Calmly Devon told them about going into the place to do research on her article on sexism. She admitted that it wasn't wise. "However, I was being as unobtrusive as possible. With absolutely no encouragement from me, two men approached my table and offered to buy me a drink. They refused to take no for an answer."
Her eyes suddenly connected with Lucky's. Inadvertently she had used the phrase that they had frequently batted back and forth. He figured that everybody in the room could hear the sizzle of the current that arced between them. Devon quickly averted her head.
She told the rest of the story, perfectly corroborating Pat's and his own account. She verbally led the investigators into the motel room.
"I opened my door to Mr. Tyler because he was hurt." That was a slight distortion of fact, but only he could testify otherwise, and he wasn't going to. "I tended to his wounds," she said. "He was in no condition to drive, so he … he stayed there with me all night, and was there when I left the following morning, which was around six o'clock."
Lucky looked up at his two accusers and gave them a gloating smile. "Now, can we cut the rest of this crap?"
They ignored him. One motioned Pat off the corner of the table and assumed that position directly in front of Devon. "Are you a licensed physician, Ms. Haines?"
"What the—"
Devon overrode Lucky's angry exclamation. "Of course not."
"But you felt qualified to take care of a knife wound and a black eye that, by all accounts, came close to blinding him?"
"On the contrary, I didn't feel qualified at all. I advised Mr. Tyler to go to a hospital, but he refused."
"How come?"
"You'll have to ask him."
"I did," the agent replied, frowning. "He, in turn, asked me, given the choice, would I rather spend the night in a hospital emergency room or with you."
Through the pall of tobacco smoke, she gave Lucky an injured, inquisitive, incredulous look. "It was a joke, Devon. A joke."
Paler than she had been only moments before, she turned back to the agent. "I was only concerned about Mr. Tyler's injuries," she said quietly. "He'd received those injuries while protecting me, so I felt somewhat responsible. When he refused to get medical help, I did the best I could to take care of him. I thought that was the least I could do to repay him for coming to my defense."
"Did you sleep with him, too, to pay him back for coming to your defense?"
Lucky was out of his chair before his next heart-beat. "Now just a damn minute. She—"
Pat's hand fell heavily on his shoulder and spun him around. "Sit down and shut up."
Pat looked ready to kill him, but Lucky realized that Pat was acting in his best interests. He flung himself back into his chair, glaring balefully at the agent.
"Well, Ms. Haines?"
"Mr. Tyler appeared to be exhausted. I believe he'd had quite a lot to drink. He certainly shouldn't have been driving. When he asked me to let him stay, I let him stay. He hinted at internal injuri
es."
The two agents looked at each other and shared an arrogant, just-between-us-boys laugh. "And you believed him?" one asked.
"I'll have to remember to use that line myself," the other chimed in.
Lucky didn't have a chance to come out of his chair this time. The sheriff's hand was on his shoulder, anchoring him in his seat. But he snarled at the two agents who were making this as difficult for Devon as they possibly could. They seemed to enjoy her embarrassment.
"I didn't know if he had internal injuries or not," she said sharply. "And neither do you." Her chin went up a notch. "His eye was battered. He could have had a concussion or any number of head injuries too. I did what I thought was best."
"And you're to be commended for your charity," one drawled, winking at the other. "You said he was there in the morning when you left around six o'clock."
"That's right," she replied curtly. Her contempt for them was plain. Knowing how she felt about sexism, Lucky realized that their taunts were intolerable to her. Under the circumstances she was holding up well.
"He was still sleeping when you left?"
"Yes. Soundly."