaced by casual clothes and his Italian leather loafers by sneakers.

He moved further into the room. The confinement was beginning to tell on him, she noted. It caused a strain on all the inmates of this facility. To a man, they complained of the boredom. Accustomed to being movers and shakers in big business, they found it difficult to adjust to the forced idleness. Worse yet was that they no longer had the privilege of making their own decisions.

Instinctively Devon knew that he wouldn't welcome a broad smile and a cheerful "Good morning," and, fortunately, a subdued greeting coincided with her mood. So she stood stoic and silent in front of the windows as he crossed the room.

He didn't stop until they were within touching distance. It wasn't until then that she noticed he was carrying a newspaper. She glanced down at it curiously, then back up at him. His face was taut with rage. So unexpectedly that it caused her to jump, he slapped the newspaper onto the windowsill, then turned on his heels and strode from the room.

Her arid mouth opened, but she couldn't utter a single sound. She waited until he had cleared the doorway and turned down the hall before retrieving the newspaper.

It had been folded once. She opened it and noted that it was a Dallas paper, a competitor of the one she worked for. Greg had gratuitously underlined in red the pertinent headline.

She slumped against the armrest of the nearest chair and skimmed the incriminating article. For long moments afterward she sat there, clutching the newspaper to her chest, eyes closed, heart tripping, head throbbing. She had so carefully outlined what she was going to say to him, when, as it turned out, it hadn't been necessary to say anything. The newspaper account was disgustingly accurate.

* * *

"Promise me you won't fly off the handle and do something stupid." Chase, casting a tall, dark shadow across the office floor, filled the doorway.

Lucky was angled back in the swivel desk chair their grandfather and father had broken in for them. His boots were resting on the corner of the desk, another relic of oil-boom days. A telephone was cradled between his shoulder and ear. He waved his brother into the room.

"Yeah, we can send a crew out tomorrow to start setting up." He winked at his brother, and made the okay sign with his thumb and fingers. "We didn't lose all that much in the fire, so we're set to go. Just give me directions, and our boys'll be there by daybreak."

Bringing the chair erect, he reached for a pad and pencil and scribbled down the directions. "Route Four, you say? Uh-huh, two miles past the windmill. Got it. Right. Glad to be doing business with you again, Virgil."

He hung up the phone, sprang out of the chair, and gave an Indian whoop. "A contract! A biggie! Remember ol' Virgil Daboe over in Louisiana? He's got four good prospects for wells, and wants us to do the drilling. How 'bout that, big brother? Is that good news or what? Four new wells and a baby on the way! How can you stand that much good news in a twelve-hour period?"

On his way to the coffee maker, he walloped Chase between the shoulder blades. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he said, "I'll call all the boys and tell them to get their gear—" He broke off as he raised the mug of coffee to his lips and realized that his brother wasn't sharing his jubilation. "What's the matter?"

"It's great about the contract," Chase said.

"Well, you sure as hell can't tell it by looking at you." Lucky set down his coffee. "What's wrong with you? I thought you'd be dancing on the ceiling about this."

"I probably would be, if I wasn't afraid I might have to hog-tie you to keep you out of more trouble."

"What are you talking about?"

"Somebody squealed, Lucky."

"Squealed?"

Chase had folded the front page of the newspaper lengthwise four times so he could slide it into the hip pocket of his jeans. Reluctantly he removed it and passed it to Lucky.

He read the story. The first words out of his mouth were vile. Subsequent words were even viler. Chase watched his brother warily, unsure of what he might do.

Lucky threw himself back into the desk chair. It went rolling back on its creaky casters. Bending at the waist, he plowed all ten fingers through his hair and recited a litany of oaths. When he finally ran out, he straightened up and asked, "Has Devon seen this yet?"

"Mother doesn't think so. She left early for the prison. They had coffee together, but Mother didn't open the paper until after she left."

"Just what the hell does this mean?" Lucky demanded, referring to the copy in the article. "'According to an unnamed source.'"

"It means that whoever leaked the story is scared of what you might do to him if you ever find out who he is."

"He damned sure better be," Lucky said viciously. "And I'll find out who the bastard is. 'Agents were injured in the fracas that broke out when Tyler's mistress was allegedly insulted,'" he read.

"'Fracas'? What the hell kind of word is 'fracas'? Devon wasn't 'allegedly insulted," she was insulted. And calling her my mistress!" he shouted. "We were together once.
Once
dammit."

Lucky flung himself from the chair and began pacing the office in long strides. "This is what I wanted to prevent," he said as he ground his fist into his opposite palm. "I wanted Devon to be protected from scandal."

"She would have lost her anonymity during the trial," Chase reasonably pointed out.

"I figured the case would never go to trial. I counted on something happening first. I thought maybe Susan would—" He stopped his pacing and rounded on Chase. "That's it." As heated and agitated as he'd been only seconds earlier, he was now remarkably calm. The switch was as sudden as closing a door against a fierce storm. "Susan."

"She leaked the story?"

"I'd bet Virgil's contract on it." He told Chase about seeing the banker's daughter in the squad room.

"Yeah, I saw her there too," Chase said. "She was grinning like the Cheshire cat. But would she risk having her name attached to this mess?"

"She lied to those agents, didn't she?" Lucky headed for the door.

Chase, well aware of Lucky's volatile temper, followed him outside. "Where are you going?"

"To see Miss Young."

"Lucky—"

"Hopefully between here and there I'll come up with an alternative to murder."

* * *

Clara, the Youngs' housekeeper, demurred when he asked to see Susan. Lucky was persistent, and eventually wore her down. She led him through the house to the backyard, where Susan was enjoying a late breakfast on the stone terrace. Like a hothouse orchid, she was surrounded by giant ferns and flowering plants.

He pinched a sprig of lilac from the fresh flower arrangement on the foyer table and carried it outside with him. As he crossed the lichen-covered stone terrace, he could hear Susan humming beneath her breath while liberally spreading orange marmalade over an English muffin. Lying on the table in front of her was the front page of the Dallas paper.

"You sure do make a pretty picture sitting there, Susan."

At the familiar sound of his voice she dropped her knife. It landed with a clatter on the china plate. She sprang from her chair and rounded it, placing it between them, as though filigree wrought iron could prevent him from snapping her in two.

"Lucky."

Her voice was feeble and airless. There was little color remaining in her face. The fingers gripping the back of her chair were bloodless. She backed up a step as he moved inexorably forward.

When he reached her, he raised his hand. She flinched.

Then her terrified eyes focused on the flower he was extending to her. "Good morning," he whispered, bending down and planting a light kiss on her cheek. She gaped at him wordlessly as he pulled back, then automatically accepted the flower.

"I didn't expect you," she croaked.

"Sorry I'm here so early," he said, nonchalantly pinching off a bite of her English muffin and popping it into his mouth, "but it's been days since I've seen you, and I just couldn't wait any longer. I hope—"

He stopped, made a point of noticing the newspaper, and muttered a curse. The look he gave her then was a mix of sheepishness and exasperation.

"Damn! I wanted to get over here before you saw that." He gestured down to the article. "Susan, honey, I'm sorry."

She stared at him with speechless dismay.

Feigning disgust, he expelled a deep breath. "Some loudmouthed snoop found out who I was with the night of the fire and leaked that story about the Haines woman." Appearing to be supremely exasperated, he plopped down into one of the wrought iron chairs and hung his head.

"One mistake. One lousy mistake," he mumbled in self-castigation. "How was I to know she was married? And to a convict. Jeez!" He swore. "Of course, now you'll have to tell the authorities that you lied to them about being with me the night of the fire."

"I … I will?" Her voice had gone from low and faint to high and thin.

"Of course, honey." He rose and took her shoulders between his hands. "I can't let you stick your neck out any further than you already have. Yesterday, when I saw you in that ugly squad room, I nearly died."

He touched her hair, smoothed it away from her neck. "I knew the kind of questions they had put to you. Personal things about us. Lord, how embarrassing that must have been for you. How do you think I felt, knowing you were making that sacrifice for me?"

He laid his hand over his heart. "And then do you know what the bastards told me to throw me off balance? They said that you claimed I had bragged to you about setting that fire. Can you believe that? Sure, you joked with me about it the other night, but you weren't serious, right?"

"Uh, uh, right."

"Don't worry. I didn't fall for the ploy. I knew they were bluffing, trying to trap me into admitting something. You'd never betray me like that. Not when we were planning to get married. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to be dragged into this mess." He pulled her close and spoke into her hair. Astonishment had made her body limp.

"I appreciate everything you did to try and save me from prosecution, but I can't let you do any more. I can't let you be called into that courtroom to perjure yourself."

"Perjure myself?"

"Sure," he said, angling away from her. "If you testify under oath that I was with you the night of the fire, then the Haines woman says under oath that I was with her, I'll have to testify under oath that she's telling the truth. You'll be caught in your lie, sweetheart," he said gently. "That is, unless you recant your story immediately. The sooner, the better."

She pushed away from him, staring up at him whey-faced, on the verge of panic. "I never thought of that."

"I know you didn't. All you thought about was me, us, our marriage. Which, of course," he added regretfully, "er be."

"Why not?"

He spread his arms at his sides in a gesture of helplessness. "Do you believe your mama and daddy would let you marry me now, a guy who would sleep with a con's wife? Think about it, sweetheart. They wouldn't stand for it. Your daddy would probably cut you out of his will and leave all his money to charity. They'd rather see you dead than married to me. And, frankly, so would I." His voice was laced with so much earnestness that she didn't hear the irony underlying it.

Clasping her against him again, he hugged her tight for several seconds before releasing her abruptly. "Good-bye, Susan. Since all this has come out in the open, I can't ever see you again."