“Wait,” DeeDee said, holding up her hand. She was gaping at Elise with awe. “You came here and told Savich that you witnessed Napoli’s murder?”

“That was the plan. Duncan was against it.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

She gave him a soft smile, then said to DeeDee, “It was the only way. You mistrusted me from the start. Rather than try and persuade you otherwise, I talked Duncan into staging what would look like a double-cross. We counted on you believing that I had betrayed him to Savich.”

DeeDee assimilated that. “The argument between you two over who was the bigger fish, Laird or Savich, was also staged for my benefit?”

“As well as my heavy-handed encounter with Laird,” Duncan said. “Not that I didn’t enjoy having him by the balls.”

“How’d you know I would show up at your grandmother’s house today?”

“My mom left me a text message on my cell. She was second-guessing telling you where I was. I knew you’d show up. Elise and I had discussed how we would play it out when you did.”

DeeDee still looked resentful over being left in the dark, but there was also grudging admiration in her expression as she sized up Elise. “By coming to see Savich alone, you laid your life on the line.”

“Which I was willing to do. I have a stake in this, too, remember. My brother.”

“Yeah, but that took guts,” DeeDee said. “And frankly, I thought…well…”

“I know what you thought. And I understand.”

“All the same, I owe you an apology.”

“Not really. I’d given you absolutely no reason to trust me.”

DeeDee acknowledged Elise’s graciousness with a brusque nod, then turned to Duncan. “As for you, partner, you’re an asshole.”

Before he could take issue with that, he noticed that another officer was reading Savich his rights. “Hold on. I want to do the honors.”

Savich was still seated in his desk chair. He’d been handcuffed, but someone had wrapped a handkerchief around his bleeding hand. He was in obvious pain, but Duncan, thinking of the victims he had either terrorized or murdered, wasn’t moved to pity. He felt nothing except supreme satisfaction as he Mirandized him.

Savich sneered. “You never would have fired that sixth bullet.”

“Now, Bobby,” Duncan said in a singsong voice, deliberately using the diminutive of his name, which he knew Savich loathed. “You didn’t sound so confident about that sixth bullet a few minutes ago when you were screaming like a girl.”

“That confession is worthless to you. It was made under duress. This cowboy act of yours was for nothing.”

“Wrong. But in any case, I would have done it just for fun.”

“You wanted to impress your new girlfriend.” He slid a glance at Elise, then gave Duncan a sly smile. “Does she let you come in her mouth?”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You know what, Savich? You’re still pissing me off. And, you may be right. That confession may not hold up in court. Besides that, it looks to me like you’re trying to escape.”

He whipped the pistol from his waistband, aimed it at the bridge of Savich’s nose, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 30

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, ROBERT SAVICH STILL APPEARED as shaken as he’d been the previous night when he was hauled out of his office in handcuffs. After a brief stop at the ER, he’d spent the night in the detention center, no doubt shivering on his cot, reliving that split second when he’d experienced the mortal terror he had inflicted on so many others.

“Orange isn’t his color,” DeeDee remarked.

She and Duncan were sitting in the gallery of the superior court room, watching with interest as Savich was escorted to his place at the defense table for his bond hearing. Earlier in the day, in another court, he’d been arraigned for the murder of Meyer Napoli. Not surprisingly, on behalf of his client, Stan Adams had entered a plea of not guilty.

During his previous trial, conducted in this same courtroom only weeks earlier, Savich had been dressed to the nines each day. Today he looked like a different man, wearing the orange jail jumpsuit and sneakers without laces. Despite the thick bandage on his right hand, he was shackled. His ankles were connected by chains to the bands around his wrists. His hair hung loose. The diamond was missing from his earlobe.

“Yeah, but ain’t he a pretty sight?” Duncan stared at the man’s profile, willing him to turn and look at him, knowing that Savich wouldn’t. Duncan had won. Savich couldn’t endure his victory.

“Stop fidgeting.” DeeDee clamped her hand over his knee to keep it from bobbing up and down. “Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous. More like excited.” Feeling the weight of his partner’s stare, he turned his head toward her. “What?”

“It’s real, isn’t it? The thing between you and her. It’s like…the kind of thing that counts.”

“For me, definitely. For her, hopefully.” He looked toward the bench, now empty, but where Cato Laird would soon begin presiding over the courtroom with his customary arrogance and aplomb. “She’s gotta get past this. Start living as herself, not as his wife. It’ll be an adjustment. She’s lived on guard and in fear for a long time. It may take a while before she’s entirely free from all that.”

“Well, I just want you to know-not that you need my permission or even my approval-but, I’m cool with it. With the two of you together, I mean.”

He turned and smiled down at her. “Thanks.”

“Just in case you wondered.”

“Thanks,” he repeated. He glanced at his wristwatch. “They’re late getting started.”

She nodded toward Savich, who appeared not to have moved since he was seated. “He’s trying to pretend he isn’t here.”

“But he is. He’s had his last day of freedom, and he knows it.”

“You can bet he hates being treated like a common criminal.”

“He’s common enough,” Duncan said. “When I pulled the trigger, he messed his pants.”

“Can’t say as I blame him. I nearly did myself. Lucky for him you had left the last chamber of the revolver empty. Why did you? Because you figured it would come down to that last pull of the trigger?”

“Exactly,” he said. “And if that bullet had been loaded, I’d have killed the son of a bitch.”

“All rise,” the bailiff intoned.

DeeDee, dumbfounded by Duncan’s last statement, came to her feet a bit more slowly than did everyone else in the courtroom as Judge Cato Laird strode in and assumed his seat.

He glanced over the assembly, his gaze alighting briefly on DeeDee before shifting to Duncan. Their eye contact lasted for several significant seconds, then he proceeded.

“Mr. Adams, you’re representing Mr. Savich?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Stan Adams stood up.

“He’s been charged with the murder of Meyer Napoli.”

“To which he’s entered a plea of not guilty. Before we continue, Your Honor, I submit that the restraints on my client are unnecessary and request that they be removed for the duration of these proceedings.”

“These proceedings won’t take that long, Mr. Adams. Your request is denied.” For effect, he banged his gavel.

Duncan noticed that Laird avoided looking directly at Savich.

“Mr. Nelson,” the judge said, “you’re representing the DA’s office?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Mike Nelson came to his feet behind the prosecutor’s table, but not before glancing meaningfully at Duncan, whose heart had begun to beat hard and fast.

“Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, “Robert Savich has also been charged with conspiracy to commit murder in the death of Chester Joel Rollins.”

Attorney Stan Adams turned his head so quickly, his neck popped audibly, but Duncan’s eyes were trained on Cato Laird’s handsome face. The judge was smiling slightly, poised to speak, when his brain processed what his ears had heard.

His smile faltered. He blinked several times. He looked at Duncan, whose stare conveyed all the enmity he felt for the man. It also conveyed what he wished he could stand up and shout: And you thought I had you by the balls yesterday.