“Good choice. Let’s go.”

When she was finished with round one, Leo looked impressed. She looked at the paper target whose brain was now a mangled mess. “Again?”

“Sure.” He watched as she reloaded. “Where did you learn to shoot?”

“A cop owed me a favor and taught me how. I find it disturbingly relaxing.”

“So do I,” he said. “Do you carry?”

“In New York, yes. I had an uncomfortable meeting with a bullet a year ago. After that, I got my concealed-weapon permit, but I didn’t bring my gun with me. I wish I had.”

“I see. What happened to Luke?”

“He got a lead on some kids being peddled online. He found the apartment, but they were long gone.”

“Seems to be the story of his life lately,” Leo said sadly, and she nodded.

“He keeps pushing himself,” she said. “Sooner or later, he’s going to crack.”

“It happens. Luke pushes himself, cracks, comes here to let off the steam, then goes home and gets superglued back together.” He smiled. “It’s what family does.”

She felt a tug of yearning she didn’t try to deny. “You’re lucky.”

“I know,” he said, then pointed at the target. “Have another go. On the house.”

The first time had been practice, impersonal. This time she was thinking about the press conference that loomed a few hours away. The target became definitely personal.

“Good aim,” Leo said with a wince when she was finished.

The entire pelvic section of the target was gone. “It’s Garth Davis.”

Luke had finally joined them. “Then it’s really good aim,” he said wryly.

Leo tossed Luke the keys. “Lock up when you’re done. I promised Mama I’d level her washing machine before dinner. Susannah, you’re invited, of course.”

“Not this week,” Luke said. “She needs to sleep.”

Susannah could see the pain in Luke’s eyes. He needed super- gluing. “I’ve run on less sleep right before a trial. Tell your mama we’ll be there,” she said to Leo. “Thanks.”

Leo left with a backward wave and Luke leaned against a wall, out of her reach. “Chase called when I was out in the car. Pete found Bobby’s little boys with Rob Davis’s family. Kate had dropped them off a few days ago and asked Rob not to say anything. The kids are all right.”

She sighed with relief. “That’s good news. We really needed some of that.”

“That’s the truth. Come on. I’ll take you back to my place so you can sleep.”

“No, we’re going to your mama’s.” She approached with care. “Are you safe now?”

His cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “Yeah.”

“Oh, stop it, Luke. You have a temper. Most people do. Yours happens to be fueled by more potent stuff. So what? You control it.”

His eyes flashed. “So, what if someday I don’t? What if someday it boils over and I hurt someone?” He looked away. “What if I hurt you,” he finished quietly.

“Did you worry about that with all the other women?”

“No. I never kept any of them around long enough. None of them meant enough to.”

“So you really haven’t had anybody either, except the women you take to bed one night at a time so you’re not alone at three a.m.”

He looked disgusted with himself. “That about covers it.”

She tugged his jaw until he met her eyes. “Are you trying to scare me away, Luke?”

“Maybe. No. Hell.” He sighed. “You’re not the only one with insecurities.”

She was beginning to understand that. “So what do we do?” she whispered.

He pulled her to him gently. “Now? We go to Mama’s. I think she’s making lamb.”

Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 12:30 p.m.

“Goddammit, that hurts,” Paul gritted.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Charles said. “I’ve barely touched you.”

“Dammit. I’ve been a cop for twenty years and never got so much as a hangnail.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Charles said, although it was more serious than that. “I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse.” On myself. He’d had to learn to mend wounds the hard way.

“And you have the scars to prove it. I know, I know,” Paul muttered.

Charles lifted his brows. “Excuse me?”

Paul dropped his eyes. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“I thought not,” Charles said, satisfied. “I’ll stitch you up. You’ll be fine.”

“Wouldn’t have happened if you’d curbed your dog,” Paul muttered, then flinched again when Charles jabbed him with the needle. “Sorry.”

Charles jabbed him again.

“Sir,” Paul added, more respectfully.

“All right. You don’t have to be jealous, Paul. Bobby is an asset. You are more.” The doorbell rang, and he scowled. “If that’s another reporter… You stay out of sight.”

It was a reporter, but a local one. “Marianne Woolf. What can I do for you, dear?”

Marianne lifted her eyes and Charles blinked. “Get inside,” he said tersely. He shut the door, then grabbed Bobby’s chin. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Seeing if this disguise would fool anyone. It fooled you, so I should be fine waltzing in and out of the Grand Hotel this afternoon for Gretchen French’s press conference.”

Charles stepped back and assessed her. “Where did you get that wig?”

“Off Marianne’s head. Her hair’s not real, but nobody ever knew it except me and Angie Delacroix.”

“But all those hair appointments,” he said. “She went every Thursday.”

“Vanity. She’s nearly bald. But her boobs are real.” Bobby patted her own breast. “Silicone bra implants. Men will be so busy looking at these, they won’t look at my face.”

“Where is Marianne?”

“Knocked out in the trunk of her car. I needed her press credentials.”

“Who did your makeup?” Charles asked.

“I did. One of the job skills of a high-priced hooker. I haven’t eaten since last night and I’m starv-” She pushed past him and came to a full stop when she got to the kitchen, staring at Paul, then back at Charles. “What the hell? I don’t understand.”

“What, that we knew each other?” Paul said irritably. “Or that I got shot doing your damn errands?”

Recovering quickly, Bobby’s chin lifted. “Is Kira Laneer dead?”

“Of course. I shot her damn head off.”

“Then your pay will buy a lot of Band-Aids.” She turned to Charles. “Why is he here?”

“Because he’s mine.”

She shook her head. “No. Paul works for me.”

“You pay him,” Charles said, “but he has always been mine. He was never yours.”

Bobby’s eyes flashed. “I found him. I formed him.”

“He found you, because I told him to. You never had him. You never had Rocky, you never had anyone. Except for Tanner, and you killed him.”

Bobby took a step back, her cheeks heating in an angry red flush. “I came to say good-bye. Now I’ll just say what I’ve always wanted to. I hate you, old man. Fuck your control. Fuck your mind games. And fuck you.”

Paul lurched to his feet, but Charles raised a hand. “Leave her. She’s failed in every way imaginable. She’s even lost her birthright, now that everyone knows who she is. You’ll never have the big house on the hill, the family name. It’s all Susannah’s now.” He met Bobby’s eyes. “You have nothing. Not even your pride.”

“I have plenty of pride, old man. I hope you choke on yours.”

The door slammed behind her, shaking the glass in the window panes.

“That went well,” Paul said dryly.

“Actually, it did. She’ll get herself into that press conference now.”

“They’ll have security. If she brings a gun, they’ll catch her.”

“Heightens the challenge, my boy. She’ll rise to the occasion.”

“She’s unraveling. You really want her in a crowded room with a loaded gun?”

Charles smiled. “Yes.”

“She’ll never leave alive.”

Charles’s smile broadened. “I know.”