She stopped, turned in the direction of the familiar voice, and stood still while the crowd eddied around her, Cash, and Ken Howell. Her brother-in-law was looking at her through eyes that were red and glazed by alcohol. Slack-jawed, he gaped at her incredulously, then at Cash, then back at her. “Answer me! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” she replied.
“Help me get her out of here, huh, Howell? We’re blocking traffic.”
Ken gave Cash a withering glance, then clumsily grabbed Schyler’s hand and began shoving people aside as they wiggled their way through the exit. Outside, men were milling around, drinking, laughing and joking, and discussing the fights that had already taken place and those yet to come. Ken propelled Schyler toward the corner of the building and away from the crowd before he drew her around and repeated his original question.
“What are you doing here? Especially with him.” He hitched his chin toward Cash contemptuously.
“Stop shouting at me, Ken. You’re not my keeper. I’m a grown woman, and I don’t have to answer to you or to anybody else.”
He wasn’t hearing too clearly. Either that or he wasn’t paying attention. “Did you ask him to bring you here?”
She faltered. “Well no, not exactly, but—”
He whirled toward Cash. Spittle showered from his mouth as he sneered, “You stay away from her, you hear me, boy? You goddamn Cajun bastard, I’ll—”
Ken never had the satisfaction of stating his threat. In one fluid motion, Cash came up with a knife that had been concealed in a scabbard at the small of his back and, at the same time, slammed Ken into the wall with enough impetus to knock the breath out of him and to rattle the tin. The gleaming blade of the knife was placed so strategically that reflexive swallowing would give Ken’s Adam’s apple a close shave.
Schyler fell back a step, astonished and afraid. Cash’s nostrils flared with each breath he drew. Ken’s glassy, bloodshot eyes were bugging. Sweat ran down his face as copiously as a baby’s tears.
“Before I cut you real bad, you son of a bitch, you’d better get out of here.” The voice, tinged with the musical rhythm of his first language, sounded as sinister as the razor-sharp knife looked. Cash eased the blade away from Ken’s throat and stepped back. Ken clutched his neck as though to reassure himself that it hadn’t been dissected. He cowardly slumped against the tin wall.
“Get out of here,” Cash repeated. His eyes sliced to Schyler. The cold glint in them made her blood run cold. “And take her with you.”
Cash turned his back on them, not the least bit concerned that either would launch a counterattack. Schyler watched him thread his way through the parked cars until he disappeared.
“Where’s your car, Ken?”
He raised an unsteady hand to indicate the general direction. She took his arm and pulled him away from the support of the wall. Together they made their way toward his sports car. When they reached it, she asked for the keys.
“I’ll drive,” he mumbled.
“You’re drunk. I’ll drive.” His prideful resistance snapped her patience in two. “Give me the damn car keys.”
He belligerently dropped them into her extended palm. She slid behind the wheel. Once he had closed the passenger door, she peeled out. She didn’t even take the insubstantial bridge slowly but roared across it.
She was angry—angry at Ken for behaving like such a fool, angry at Cash Boudreaux for putting her through this ordeal, and angry at herself for letting him lead her to slaughter like a naive lamb.
“What were you doing with him?”
“For godsake, Ken, we just came away from a place where one animal wantonly killed another for the amusement of cheering men. There was illegal gambling going on, and God only knows what else. And you want to talk about what I was doing with Boudreaux?”
Her voice had risen a note on each word until she realized she was virtually screeching. She took a composing breath. “Boudreaux wanted to make a point. I tried to hire him to kill the dog that attacked me. I guess he wanted to show me how important those dogs are to Jigger Flynn.”
“Jesus,” Ken swore, running a hand through his hair. “I told you to drop that. Kill one of Jigger’s pit bulls? You might just as well challenge him to a duel on Main Street.”
“Don’t worry. Cash declined my offer.”
“Thank God. He’s right. Leave it alone, Schyler.”
She switched topics. “What were you doing there, Ken?”
He squirmed in the expensive leather car seat and turned his head away from her. “It’s Saturday night. Don’t I deserve a chance to unwind every now and then?”
“Were you gambling?”
“Anything wrong with that?”
“No. But there are more wholesome environments for it. The racetrack in Lafayette, a private poker game.”
“Don’t get on my back.” He hunched lower in the seat, looking like a petulant child. “Tricia bitched at me tonight because I wouldn’t take her to a goddamn country club dance. I don’t need bitching from you, too.”
Schyler let it go. It wasn’t any of her business what Ken did in his leisure time. She needed to ask him why he had suspended operation of Crandall Logging, but now wasn’t the time or place to bring up that delicate subject. He was sullen, no doubt feeling demoralized and emasculated after being so badly shown up by Cash.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked quietly.
He swung his head around. “Hell no! But you stay away from him. See what kind of man he is? He’s poison, as low and vicious as those fighting dogs. You can’t trust him. I don’t know what he’s after, or why he’s sniffing around you all of a sudden, but he has his reasons. Whatever they are, they’re self-serving.” He jabbed an index finger at her for emphasis. “I can guarantee you that.”
“I’ll see who I want to see, Ken,” she said icily. “I told you why Cash took me to that fight.”
He tilted his head cockily. “Did he also tell you how much money he had riding on the outcome?”
Schyler brought the car to an abrupt halt in the center of the road and turned to her brother-in-law. “What?”
Ken smiled smugly. “I can see that he failed to mention his sizable wager.”
“How do you know?”
“Boudreaux always bets on Jigger’s dogs, so he won big tonight. I don’t know what he told you, but he had a vested interest in that pit bull fight.”
“No wonder he turned down my offer,” she muttered.
“Right. You think he’s gonna kill a dog that earns him winnings like that?” Seeing Schyler’s disillusionment, he touched her shoulder sympathetically. “Listen, Schyler, Boudreaux always covers his ass first. Count on that. He has the survival instincts of a jungle animal. You can’t trust the conniving Cajun bastard.”
She shrugged off Ken’s consoling hand and put the car into motion again. Ken reached across the seat and laid his hand on her thigh, giving it an affectionate squeeze that wasn’t entirely brotherly.
“You’ve only been home a short while. There are reasons for the wide gaps in the social structure around here, Schyler. They’re not meant to be crossed.” He patted her thigh. “Just be sure you remember where you belong, and you’ll be back in the swing of things in no time. Stay away from the white trash. And don’t provoke the likes of Jigger Flynn. That’s only asking for trouble.”
Heaped onto what he’d told her about Cash, his condescending, patronizing, chauvinistic tone enraged her. She didn’t waste energy on that, however. She let his humoring attitude work to make her more resolute.
Since she hadn’t succeeded in enlisting anyone else for her cause, she would take action into her own hands.