No one speaks up.

He scoots back from the table and slaps his napkin beside his plate. When he turns to walk into the living room, Sloan glances across the table at me. She looks scared, but also relieved that his big surprise was just interrupted. I turn to Dalton and he raises an eyebrow.

We all look at Asa as he peers through the peephole. He stares for several seconds, and then presses his forehead to the door. “Fuck.” He turns and rushes to the kitchen, grabbing Sloan by the arm and pulling her up out of her chair. He grips her shoulders and says, “Go up to the room and lock the door. Don’t open it whatever you do.”

I scoot my chair back and stand up. Dalton does the same. We both look at each other and then back at Asa.

“Who’s at the door?” Jon asks, pushing his chair back as well. I don’t think any of us have ever seen Asa this worried.

Asa glances up the stairs and around the room like he’s trying to find a way to escape. “It’s the fucking FBI, Jon. It’s the fucking goddamn FBI!”

What?

I immediately turn to Dalton, but he shakes his head to let me know he’s just as unaware as I am. I also notice his fists clench at his side. “Shit!” He says.

To Asa, I’m sure Dalton’s reaction is expected. But to me, I know why he’s really mad. The FBI are about to walk in this house and ruin the investigation.

More pounding against the door.

Asa pulls his hands through his hair. “Fuck! Fuck!”

I see him glance toward the backdoor. I can already see him trying to plan an escape route. I step forward to get his attention.

“If they’re here to arrest anyone, they already have the house surrounded, Asa. They may just be here for questioning about your father. Just open the door and act normal. We’ll all stay seated at the table like we have nothing to hide.”

Dalton nods. “He’s right, Asa. If we all run, they’ll have reason to think you’re hiding something.”

Asa nods, but Jon shakes his head. “Fuck that. We’ve got shit all over this house, if we open the door, it’s over. For all of us.”

Asa’s eyes are wide as he tries to figure out what to do. We all look at the front door when the banging resumes.

I can see the veins in Dalton’s neck, and I know he’s fearing that all the work we’ve put in was basically for nothing. The entire investigation won’t mean shit, because it will now be in the hands of someone else.

We’ve seen this happen a couple of times—an investigation being taken over by a higher ranking force. But Dalton has put so much into this, it’s going to be impossible for him to watch it go up in flames.

“Go to your room, Sloan,” Asa orders. “You don’t need to be here when I open that door.”

Sloan glances at me, concern in her eyes. She wants to know if she should follow Asa’s orders-if she should leave the room.

More banging.

I nod softly to let Sloan know she should do what Asa is asking her to do. At least she’ll be out of the way of whatever is about to go down.

Asa suddenly strides across the room toward Sloan. He gets in her face. “What the fuck are you looking at him for?” he yells, waving his hand in my direction. “What the fuck are you looking at him for?”

Oh, God. I start to walk around the table, but Dalton grabs my arm. Asa wraps his hand around the back of Sloan’s neck and shoves her toward the stairs. “Get the fuck up the stairs!”

She doesn’t look back as she runs up the stairs.

Asa is looking at me now. Dalton may not be happy that the FBI showed up, but I’m relieved. Chances are, Asa will be arrested for whatever they’re here to confront him for. Which means I might survive tonight, because the look he’s giving me right now is telling me otherwise.

He knows. He can tell, based on that one look Sloan gave me, that something is going on between us. But between the banging on the front door and the imminent possibility that he’s about to be arrested, he thankfully puts it on the back burner.

He points at all four of us. “Sit the fuck down,” he says. “Eat. I’m opening the goddamn door.” We all take our seats. Asa rushes to the kitchen and opens a cabinet, reaching to the back of it. He pulls out a gun and slides it inside the back of his pants. As he’s passing the table, he says, “If I find out any one of you fuckers is responsible for this, you’re all dead.” Asa turns toward the door and right before he opens it, he presses his forehead against it like he’s saying a quick prayer. When he pulls it open, he smiles. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

I hear a voice say, “Asa Jackson?”