“I know he will. Or he should. About three blocks ahead, take a right onto Pecan. What will you tell Neal?”
“That depends on what he asks me. But I’ll have to be truthful.”
“You haven’t done anything illegal.”
“No. Ill-advised, perhaps,” she said, shooting him small smile.
“Smitty’s been put on notice. On pain of death, he won’t talk about your visit to his club. Conrad won’t. With luck, you’ll be back to your house before it’s noticed that your car’s missing. If you are caught, you can say—truthfully—that a friend called and begged for your help, and you can’t breach that friend’s confidence. All of it the truth.”
“You make is sound so easy. As I told you that night we met, you have more experience with crisis situations than I do. I’m an amateur. Greg Sanders urged me to cut and run before he shreds me.”
After she told him the highlights of their recent conversation, Crawford muttered a few choice epithets. “He’s bluffing, pushing your buttons to see how you’ll react.”
“Maybe. But apparently he has contacts within the police department who’ve been keeping him updated. He knew you’d been implicated in the courthouse shooting. By now he’s probably heard about Connor. That will really make his day.”
“Jesus, Holly, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have dragged you deeper into this, but I didn’t have time tonight to come up with a plan B.”
“You’ve yet to tell me about the phone call that prompted this emergency.”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my father-in-law’s house.”
She braked hard in the middle of the street and turned to him with dismay and anger. “No wonder you’re just now telling me that!”
“I’m only going to talk to him.”
As though he’d told her he was going to beat the living daylights out of Joe Gilroy, she kept her foot on the brake and shook her head firmly. “Whatever you have in mind, I can’t be a party to it.”
“I’m not even armed. Neal took my pistol.” He motioned her forward. “Drive.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fine. Thanks for the lift.”
In a flash, he was out of the car and running as fast as he could in cowboy boots to cover the remaining few residential blocks. The Gilroys lived in a well-established neighborhood of older homes situated on large lots with carefully maintained lawns and mature trees. Holly followed him in her car, but she was forced to keep to right angles while he cut diagonally across driveways and yards.
When he reached the Gilroys’ house, he ran along the side of it toward the rear. He heard the squeal of Holly’s brakes, her car door being shut, her running footsteps slapping the wet pavement of the driveway.
He reached the back door mere seconds ahead of her. He raised his hand to knock, but she rushed up behind him and grabbed his forearm in a two-handed grip. Her breath coming in fast pants, she said, “Crawford, whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t. I beg you. For Georgia’s sake.”
The door came open suddenly. “What the bloody hell?” Joe Gilroy, standing behind the screen door, took in the situation at a glance. To Holly, he said, “I tried to tell you, didn’t I? I’m calling the police.”
“I am the police,” Crawford said.
“You’re a hazard. This time you go to jail.” Joe turned away.
Crawford was vaguely aware of Holly losing her balance when he shook off her grasp, but through the screen, he could see Joe going for the phone, and he had to stop him.
He pulled on the door handle. Discovering it locked, he jerked on it repeatedly and viciously until the old-fashioned clasp gave way, then he flung open the door and rushed inside.
He was across the kitchen in two strides, snatching the cordless phone out of Joe’s hand, and throwing it to the floor.
Grace appeared, her hand at her throat, crying out in alarm as the two men went at each other. Joe threw punches that would have leveled anyone weaker and slower to react. Crawford dodged the pounding fists and at the same time landed a few well-placed punches.
Holly cried out, “Crawford! Stop! Stop!”
Crawford saw that Joe was becoming winded and used that to his advantage. He drove his shoulder into the older man’s midriff and pushed him backward until he came up against the counter, then planted his hand in the center of Joe’s chest and lodged his knee up between his thighs.
Joe was red-faced with fury. His teeth were clenched. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Maybe,” Crawford said, breathing hard. “Later. But right now, you’re going to get Georgia up—”
“Like hell I am.”
He tried to wrestle free from Crawford’s restraining hand, but Crawford jammed his knee directly beneath Joe’s testicles. “You’re going to get Georgia up and dressed and…and leave. Take her away from here, Joe. Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Get her away from me.”