Sawyer straightened his spine and took a half step to shield Taryn from her father’s wrath. He looked young and spindly, and I knew Hall could mow him down in half a second. “Sir, I-”
The clue-bird landed on Hall with the heavy weight of a vulture and his expression of astonishment was almost ludicrous. “You’re not queer, are you? Taryn lied to me! You told me he was light in the loafers.” Hall growled at Taryn, caught midway between confusion and fury. “That’s the only reason I let you do this ballroom dancing thing and spend all that time practicing with him. Why did you lie to me?”
I thought he’d just answered his own question, so I kept my mouth shut, moving forward quietly so I could intervene if necessary.
“Daddy, I-”
With the inevitability of the sun rising in the east, the rest of the truth dawned on Hall. “You’re the father! You’re the bastard who knocked up my baby!” With a roar, he charged toward Sawyer, who held his ground for a split second and then scrambled toward the door.
I wished I had my cell phone so I could call hotel security, but there was nowhere to put it in my Latin costume so it sat uselessly on the table in the ballroom. “This way,” I called to Sawyer, hoping to direct him out the door I’d come in, but apparently he didn’t hear me because he dodged around a couple of chairs and vaulted onto the conference table, sliding across it on his hip before Hall could change direction. Sawyer dashed through the door into the main ballroom as Taryn called, “Don’t kill him, Daddy. I love him!”
Her words added fuel to Hall’s fire and he ran after Sawyer with Taryn and me following, hoping to prevent a maiming. Dancers floated across the floor to the strains of a Viennese waltz and Sawyer plowed through them, knocking a woman in yellow chiffon aside as the rest of the dancers stuttered to a halt. One pro I knew slightly, a tall man in his thirties, stepped in front of Hall, holding his hands out to stop him. “Hey, buddy, this is a dance-”
Hall knocked the pro aside and the man windmilled his arms to keep his balance. Several people pulled out cell phones and began to take photos or video of the chase. I hoped some of them were calling the police because I had no doubt Hall meant to inflict serious damage on Sawyer if he caught up with him. Sawyer had made it to the far side of the ballroom and was headed for an emergency exit when he caught his foot on a table leg. The table, laden with glasses and pitchers of ice water for thirsty dancers, tilted and its contents splashed to the ground, strewing broken glass and ice cubes across a twelve-foot radius. Stumbling forward, Sawyer recovered without hitting the ground, but it gave Hall the necessary seconds to catch up with him. With a huge lunge, Hall flung himself toward the younger man, catching the tails of his tux.
The fabric made a ripping sound but didn’t totally give way, and Sawyer crashed against the emergency door, triggering a loud alarm that added to the general chaos. He fell, half in and half out of the door, with Hall clutching at his feet. Daylight and a fresh breeze swept into the room.
A quavery voice yelled, “Sic ’em, Hoover,” and suddenly the Great Dane was there, unclear on the concept of “siccing” but happy to join in this fun game that involved people rolling on the floor. He nosed first Sawyer and then Hall, who turned his head aside with a gagging noise.
“Woof,” Hoover barked, bowing over his outstretched forelegs, his rump in the air with his tail whipping back and forth. Skirting the tail, which had already knocked a soda can from a nearby table, I flung myself onto Hall and grabbed for one of his legs as he tried to simultaneously climb his way up Sawyer’s legs and pound at him. Kicking at the heavier man, Sawyer struggled to claw his way out the door to safety. Hall had maneuvered his way up Sawyer’s torso and had one hand around his neck when Taryn joined me and latched on to her father’s other leg. Together, we leaned backward, bracing our thighs and hauling on Hall’s legs. My shoulder muscles burned as he twisted and kicked. My hands slipped and I was reduced to clutching at the hem of his jeans, unable to get a good grip.
“Daddy!” Taryn cried, tears in her voice and her eyes. “Stop it!”
Just as my grip gave way, Hoover bounded over again, planting one saucer-sized paw onto Hall’s back, making the man grunt and look over his shoulder, which allowed Sawyer to wiggle forward another couple of inches. Mildred appeared in her ruffly pink dress, a supersized Milk-Bone in her hand, and commanded, “Sit, Hoover.”
Hoover sat, planting his rear end firmly on Hall’s back, and disposed of his treat with two crunching bites. Five men hurried up-finally!-and two of them grabbed Hall’s arms while another two secured his legs. The fifth took his cue from Hoover and sat on Hall’s back. Immobilized, Hall hurled names and threats at Sawyer, who had struggled to his feet and limped over to where Taryn sobbed into her hands. He glared at Hall, his face rigid and white.
“Don’t you talk about how much you love Taryn when you treat her like this.” Sawyer hugged Taryn to his side with one arm. “I love Taryn and I’m going to take care of her and our baby whether you like it or not.”
Despite the strain on his face, his ripped clothes, and the way his voice cracked on the word “baby,” Sawyer had a certain dignity about him. I caught a glimpse of the man he was going to be and I thought Taryn could do far worse. Apparently, her father didn’t agree.
“You’re not good enough for my daughter, you lying sack of crap,” Hall growled, his words muffled from having his face mashed into the ground by one of his captors. “Don’t tell me I don’t love her-I’d do anything for her.”
“Like kill Rafe Acosta because you thought he was the baby’s father? Like try to kill me? Like tell her she can’t dance anymore? Yeah, you’d do anything for her except respect her choices.”
From the sudden silence in the room, I suspected everyone had tuned in after Sawyer accused Hall of killing Rafe.
“He wouldn’t-” Taryn began, eyeing her father with heartbreaking doubt.
Hall saw it and let out a groan, going still beneath his captors. I felt some sympathy for him, but it was all mixed up with my disgust at his ugly prejudices and my fear of the way his anger and frustrations immediately fizzed into assault and battery.
“He would,” Sawyer said implacably. The bruise on his cheek and the livid marks on his neck bore him out.
Uniformed police officers burst through the ballroom doors then, and one of them drew his gun at the sight of the huge dog now standing over Hall, snuffling at his pockets.
“Shoot him,” Hall urged. “He attacked me! He’s dangerous.”
“Don’t you shoot my baby,” Mildred warned, imposing her plump form between the officers and the hapless Great Dane. I was closer to the dog, so I grabbed his collar and pulled him toward me. “He’s a hero,” I told the confused-looking officers.
“He saved the boy,” someone in the crowd called out, and a smattering of applause turned into a torrent. “Hooray for Hoover!” another voice called. Someone poured champagne into a shallow bowl and set it down where Hoover could reach it. He lapped at it thirstily, looking like he enjoyed it, and I hoped Mildred’s budget ran to magnums of Dom Pérignon if Hoover turned up his nose at tap water in the future.
The police, apparently convinced Hoover wasn’t a threat, cuffed Hall, and led Taryn and Sawyer away to interview. Onlookers faded away, unwilling to get caught up in answering police questions. I told a polite officer only what I’d seen and heard, keeping my thoughts to myself. Was it possible that Hall had killed Rafe and then shown up the next day, ranting and raving, in an effort to divert suspicion from himself? I didn’t know if he was that wily; he seemed like a man who operated under the emotion of the moment, not planning things out in advance. I just couldn’t see him sneaking into my bedroom to steal my gun, even assuming that Taryn happened to have mentioned that I had one. It didn’t strike me as being standard teen-father dinner-table chitchat. I imagined the conversation: