“What the hell’s going on?” Owen came in, still wearing his tool belt. “I had two of the crew come into MacT’s and tell me there was a catfight in the parking lot, and the two of you were going at it in here.”

“Does it look like we’re going at it?”

Owen studied his brothers. “It looks like you want to. What the hell’s going on?”

“Ry was just telling me. Some blonde slapped Hope.”

“Jesus Christ. A guest hit her?”

“Not a guest.” And, Ryder realized, he was making a mess out of this. “Wickham’s new wife, the blond bitch. I came out to talk with the rep for the exterior paint system, and I see Hope talking to this fancy blonde, over by Carolee’s car. It looks tense, full of drama. Sounds like it because the blonde’s yelling her goddamn head off. I’m not getting into that, and the next thing I know, the blonde’s hauling off and slapping Hope. You could hear the fucking crack across the lot.”

“For God’s sake,” Beckett muttered.

“By the time I got over there, it looked like the blonde might take another shot. She’s yelling all manner of shit about how Hope’s having sex with that asshole, how she slept with him to make manager, and other loads of bullshit.”

“Sounds like the asshole deserves the blond bitch,” was Owen’s opinion.

“That may be, but she kept going after Hope, threatened to go to her boss and say how she was banging Wickham to get back down to D.C. That’s when Mom got into it.”

“Mom was there.” For the first time Beckett smiled, showed his teeth. “I didn’t hear any ambulance.”

“She must’ve walked out during, I didn’t see her, but she told the blonde to get gone and make it fast. There was more in there. Threats to call the cops.”

“Mom said she’d call the cops?” Owen wanted to know.

“The blonde. And I said we could do just that. Anyway, she left. It was a fucking mess.” He drank again. “She left.”

“Okay.” Beckett took off his cap, dragged his hands through his hair. “Harsh, ugly, and done.”

“She made Hope cry.”

“Goddamn it.” Beckett leaned back against a wall. There was done, in his mind, and there was done. “It sounds like we need to take a little road trip, have a discussion with Wickham.”

“And after I bail the two of you out of jail, what then?” Owen demanded. “Beating the living shit out of Wickham doesn’t help Hope. It won’t make her feel better.”

“We’ll feel better,” Beckett said, and Owen was forced to nod.

“Yeah, we would. Hell. I’ll drive.”

“I’ll handle it,” Ryder told him. But knowing his brothers had his back defused the time bomb of temper.