“You were sixteen.”

“Still.”

“Did I convince you?”

“I haven’t tried since.”

They smiled at each other, then she said, “You always alert me when you’re having a thing, so that I’ll be prepared when someone tells me, as a friend, of course, that you’re cheating on me.”

“A thing?”

She gave him a you-know-what-I-mean look, and he did know.

“Which makes me wonder why you haven’t said a word to me about Arden Maxwell.”

“Nothing to say. There’s no thing. She consulted me about doing some handiwork. I’m working up an estimate.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

Crystal regarded him with the intuitive shrewdness unique to a woman, then she laughed. “If you say so.”

“I just did say so.”

“What about her baby’s father?”

He raised his shoulders. “How would I know?”

“But she seems unattached?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“And she’s cute.”

“I didn’t say she was cute.”

“You didn’t say she wasn’t. So…?”

“So nothing. I can’t go there.”

“How come?”

“It’s difficult.”

“How so?”

“Just difficult, all right?”

“Ooooh, touchy. That itch must be baaaad.”

He shifted his stance. “Okay. She’s attractive, and I’m…”

“You’re…?”

“Curious. You know. I’m in that ‘what if?’ stage.”

“Yes, I know that stage, but you’re way beyond it.”

“This coming from someone who knows nothing about how it works between boys and girls.”

“I know about attraction. To hell with ‘it’s difficult.’”

“Spare me.”

“Have you kissed her?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Definitely yes. Have you seen her naked?”

“No.”

“But you’re dying to.”

“Good night, Crystal.”

“Another definite yes.”

“Let me know if and when Marty comes through.”

This time, she didn’t stop him from leaving, but she was laughing lightly as she saw him on his way.

Rusty was in a bitch of a mood when he let himself into his house. Discovering that the alarm wasn’t set pissed him off even further. “Stupid cow,” he muttered, shooting a glance upstairs, where Judy was no doubt sleeping.

Alarm set, he made a beeline for his study. He locked himself inside, poured himself a drink, and flopped back into his easy chair. He didn’t boot up his computer. Not even live-streaming sex shows held appeal in his present mood.

Burnet had been with Crystal tonight.

For a long time.

On his way home from a dinner with some pals, Rusty had spotted Burnet’s truck at the curb in front of her house. He’d driven a circuit through town. When he went past again, the truck was still there. And it stayed, even after Marty had come home.

To add insult to injury, Rusty had seen them together as Crystal was waving him off at her front door. The bitch had been laughing, as though she knew Rusty was watching her enjoying herself with Ledge Burnet. He’d wanted to kill her. But not before fucking her ten or twelve times.

“Cunt,” he muttered and shot his drink.

His cell phone rang.

He didn’t recognize the number. But he never knew when a call would be about something he needed or wanted to know. Like maybe Burnet had driven his pickup into a tree on his way home, and it had burst into flames, roasting him alive.

He answered. “Dyle.”

A man identified himself as a deputy sheriff. “I worked for your daddy, and you after him. You may not remember me, though. I was low on the totem pole.”

Still are, Rusty thought. His name had rung no bells. He snarled, “It’s after hours, Deputy.”

“I’m aware, sir.”

“So this had better be damned important.”

“It came down through the pipeline that if Dwayne Hawkins was caught engaging in dogfighting again you wanted to hear about it ASAP.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, two of our vice guys got one of his cronies to rat him out. They busted Hawkins tonight.”

Rusty smiled as he poured himself a refill. “Hawkins popped off at me a few nights ago, and I looked forward to teaching him a lesson in manners. I knew it wouldn’t take too long for him to transgress, but I didn’t expect it would be this soon.”

“Hope you don’t mind me calling you this late.”

“Not at all, not at all. I’m obliged. What’s your name again?”

The deputy stated it proudly, then went on to describe the arrest. “Hawkins attempted to make a run for it. Splashed through the bayou that runs behind his place, got stuck in the mud. That’s how they caught him.”

Rusty was told that Hawkins had put up a fight, assaulting one of the deputies so viciously, he’d broken his finger. “Didn’t earn him any favors in this department, let me tell you.”

Rusty had listened to the detailed account without interruption, drumming his fingers on the stuffed arm of his chair. When he failed to respond after several moments of silence had elapsed, the deputy said, “Mr. Dyle? You still there?”

“I’m here. Listen, I’d rather Hawkins not be booked until I read the arrest report and look into the case myself, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Tell the deputies who brought him—”

“One’s at the ER getting his broke finger set.”

“The point is, keep Hawkins isolated. Let him simmer some of that meanness out. I’ll come over first thing in the morning.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Dyle.”

“I owe you a favor, Deputy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Sir?”

“You and I never had this conversation. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I trust you do.”