“But-”
He grabbed my arm, the one that had all the cuts on it, and I winced.
He didn’t seem to notice and didn’t let go.
Tim, however, shot out his hand, and it landed on DeBurra’s shoulder. “She needs to go to the hospital, Frank,” he said in a low voice, a voice that meant business.
“She can go after I’m finished with her,” DeBurra said gruffly, shaking off Tim’s hand.
Something in Tim snapped. Like when I was a kid and Robby Murphy grabbed me way too hard while we were playing Red Rover. Robby had wrestled me to the ground and kicked me in the side. Just once. Tim was hanging with his friends on the back porch and saw it. Robby didn’t see what hit him.
Neither did DeBurra.
Chapter 53
Tim’s fist shot out like a bullet and slammed into DeBurra’s jaw, throwing DeBurra’s whole head back, his body following. He landed on the ground with a thud that sounded almost as loud as that explosion, even with the cacophony of noise around us.
But unlike Robby Murphy, DeBurra had a lot more pent-up anger against Tim-and he was bigger. He squatted on the balls of his feet and pushed off, crashing against Tim’s knees, which buckled, and Tim was now on the ground.
They rolled over each other, pummeling with both arms. Tim’s jacket ripped right up the middle of his back. They were both covered in debris and soot from the explosion. I couldn’t tell that Tim’s hair was red anymore. It was like watching a movie, but there were no cameras.
Uh-oh. Spoke too soon. The TV crews had arrived, and one of the reporters-yes, Leigh Holmes, my brother’s one-night stand-came jogging over with her camera guy.
Tim was straddling DeBurra now, but DeBurra had one other trick up his sleeve. He raised both arms and grabbed Tim’s neck.
I looked to Jeff for help. “Do something,” I hissed. “They’re going to kill each other.”
Their guns were still secure in their holsters, but I wasn’t sure for how long-or whether one of them would just go off because it hit the ground at the wrong angle.
Jeff held up his hands and shook his head. “Not getting in between that.”
I didn’t really blame him, but someone had to stop them from beating the crap out of each other. They were rolling around again, arms and fists flying. I flagged down a couple of uniforms, who jogged over, their expressions grim, but I could tell they didn’t want to get involved, either.
Domestic disputes are the worst.
Because this wasn’t about me or Chez Tango. This was about Shawna. This was unfinished business.
One of the uniforms decided it was enough, and he tried to get between them.
He fell back after getting slugged. I have no idea whether Tim or DeBurra hit him.
I looked again at Jeff, pleading with him.
He sighed. “The things I do for you, Kavanaugh.”
Jeff went over to the two men and managed somehow to wedge himself between them.
I turned around, didn’t want to watch. I had a feeling Jeff would suffer the same fate as the uniform. But somehow he managed to get them to stand, a few feet apart, and while they glared at each other with fists clenched, both wearing red bruises that would turn to black and blue, they kept their anger at bay while Jeff shouted that this wasn’t the time.
No kidding.
They were a mess; both their noses were bleeding, but they didn’t seem to notice. I didn’t want to see the damage. I started to turn away but then sensed someone watching me.
It was DeBurra. Not good. I knew he was going to try to rope me into another hours-long interrogation. Been there, done that. I wasn’t in the mood.
One of the firefighters tapped him on the shoulder.
With just a quick glance at Tim, Jeff, me, and Leigh Holmes and her camera guy, who was still shooting, the firefighter told DeBurra, “There’s no one in that building. No one at all.”
I looked over at Chez Tango and saw that while my brother and DeBurra were beating the crap out of each other, the firefighters had done their job and it seemed the fire was out.
DeBurra’s face scrunched up with anger. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“We didn’t find anyone. No bodies, and no survivors, either.”
Despite the rising irritation with Charlotte and the games she was playing, I breathed a sigh of relief. However, it certainly seemed as if DeBurra wasn’t happy that no one was in the building. He was such a jerk. He glared at me and Tim and stormed off toward the fire captain in charge at the scene.
I took Jeff’s shirt out of his hands and handed it to Tim. “Your nose,” I said, and Tim touched the cloth to his face, grimacing with pain.
“I think you need the ambulance,” I said.
He shook his head. The paramedics, however, agreed with me. Now that there were no bodies to attend to in the building, they seemed to need something to do. They fussed over Tim and escorted him to the ambulance, scoffing at my scratches when Tim tried to tell them that I was hurt.
DeBurra was several yards away, but I could tell he was still keeping an eye on me, even when one of the paramedics approached him as well.
“I think it’s time to blow this Popsicle stand,” Jeff Coleman said in a low voice.
I turned to him. “Why does he hate me so much?”
“You do know how to get under someone’s skin, Kavanaugh.” He said it matter-of-factly, with a touch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond; nothing clever was coming to mind, and while I was waiting for inspiration, Jeff just walked away toward my car. It couldn’t have been something I said.
He leaned in through the window that was still open and came out waving my cell phone. “It’s for you.” I hadn’t even heard Springsteen. Come to think of it, everything was sounding a little like it was in a tunnel. Probably because of the explosion.
I took the phone and said, “Hello?”
“Brett, I can’t get anywhere near there. There are police cars and ambulances and fire trucks everywhere.” It was Bixby.
“Where are you?”
“About a block down.”
DeBurra had managed to get away from the paramedic and was coming toward me. I felt panic rise in my chest when I saw his expression-dark, cold, definitely out for blood, mine this time rather than Tim’s.
Jeff saw it, too, and cocked his head at my phone. “Where is he?”
“Just down the street.”
“Get going.”
I leaned into my car and grabbed my bag, shaking the glass off it. As I did, the queen-of-hearts brooch winked at me from the center console. I took it out and stuck it in my pocket again. I must have been moving too slowly for him, because Jeff gave me a nudge and repeated, “Get going.”
DeBurra was getting closer.
“Kavanaugh,” Jeff hissed, “I don’t know what you did, but you pissed him off, and he’s not going to let you out after a few hours this time.”
