independent whack-job.”
Teagan’s jaw hardened with frustration. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. If it was a cell we could keep an eye on them, but how the hell do we find some lone nutcase?”
“I have put the word out that I’m looking for information on anyone who’s shown an interest in Hauk.” Lucas studied his companion’s grim expression. “What about you?”
Teagan reached for his beer. “I’m doing a computer search on anyone who served with Hauk during his tour in the Middle East and has left the military in the past six months.”
Lucas arched a brow. Teagan was talented. Maybe even the best hacker in the States. But he wasn’t a miracle worker.
“That’s a long list.”
“It’s going to take awhile,” Teagan admitted, taking a deep drink of his beer.
“Shit. I hate this waiting,” Lucas muttered. The thought that some unseen enemy was hunting Hauk was making them all twitchy. “What about Max?”
“He’s . . .” Teagan slowly lowered his beer as his gaze narrowed. “Did you forget to pay your taxes?”
Lucas frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Teagan nodded across the room. “There’s a government employee who just flashed a badge at the bartender and is now heading in our direction.”
Lucas glanced over his shoulder, his gaze trained on the middle-aged man strolling in their direction.
The stranger had thinning blond hair that was ruffled from the stiff breeze. A suit that was in dire need of a good pressing. Cheap shoes. And a face that had a hint of a bulldog.
Yep. Definitely a government grunt.
Lucas turned back toward his friend. “How do you know he isn’t looking for you?”
“I’m too clever to get caught.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Christ.”
“Lucas St. Clair?”
Halting next to the table, the man instantly locked his attention on Lucas. Which meant he knew exactly what Lucas looked like.
So, had he recognized Lucas because of his ties to the St. Clair clan? Or because he’d done a background check before entering the Saloon?
Lucas was betting on the background check.
The stranger didn’t look like the sort of man to take an interest in politics.
“Yes.”
The man flashed a badge that identified him as HOUSTON HOMICIDE DETECTIVE SERGEANT SAM COOPER.
“I have a few questions for you.”
Lucas remained relaxed in his chair. There was no reason to get his panties in a twist. If there’d been a death in his powerful family he wouldn’t be contacted by a midlevel bureaucrat.
And he hadn’t killed anyone. At least, not lately.
“Concerning?” he asked.
The man glanced around the nearly empty bar. “Do you want to do this here?”
Lucas shrugged. “Unless we need to include my lawyer.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
The “yet” hung in the air between them and suddenly Lucas was a lot less nonchalant about the encounter.
Narrowing his gaze, he nodded his head toward the chair across the table.
“Have a seat, Detective.” Waiting until the man lowered his solid form into the chair, Lucas waved a hand toward his friend who glowered at the lawman with a menacing frown. “This is Teagan Moore.”
“Detective Cooper,” Teagan muttered, folding his arms over his chest to make it clear he wasn’t leaving.
Lucas hid his smile. In his work as a negotiator, he’d learned the art of subtlety. It was easier to persuade people to do what he wanted, rather than trying to force them.
Teagan, on the other hand, was a sledgehammer.
Returning his attention to the Detective, he tapped an impatient finger on the table. He had a dozen things he needed to take care of before he could return to his elegant townhouse in the center of Houston.
ARES Security might be a relatively new business, but they were already swamped with demands for their services. And to make matters more insane, Rafe had taken off with his new bride to Hawaii for a well-earned honeymoon.
He wanted to be done with this cop so he could get back to work.
“You said you have some questions,” he prompted.
The man offered a self-deprecating smile, but Lucas didn’t miss the cunning intelligence in the man’s blue eyes.
He was a man who liked to be underestimated.
Taking the time to pull a small notebook and pen from an inner pocket of his jacket, Sam Cooper laid them neatly on the table.
Precise. Careful. Meticulous.
“What’s your relationship to Anthony Hughes?” he at last asked.
Lucas frowned. “There is no relationship. I’ve never heard of—” He bit off his words as an ancient memory floated to the surface of his brain. “Wait. I went to prep school with a Tony Hughes. I don’t know if