Texas! Lucky

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 mi

x 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."