Marcotte moved deeper into the room. He didn’t swagger, didn’t waste any energy on unnecessary displays of ego. Again he addressed Deegan. “Here’s the deal, kid. The thefts stop.”

“They already have-”

“Wait.” He held up a hand, quieting Deegan. “Let me finish here. As I said, the thefts stop. If they’ve stopped already, that’s good. Then I can stop beating up skinny kids and robbing pretty blondes to throw the police off your scent. I mean, it was a kick at first, and a man’s got to make a living, but I take no pride in that kind of work.”

Mollie came forward on the couch. “The police-”

“The police have shit. They’re confused as hell. This whole thing will die a nice, quiet death if this spoiled little fuck here knocks it off and you and that reporter knock it off.”

“Jeremiah and me? We haven’t-”

“You have and you are. Look, I don’t care. Really. I’m on a time clock, so to speak. I’m hired to get results, and results I get. My point is, if we all just figure out what’s in our individual interest, we’ll do okay here. If not, then this thing keeps going, and it keeps getting worse. That’s hard on you. It’s hard on me. You remember my speech, right? Expedience is the key here. You fight only to get away. And I’m offering you a way out.”

Mollie suddenly felt chilled. “Mr. Marcotte, you don’t understand Jeremiah Tabak. He isn’t going to back off a story just because you want Deegan-”

“Not me, Miss Lavender. I don’t give a shit about Deegan.”

“All right. Then Jeremiah isn’t going to back off just because whoever hired you wants to keep Deegan from getting caught. My God. Why didn’t you put the fear of God into him sooner?”

Marcotte shrugged his massive shoulders. “We thought he’d get scared off at the idea of some real muscle horning in on his territory.”

“That was the attack on me.”

“Yep. Didn’t work. The little fuck swiped Lucy Baldwin’s watch. Didn’t work to try to put the fear of God in you, either, I might add. So, it was on to Plan B.”

“Croc.”

“He’ll take the fall for the thefts. Deegan here will get with the program and shut up.”

“And me?” she asked quietly.

“I’m thinking.”

Deegan sniffled, but he’d stopped crying. He looked spent. Dropping his hands to the floor, he pushed himself up on his feet. A flash of the old cockiness asserted itself. “You can go to hell. So can whoever hired you. I’m calling the police and confessing. You can explain what you did.”

“They’ll lay everything on you. All the thefts, the call, the attack on your brother. That’s the idea, you know. To put you between a rock and a hard place. If you confess, you get the whole ball of wax dumped in your lap because it’s easier that way.”

“You fucking son of a bitch-”

“Who hired you?” Mollie asked, breaking in before Deegan could try to jump the guy. “The Tiernays? They must have realized Deegan was in over his head and tried to stop him-”

Marcotte snorted. “You kidding? They don’t have a clue what their little angel here’s been up to.”

Diantha Atwood came into the room from the opposite entrance. Regal and calm, she sighed at her grandson. “I thought this might work. I honestly thought it might. Obviously we’ll have to try sterner measures.”

Deegan gaped at his grandmother. “What are you talking about?”

“I had hoped we could leave this case unsolved. But I can see that even if you will listen to reason, Mollie and Jeremiah won’t. So, we have to solve this case for them. Or for Jeremiah, at least.”

“I said I’d confess-”

“No, no. That’s not an option.” She quietly removed her hand from behind her back and leveled a gun, not a big one but big enough, at George Marcotte. “We caught Mr. Marcotte here in the middle of robbing Mr. Pascarelli’s house. He tried to fire on us, but I, in self-defense, shot him. We then discovered my favorite, most expensive bracelet in his pocket. He’s our thief.”

“You crazy old bat,” Marcotte said. “What about Tabak and Lavender?”

“Let me worry about them. I believe you’re what’s called the fall guy, Mr. Marcotte. Everything will be credited to you.” She kept her gun leveled at him. “Please don’t despair, Deegan. It’s no loss.”

Mollie’s tongue and lips had gone dry, her throat was so tight she could barely breathe. Deegan, motionless, continued to stare at his grandmother. “Gran, you can’t do this. It’s wrong. Jeremiah will be back any minute, and Mollie will tell the police exactly what she saw. She won’t lie for you.”

“But you will,” Diantha Atwood said.

Which had to mean, Mollie thought, that she wouldn’t need to lie. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? You’ll say I got caught in the cross fire or that Marcotte killed me first and that’s why you fired on him. Something.”

“That’s stupid.” Marcotte glared at the older woman, showing no sign he was afraid. “Lady, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Diantha Atwood gave him a cold look. “I should remember, if I were you, who has to resort to beating up weaker people in order to survive in this world. Deegan, please leave the room. I don’t want you to have to see the ugly reality of what your behavior has forced me to do.”

“Gran…”

“Go, Deegan. Now.”

He hesitated, panic and confusion clouding his face. His grandmother aimed her gun. Mollie had no idea if the woman knew how to shoot. Marcotte, she could see, had the same question. He moved. Deegan jumped, dove for his grandmother, yelled, “No!” as the gun went off.

Diantha Atwood screamed in horror. “Deegan! Deegan, my God, no!”

Mollie dropped beside him, saw the blood oozing from his right side. She grabbed a throw pillow off the couch and pressed it against the wound while his grandmother became hysterical. “It’s okay, Deegan,” she whispered as he grimaced, barely breathing, barely conscious. “I’ll get you to a hospital. I’ll take care of you. Just hang on.”

In her peripheral vision, Mollie could see Marcotte moving fast, removing the gun from Diantha Atwood’s flagging grip and backhanding her to the floor.

“You stupid bitch,” he said, calm, cold, “you shot your own grandson.”

At which point, Jeremiah charged into the room, Kermit Tiernay hobbling behind him, white-faced, taking in his bleeding brother and horrified grandmother.

Mollie made her voice work. “He’s got a gun.”

“I see,” Jeremiah said.

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Some dark force seemed to drive him forward, and Mollie shot to her feet, grabbing another throw pillow and whipping it at Marcotte. It was just enough to distract him for a fraction of a second. Jeremiah dove. The two men went down hard, Marcotte’s superior size and experience no match for Jeremiah’s fury. He gripped Marcotte’s gun hand, keeping him from firing, pounding his knuckles into the floor, yelling, “Mollie, goddamnit, get the gun!”

Croc jumped down beside his brother, ignoring his grandmother as she tried to push him away. Kermit wasn’t her favorite anymore.

Mollie scrambled to Jeremiah, pulled the gun from Marcotte’s hand even as he got position on Jeremiah and threw him off. Both men sprang to their feet, coiled, ready to rip each other apart.

Hating the feel of the gun in her hands, Mollie leveled it. “Stop. Stop! Marcotte, I’m not a good shot, but you’re one hell of a big target. Who knows what I’d hit. So cut your losses and…and just stop.”

He did, breathing hard. “You’re a bunch of crazy fucks. The money’s not worth this crap. Damn, I don’t know why-” He glared at Diantha Atwood. “You’re going down with me, bitch.”

Jeremiah turned to Mollie, and she gave him a quivering smile. “You’re late.”

“I’m never late,” he said. “I was just in the nick of time.”

The gun was shaking. She was shaking. “Deegan…”

Jeremiah moved toward her. “We need to call an ambulance and get the police here. I don’t know where the phones are. Maybe if you give me the gun…”