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didn’t have a clue
     what he was talking about. But I listened and nodded as though I understood perfectly
     while Robichaud looked vaguely appalled.
    Just as the news crews left, a dark SUV raced toward us and slid to a stop less than
     three feet from A.J.’s Mercedes. A round-faced guy dressed in sloppy jeans and an
     unbuttoned yellow oxford shirt got out and hurried over. He looked about my age, maybe
     a bit older, and had the appearance of a man who lived hard. A drinker. Maybe dabbled
     in coke. I wished he’d button his shirt. His flabby, white belly was not fun to look
     at.
    When he was next to A.J., he stopped and stared hard at me, his gaze moving down my
     body, then fixating on my breasts. “What the hell is a secretary doing out here?” Evidently, he considered secretaries in the same social strata as
     crack whores.
    His attitude, as much as his staring at my breasts, set my teeth on edge. I noticed
     a slip of paper in his hand. “Is that our check?”
    He held it close to his chest and looked toward Robichaud. “Dad’s not gonna like that
     you brought her out here. He doesn’t allow women on his jobs.”
    “Your father’s been in the oil business a while?” This from Robichaud.
    “Not long. His main business is construction, and he won’t let any of his bosses hire
     women. Says it’s distracting, and besides, women aren’t any good at construction.”
    What an ass. I suspected his father was equally atrocious. Deciding to blow off the
     jerk and get rid of him and A.J. as quickly as possible, I stepped close and snatched
     the check out of his thick fingers, then said to A.J. “Leave now, so we can get to
     work. Give me your card and I’ll call with updates.”
    Dylan moved between A.J. and me, way too close for comfort, and grabbed for the check.
     I sidestepped him, which put my right breast directly into his hand. The loser actually
     squeezed it. I went into autopilot, quickly twisting so my knee made firm contact
     with his groin.
    He bent over, holding himself, coughing and spluttering choice epitaphs. I leaned
     down so he could hear me. “Ask yourself, why would a secretary be out here in the
     middle of bumfuck nowhere? Then ask yourself if copping a feel off me was really worth
     it.”
    I straightened and held out my palm to A.J. “You were going to give me your card.”
    He handed it over. “His father isn’t going to appreciate this.”
    I held the card between my fingers. “We contracted with Arroyo Petroleum to kill a
     well fire. Feeling up the Lacrouix and Book employees isn’t included in the fee.”
     I looked at Dylan. “If he touches me again, he’ll pull back a bloody stump and I’ll
     mail his fingers to Daddy in a package with a pink bow. Maybe he’d appreciate that better.”
    Turning, I walked away toward the Jeep, Robichaud in step with me. “Where’d you learn
     to move like that?”
    “Self defense class. Trick makes me take one every year, during the Boys’ Break. While
     the guys go off to bond in the wilderness, drink beer and play poker, I attend Mr.
     P.’s Kick-Ass School for Girls.”
    We reached the Jeep and I stopped to glance up at him. “I’ve never enrolled in Mr.
     P.’s Firing Squads ‘R’ Us, or I’d be able to protect myself now. Maybe next year,
     I’ll give firearms a shot.”
    Robichaud was about to say something when, less than a foot from where we stood, the
     driver’s side window of the Jeep suddenly shattered. We both whipped around. “What
     the—” I said, just before Robichaud knocked me to the ground and landed on top of
     me. I saw him raise his arm, saw a very big black gun in his hand, felt the recoil
     through his body as he fired toward the mesquites east of us.
    Hell and damn.
    The shooter had found me.

Chapter Three
    “Hey, Ms. Drake! Are you okay?”
    The grad student, Leslie Conaway, ran into my line of vision, limited by Robichaud’s
     shoulder. The roar of the fire, even from almost a