With a lynch mob baying for
blood, what sort of pea-brain would . . .
PIN A STAR ON A GIRL?
“A few drunken hotheads aren’t goin’ to—”
“A few?” Ingrid echoed. “Sergio Fallon won’t be drunk, he’ll be putting on a drunken act, that’s all, and so will most of those other killers, but they’ll all know what they’re doing, and they won’t make any mistakes. You’re not only risking the life of your prisoner, but your own life as well. Who will be able to trace a stray bullet from among a rabble? No one! But that’ll be the bullet that kills you. Jase, please, let him out. He’ll be able to get away out back if you let him out now.”
Burrows rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. The men over there were now calling on those inside to join them. He recognized Fallon’s slurred voice, but as Ingrid had suggested, the man was probably stone-cold sober, and shrewdly gauging the temper of the town’s men.
“Don’t be so stubborn!” Ingrid stormed. “Look! Release him into my custody. I’ll see that he comes to trial if that becomes necessary.”
“Your custody?” Burrows repeated. “You ain’t thinkin’ straight, Ingrid. This hombre is in legal custody and—”
“Well, make me a deputy,” Ingrid said quickly.
“A badge-totin’ girl!” Burrows was incredulous. “What are you sayin’, Ingrid? Such a thing has never been done before.”
“Well, now is your chance to make history, Jase . . .”