“You’re sorry? You’re goddamn sorry?” Breathe. “Where are you now?”

“About five miles from the cemetery, heading back toward town.”

“No, turn around and head for the Vartanians’ house. It’s another few miles, an old antebellum mansion. Talia’s car should be parked out front. Approach silently and wait for me. Bobby’s inside with Susannah and Talia.”

“All right.”

“Germanio, listen to me. You wait for me, okay?” Luke handed Pete his phone. “Damn cowboy. Now Grant knows we know.”

“He’s not the only cowboy,” Pete muttered.

Luke shot him a glare. “What if Ellie were being held captive by a murderer?”

Ellie was Pete’s wife, a tiny, little woman. Pete treated her like spun glass. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked quietly. “Now focus on driving. I’ll call Chase.”

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:35 p.m.

Charles was pissed. He’d had a tail, some clumsy GBI guy who’d been child’s play to lose. But that meant he’d been discovered. They knew. Dammit.

He’d known deep down that it was only a matter of time. He’d tried to stick his finger in the dike when he’d helped Daniel Vartanian catch Mack O’Brien. Mack had been calling lots of unwanted attention to Toby Granville and the other boys.

But all good things must come to an end. He could leave behind no loose ends. Bobby was a loose end. So was his house. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that once the GBI started looking they wouldn’t find his records. Everything truly valuable he carried with him in his ivory box, but the house had to go. He’d tell Paul to burn the sucker down. He dialed Paul’s cell. “I need you in Dutton,” he said.

“Well that’s good,” Paul said, “because that’s just where I’m headed. I’ve been trying to call you for an hour.”

“I told you I couldn’t take calls at the cemetery,” Charles said sternly. “I told you to text me. Even Bobby got that part right.”

“I can’t text and drive at the same time,” Paul said, clearly annoyed at the jab. “I got a call from your alarm system. Somebody’s in your house.”

Charles drew a breath. “What?”

“You heard me. I have the alarm system set to call me and not the security company. Somebody entered your house through the back door at 1:17.”

“I just lost a GBI tail,” Charles said quietly. “They must be searching my house. It’s too late to burn it down. They’ll read my books, they’ll know what I’ve done.”

“So where are you going?” Paul asked, a thread of panic in his voice.

“Mexico, then back to Southeast Asia. But first, I’m going to the Vartanians’. Bobby is there. I need to be sure neither she nor Susannah survives to tell anyone about you. After I’m done, I’ll wait behind the house. You can pick me up and we can drive south. Once I’m in Mexico, you can go back to your life, or you can come with me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Paul said. Of course, Charles had known he would.

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:35 p.m.

Pete closed his phone. “Backup’s coming. Now you need to know what’s in this notebook. You’ll be angry. Just keep your cool, all right?”

“All right,” Luke said carefully. “You said Grant was extorting rich people. Who?”

“Lots of people, but you really want the tale of two judges.”

“Borenson and Vartanian,” Luke said grimly.

“Yep. I found at least fifty of these notebooks in the hidden shelf behind Grant’s closet. They’re alphabetized. He has three V volumes, one for Simon and Arthur, another for Daniel and his mother. Susannah gets her own, and it’s nearly full. Listen.”

Luke listened, his knuckles gone bone white as he clenched the wheel. Black bile churned within him, fury so intense he shook with it. It was unbelievable. Unforgivable. Inhuman. Susannah’s life had been ruined because both Charles Grant and Arthur Vartanian wanted control of a dickwater town that didn’t mean shit. Susannah had been a pawn in a high-stakes game she’d never understood. “My God,” Luke whispered.

“Can we use the books?” Pete asked. “They don’t mention the bunker, but…”

“We have to ask Chloe,” Luke said. Inside he burned. Each breath physically hurt. “Of course, should Charles Grant die in the meantime, it becomes a moot point.”

Pete was quiet for a moment, considering. “So it does. I’ve got your back.”

Luke swallowed hard, moved. “Someday I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Pete huffed a mirthless chuckle. “Not in this lifetime, pal. Drive faster.”

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:45 p.m.

“None of the Vartanian birthdays I remember are opening this safe,” Susannah said, flinching when Bobby jabbed the butt of the gun into the back of her head.

“Shut up. Just keep dialing, little sister.”

Susannah’s jaw clenched. She’d managed to unlock three of the six upstairs safes. One was empty, one held estate documents, and the third had held Carol Vartanian’s best paste diamonds. Bobby had thought they were real and had chortled over her good fortune. Susannah was not about to disillusion her.

Bobby was storing her loot in Grandmother Vartanian’s tall silver teapot, which seemed critically important. Again, Susannah was not of a mind to try to understand.

However, Susannah was of a mind to try to stall for time as she knelt on the floor of her parents’ bedroom trying unsuccessfully to open another safe. “I’m not your sister,” she said, gritting her teeth. “And I’m telling you this safe is empty. Daniel emptied it three weeks ago when he went looking for my parents.”

“Then Daniel must have known the combination, which means you should. You seem to have the birthdays all memorized.” Bobby smacked her head with the gun butt again. “And I am your sister, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Susannah sat back on her haunches, blinking against the pain in her head. Where are you, Luke? She knew he’d understood her message. Never in her life had she called Arthur “Daddy,” and the idea of taking anything to remember her mother made her sick to her stomach. She thought of Talia, bleeding beneath the stairs, and prayed Luke would get here before Talia bled to death or Bobby truly did blow their heads off.

So stall. Give him time. “You are not my sister. You are not even my half-sister. We are not related.” And her head flew to one side when Bobby slapped her, hard.

“Is it so damn hard to admit?” Bobby asked, her eyes flashing with anger.

Susannah hoped giving Bobby the upper limbs on the Vartanian family tree might diffuse her anger. She worked her jaw side to side, her eyes stinging. “Yes, because it’s not true. Your father is Arthur Vartanian, but my mother did the same thing your mother did. She slept around. Arthur Vartanian was not my father.”

Bobby blinked at her. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I had a paternity test done. Frank Loomis was my father.”

Bobby looked unsure, then threw back her head and laughed. “Sonofabitch. All this time, sweet Suzie Vartanian has been a bastard, too.” She then sobered meanly. “Dial the safe, Suzie, or I go downstairs and blow your friend’s head off her shoulders.”

Susannah swallowed. “I don’t know the combination to this one. I’m not lying.”

Bobby frowned. “Then get up.”

Susannah obeyed, relieved, then went rigid at the sound of a car pulling up outside. Luke. Please be Luke. Bobby heard it, too, and, eyes narrowed, crept to the window.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “We have company. Who is he?”

Susannah stayed where she was, then cried out when Bobby yanked her hair, pulling her to the window. Hank Germanio was carefully approaching the house, his weapon drawn. “I don’t know,” she lied smoothly. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Oh, you’re good,” Bobby said softly. “Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. Luckily Leigh Smithson told me about him, too. That’s Hank Germanio. He’s the impetuous type, a real one-man show. Go.” She pushed her to the top of the stairs. “Call for help.”