In the rush of discovery, Durwood had not thought deeply about the deed perpetrated by Britt Holcomb. Now, as he waited for Carol Bridges, it sank in. The cunning. The ruthlessness. Sending deathtraps rolling off the assembly line because there was money in it.

He paced the cold concrete. The headache he'd gotten looking at numbers intensified. Profiteering was nothing new. But doing it here, in a factory. Putting the blame on workers, then turning it back against them to take their jobs.

Talk about kicking men when they're down.

There was line of hardhats on pegs. Durwood slammed them open-handed, knocking several to the floor. One clattered to rest in his path. He kicked it.

A clipboard sat in a plastic caddy, likely containing measurements of safety or productivity. Durwood punched the caddy dead-center. The clipboard and its data splintered to shards.

He grabbed up the logs, the folders, the mapping of products to serial numbers. He stuffed it all into a trash bin.

Sue-Ann whimpered behind him.

"Ah, I know," Durwood said. "It's dumb. Won't do a thing."

The documents should be preserved for evidence, he knew. Well? They could get them later from the bin.

Sue whimpered again.

"I told y'I know," he roared. "Now be quiet!"

But the dog wasn't responding to his behavior. She was still sniffing at the closed door.

Durwood, dropping his chin, breathed. He walked through the disarray to the closed door.

Sue-Ann sat.

"Think something's inside?"

Her milky eyes shifted to the door, then to Durwood, then back.

He twisted the knob and pulled.

It was a janitor's closet. Mop bucket. Paper towels. Jugs of cleaning supplies. The supplies must've caught her nose.

"Happy now?"

Sue-Ann poked into the closet to investigate. Typically Durwood wouldn't have allowed this, but he found he didn't have the will to correct the animal.

He returned to the fore of the factory to wait.

How long had it been since he'd spoken to Carol Bridges? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? He didn't know where she lived, how long a drive it was.

Carol Bridges. Now that he'd burned off a little of his own gas, he had a moment to consider what tonight meant in her regard. They'd been vindicated. There were still ruts to bump over, but Hogan Consolidated would be saved. The mayor would receive credit. She would deserve credit.

How would she respond? Likely other opportunities would arise. Would she choose to stay in Chickasaw, keep a good thing going?

Or pursue another thing—good too, but different?

Finally, a rollgate's clack-clack-clack sounded from the side.

Durwood moved toward the noise, his heart plumped up in his chest. When the loading bay's door finished opening, Carol Bridges was there.

But she wasn't alone.

—

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