Brett was only half hearing his snidely delivered commentary; his brain was spinning, almost out of control as every piece of the puzzle finally shifted to make the right picture. “They weren’t coming after me. Maks and Rudov. They were coming after…”

“Me,” Dan supplied. “I was this close to making the money back. While you were playing. Even after you quit, I thought I had it. We were a team, man. A team. It was all going to be okay; I just had to hold them off a while longer. Then you go and fucking leave and I have no chance to recoup my losses.”

“Gambling debts? That’s what this is about? Since when did you-”

“The business was in trouble, Brett. Dad didn’t exactly stick around to help with the transition, you know? And you. Just when I think I’m good to go, you working the circuit, you up and quit.”

“Wait, you…bet on me? On the events?” He thought about what Maks had said, about overhearing Dan trying to get some game action while at the bar.

Dan shrugged, seemingly unashamed by his actions, belligerent almost. “Sometimes I bet against you, too. I could always kind of tell when you were hitting burnout stage, figured my chances were better going with number two then.”

“I offered to help, you could have come to me.”

Dan lifted the gun from his lap. “How many times do I have to pound it into your thick skull? I am not your pet charity project! So I bet on you playing, so what? First it was just kind of for fun, but then I won a little. And when things got tight with the business, I’d bet more. And not just on your events. I got in deeper with the company, and deeper with the casino. So…they kind of came after me. To collect. I promised them when you came on board, they’d get their money back with interest.”

“So why did they vandalize your property? And Vanetta, Dan, how could you let them put her and her life’s work in jeopardy like that? I would have paid them off for you; we’d have hashed it out later. I mean, Jesus, Dan, how could you not do some-”

“I was doing something!” he roared. Dan shoved off his stool, sending it skidding backward, where it fell through the screen door. “I was earning the money back, Brett. Earning it back.”

From the corner of Brett’s eye, he saw Kirby’s gaze stray again and again to the rear open door. It was really cold now. Maybe she was signaling him to do what he’d been thinking about earlier. But what if he was wrong? He couldn’t risk it, risk her.

“I needed one more game, one more, dammit,” Dan shouted, his beaten face contorted with pain and rage and tears. “Then you up and fucking quit. All these years I tell you to leave the damn sport, come work with me. It would have been good. No trouble. I’d have been clean. The business would have been strong. But no. No. So I get in the game, and get deeper, then you fucking leave? But it’s all good, I tell Rudov. I’ll recoup the money with you working for me full-time now. But that wasn’t fast enough for Rudov. So they sent Maks around to persuade me to come up with the money. I didn’t know what else to do. The only sure thing was you playing again, one more time. I could have worked that angle. I thought you’d go back. They all go back. But no, not you! I told him to lean on you, get you to play again. Just once. But…but it got out of hand, and Maks got impatient. Then you left, and…and I was losing work with you gone.”

The tears started spurting from his swollen eyes; his jaw quivered as anger gave way to shame. He looked like nothing more than a trapped, wounded, cornered animal. And for the first time, Brett was really, truly afraid of how this was all going to play out. Dan was so far beyond reason, he wasn’t even hearing anything Brett said.

“Then you up and fucking decide to play again. Here, in this godforsaken shit town. So what choice do I have but to get the hell out here? Why do you think Maks came out here, anyway?” He was almost sobbing now. “And even then, I didn’t want to do it, any of it. I just wanted you to come home. We’d have made it work, man. It would have fixed everything.” He hunched over, slumped, letting the gun dangle down for a moment and in that split second, Brett knew that might be his only chance to do something.

With Dan breaking eye contact, Brett glanced quickly at Kirby to motion her to get down, but her gaze was riveted on a spot somewhere behind Dan.

Just as Brett swung his gaze back, to see what she was looking at, Dan’s head came up and he brought the gun up to his temple. “I could solve all our problems, you know,” he said, his voice no longer wild with pain, but calm, cold, empty. Too empty.

“No!” Brett shouted. “Dan, put it down. Now. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

“It’s too late now. Don’t you see? Too fucking late.” The gun wavered beside his temple, and Brett was just girding himself to dive over the counter if he had to, when suddenly Dan let out an almost inhuman shriek of pain and pitched violently forward, his body thrashing. The gun went off, the bullet ricocheting up into the ceiling, then all chaos erupted.

Kirby dove for the floor. Brett dove for Dan as he landed on the floor, hand outstretched, still holding the gun. Dan was howling. Kirby was scrambling toward the screen door.

“Run!” Brett yelled at her. “Get Thad.”

But instead she scooted behind Dan just as Brett cleared the counter in one leap, then had to almost twist into a pretzel to keep from landing on Dan’s back, which had been his intended target. He’d meant to pin him down and kick the gun away. But at the last second, he realized the reason Dan had suddenly had what looked like a violent seizure.

He had demon kitty lodged on his back, nails dug in deep, looking more terrified than she had when she was trapped two stories up in a tree.

That’s what Kirby had seen. The stool clattering over, then Dan jumping up and swinging the gun up must have set the cat off. Literally.

“What the hell is that? Get it off me!” Dan was screaming.

Brett kicked at the gun in Dan’s hand, sending it skittering as Kirby stepped in with a dish towel to trap the kitten.

She pried the cat loose and Brett hauled Dan up by his shoulders, prepared to level him with a knockout punch if that’s what it took to keep him from doing any more harm. To them or himself.

Dan took a swing at Brett, but at that point he was pretty easy to subdue.

When Thad arrived seconds later, Brett had Dan face to the wall, arm pinned behind his back. Dan was sobbing, completely broken. And Brett’s heart was breaking as well.

Thad stepped in, and though Brett instinctively moved forward to protect Dan, despite what had happened there that night, Thad quietly but firmly told him to step back and then clear the room once the reinforcements had come into the house as well.

“I’ve got it from here,” he told him.

“He’s…not well,” Brett said, not knowing what else to say. “Don’t-just-he’s done, okay? You don’t have to-”

“We’ve got it under control,” Thad reassured him, still stern, but clearly signaling with the stern set to his face that Brett needed to move back.

Brett did, and he felt what was left of his heart shatter as they cuffed Dan and took him outside to the squad car. Another officer retrieved the gun. Several others stayed behind to ask questions. Kirby was still cradling the bundled cat.

Brett took the towel and went out back on the porch and to the backyard. He crouched down and carefully opened the bundle. The kitten tumbled out, then arched her back and hissed once she was free. “Thanks for the assist, hellion,” he said as the kitten continued to yowl. “We’re even. Now git before you get impounded as evidence or something.” He watched the kitten take off back up the hill, hopefully toward home.

When he turned back around, Kirby was standing in the doorway, arms folded protectively against her middle. Her face was expressionless, but he could hardly blame her for being numb. He wished he was, too.