Sting by Sandra Brown

I’d lose the attitude and stop pissing me off.”
    He squirmed, he swallowed, he picked at the red eye socket of the skull on his shirt, and finally he mumbled his name—Royce Sherman.
    Hick tapped it into his iPad and started a search to see if Royce Sherman had a police record.
    Joe asked, “You live around here, Royce?”
    He named a nearby town, not Tobias.
    “What brought you over here tonight?”
    “Met up with some buddies to shoot pool, have a coupla drinks, hang out.”
    “Did you know Jordan Bennett before tonight?”
    “Never saw her before she walked in. Still don’t know her.”
    “But you recognized her name.”
    “No. Didn’t know it till he told me.” He motioned toward Morrow.
    “Witnesses told Deputy Morrow that you came on to Ms. Bennett pretty strong. That true?”
    “No.” Some of the attitude had edged back in. He sank deeper into his seat. “I went over and asked could I buy her a drink. That’s it,” he declared, stabbing the top of the table with the tip of his index finger.
    “Of all the women in the bar, you picked her to hit on. How come?”
    He gave a short laugh. “Are you yanking my chain?”
    Joe’s expression didn’t change. “Am I yanking his chain, Agent Hickam?”
    “I don’t believe you are, sir.”
    Their somber tones collapsed the young man’s leer. He shifted on the bench again. “If you saw her, you wouldn’t have to ask how come. She’s hot.”
    “I have seen her. In fact, I and Agent Hickam have spent a lot of time with the lady.”
    Royce Sherman’s bloodshot eyes sawed back and forth between them. “Seriously?”
    “In the line of duty.”
    “Wha’d she do?”
    “Are you familiar with a fugitive named Billy Panella?”
    “A fugitive? Like, from justice?”
    “Heard of him?”
    “No.”
    “Joshua Bennett?”
    “Her kin?”
    “Her brother.”
    “Don’t know him, neither.”
    Joe didn’t think he was bright enough to be lying that well. “According to witnesses, Ms. Bennett didn’t welcome your attention and declined your offer of a drink.”
    “Said she had a drink, thank you, and asked me to adios.”
    “But you didn’t adios. You persisted.”
    “No law against making friendly conversation, is there? I…” Stalling, he shot a glance at Hick, who was watching him, waiting for an answer. “I…you know, I—”
    “—persisted,” Joe repeated. “You harassed her.”
    “I never laid a hand on her!”
    “But you didn’t take no for an answer.”
    He slumped, sighed, looked at them sourly. “Okay, I offered again, and when she said no again, I told her she looked lonely to me. She said she wasn’t, and, anyway, it was none of my business if she was lonely or not. And then I asked if she was expecting somebody else to join her.”
    Joe leaned forward. “What did she say to that?”
    “Nothin’.”
    “She didn’t answer?”
    He shook his head. “Just turned a cold shoulder.”
    “What did you derive from that?”
    “Derive?”
    “How’d you take that? Like maybe she was expecting someone?”
    “I dunno.” He gave them a stupid grin. “I wasn’t thinking too clear.”
    Joe kept at it for a few more minutes, but it became apparent that the young man hadn’t been thinking clearly at all, that he’d had more than a “coupla drinks” with his pals. He saw a pretty lady and was goaded into approaching her with nothing more in mind than the prospect of getting lucky.
    “Witnesses overheard her tell you to go to hell.”
    “Turns out she wasn’t a friendly sort a’tall. Truth is, she was a snotty bitch. Who needs that? Actually, I’m glad she turned me down.”
    Not believing that for a second, Joe looked at Hick, who snickered. He didn’t believe it, either. Going back to the young man, Joe asked, “How long between when she stormed out and you followed?”
    “My friends were giving me shit for being shut down, so five minutes, maybe.”
    Hick, referring to notes Morrow had taken, whispered to Joe, “His