"Damn."
"Hey, Lucky, I thought that was you," the deputy called when he was still some distance away. "Stay put," he ordered.
"But—"
"Wait right there." The officer turned and jogged toward a cluster of other officials.
Lucky blew out a gust of breath. Why the hell was he being detained? He had just about decided to disobey the deputy's order when he noticed Pat Bush detaching himself from the huddled group of officers.
"Pat," he called, "get me out of this—"
"Lucky."
Pat's somber expression and hushed tone of voice were out of character under the circumstances. Pat usually commandeered this kind of situation with professional detachment. Lucky's impatience switched to curiosity. "What's going on?"
"Pull your car over there. I need to talk to you."
"What's the matter?" Lucky put on his emergency brake and alighted. Something was very wrong here. Pat was having a hard time looking him in the eye, and Lucky couldn't account for his strange behavior. He was off the hook as far as the arson charge went.
Alarmed, he glanced beyond Pat, toward the tangled wreckage, and slumped with relief because he didn't recognize either car involved in the accident. "Good God, Pat. You had me thinking that one of—"
Pat laid a hand, a consoling hand, on his arm. He and Pat exchanged a meaningful glance. Then Lucky shook off Pat's hand and broke into a run.
"Lucky!" Pat grabbed hold of his shirt.
"Who is it?"
"It's Tanya."
Lucky's chest caved in painfully, his ribs seeming to crack under the pressure of his disbelief. "Tanya?" he croaked. "She's hurt?"
Pat lowered his eyes.
"No," Lucky said in swift denial. What Pat's silent gesture indicated was unthinkable. He ran toward the ambulances, elbowing aside anybody who dared to block his path.
Parting the crowd, he saw that an injured woman was being worked over by paramedics. When he heard her groans, he felt a burst of relief. But as he drew nearer, he saw that her hair color was wrong.
Frantically scanning the area, he spotted another collapsible gurney. It was being lifted into the ambulance. A black zippered bag had been strapped to it. He lunged forward.
Pat stepped into his path and struggled to stop him. "Let go of me!" he shouted.
"It won't do any good to see her now, Lucky."
"Get out of my way!" Bellowing like an enraged bull, he overpowered the older man, shoved him aside, and charged for the back of the ambulance.
The startled paramedics put up token protests as he pushed them aside, but the ferocity of his expression was intimidating, and they fell back. Lucky reached forward and unzipped the black plastic bag.
After one long, disbelieving gaze, Lucky squeezed his eyes shut and spun around. Pat signaled for the paramedics to finish their business. Lucky didn't even respond when the ambulance doors were slammed shut and the vehicle drove off.
"You okay?"
Lucky looked at Pat, but he didn't really see anything except his sister-in-law's still white face. "It's not possible."
Pat nodded his head, as though agreeing. "I was just getting ready to notify Chase of the accident and tell him to meet the ambulance at the hospital."
Lucky's chest heaved. He felt as if a white-hot spike had been driven through his heart. He thought he might vomit. "No. This is a family affair. I'll go. And nobody else tells my mother or sister either, got that?"
"Lucky, this isn't the time to—"