She stood up too, fighting a tremor of panic. “What’s wrong? Are you going overseas?”
“No,” he said in a clipped tone.
“Then what’s going on?”
“What’s going on? McCoy and his band of idiots got arrested, that’s what’s going on.”
“What?”
Carson was already marching to the door. “I’ve gotta go. Someone needs to bail their sorry asses out of jail.”
“Wait, I’m coming with you!”
He glanced over his shoulder and shot her a firm look. “Out of the question. You’re staying here and locking the door behind me. I’ll call you when I know more.” And then he strode out the door, slamming it loudly behind him.
“Great job, McCoy. Great f**king job.”
Cash scowled at Seth from across the holding cell. “Nobody asked you to join in and defend my honor.”
“They would’ve hauled me in either way. Texas and Wade didn’t take a swing and they’re still in jail.”
Seth was sprawled on one of the long metal benches, his cloudy gray eyes fixed on a cracked piece of plaster on the ceiling. On the other side of the cell, Cash and Jackson sat side by side, their heads resting against the cement block wall, legs stretched out. Dylan had been pacing the concrete floor in front of the iron bars for the past hour.
The four of them were the holding cell’s sole occupants. Ironic, how the ass**le who’d thrown the first punch was conspicuously absent, but when the cops showed up at the alley, Brendan had sprinted toward the cavalry and proceeded to spin a sordid tail in which he, the poor victim, had been jumped by four goons who’d broken his nose. The two uniformed officers took one look at the four SEALs and the cuffs had come out.
The last thing Cash heard before being carted toward the squad car was Brendan’s announcement that he was pressing charges against his assailants. Lying ass**le.
Across the cell, Dylan finally quit pacing and turned to face the group, his broad shoulders slumped. “Shit, we’re totally gonna do hard time for this.”
Cash rolled his eyes. “We won’t do hard time. It was just a brawl.”
“Didn’t you ever see Con Air? Nicolas Cage ends up in prison for a brawl. Know why? Because his body is considered a lethal weapon thanks to his military training.”
“But didn’t he kill a bunch of dudes?” Jackson pointed out. “And then there was that scene where Harrison Ford is all Get off my plane. Best movie line ever.”
“That’s Air Force One, dumbass,” Seth said with a grin. “But yeah, I think Nic Cage accidentally killed someone. See, Wade, we’re fine. Nobody got accidentally murdered tonight.”
Dylan didn’t seem to be listening. Scraping a hand through his blond hair, he glared at Cash and said, “I can’t go to prison. It’ll break my mother’s heart. And you know I’ll be fighting off would-be ra**sts left and right.”
Seth snorted. “You already like it up the ass, so what’s the problem?”
“Ha ha. I’m dying of laughter here.” Dylan looked frazzled. “Fuck, those inmates will be all over me. I’m too good-looking to resist.”
Everyone snickered.
“Conceited much?” Jackson drawled.
Dylan stared down the Texan. “You saying I’m not good-looking enough to attract a bunch of lonely, horny prisoners?”
“No, just saying if we’re basing it on looks, I think I’d be the one holding the ra**sts at bay,” Jackson replied. “The ladies never stop raving about my face. And my fine ass.”
“My ass doesn’t get any complaints,” Dylan shot back. He narrowed his eyes, then glanced at Cash. “Who do you think? Me or Texas?”
Cash shook his head in bewilderment. “How the hell do I know?”
“I’m sure you’d both be equally violated,” Seth said helpfully.
“Ahem.”
All four swiveled their heads toward the bars to find Lieutenant Commander Thomas Becker standing there.
For the first time all evening, Cash experienced a flicker of anxiety. Shit. The arresting officers had called their CO?
And the CO’s XO, he realized with growing dismay as Carson appeared next to Becker.
“Hey, Commander,” Dylan said with a sheepish look.
“You our ride home?” Seth piped up.
Becker sliced a hand through the air. “Not one word from any of you.”
A uniformed officer approached the cell with a heavy key ring. The keys jingled in the silent space as the officer unlocked the door. “You’re free to go,” he said in a monotone voice.
Trudging out of the cell, Cash felt like a kid about to get grounded for sneaking out of the house. They strode down the fluorescent-lit hallway of the police station toward the processing area. Their keys, wallets and other belongings were returned to them, and as they signed some paperwork, Becker stood there with his arms crossed, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
They’d been ordered to stay silent, but Seth, being Seth, couldn’t help himself. “Is the pansy pressing charges?”
Becker glared murder at him. The vein throbbed harder and faster.
But Carson answered. “No. There’s a witness on the record saying that Psycho McGee threw the first punch. No assault charges will be brought against you.”
Witness? Cash glanced at Jackson, who’d been their lookout, but he just shrugged.