“Will you tell them thank you again?”

“That’s a promise.”

“We’re going to live in Grandpa’s guesthouse for a while, and we’re going to Ireland with Nan to stay there for a while, too. But will you tell me if you’re right, and they have to go to jail for twenty years?”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

“You bet.”

“Thank you, Deputy Wilson.”

“You’re welcome.”

As she went out with Nina, Red heard her say, “Will you stay with me while I clean up and change? Will you stay in my room?”

“She’s afraid to be alone,” Aidan said quietly. “She’s always been so independent, ready to explore, or settle down on her own with a book or a project. And now she’s afraid to be alone.”

“I don’t want to overstep, Mr. Sullivan, but it might be helpful if your daughter had some counseling.”

“Yes.” He nodded at Michaela. “I’ve already made some calls and contacts. She doesn’t want to go back to our house in L.A., so as she said, we’ll move into my father’s guesthouse. And we’ll spend some time in Ireland—get her away from any publicity for as long as possible. I know you both have work, and you’ve had a very long day. I don’t want to keep you, but I need to ask. Will there be trials? Will Cate have to testify?”

“Ms. Dupont pled guilty, so no trial. I can’t tell you about Sparks and Denby. I will say, while they’re not all that smart, I think they may be smart enough to take a plea. We’ve got enough, if they don’t, to push for life without parole. Twenty years is a hell of a lot better than life.”

Red got to his feet. “We’ll keep you updated. Are you heading back to L.A. soon?”

“I think yes, I think as soon as possible.”

“I’ve got your cell. I’ll reach out.”

Red checked his watch on the way to the car. “I think we can mooch a meal at Maggie’s when we fill them in. Let me tell you, Mic, both those women can cook.”

Michaela considered it. “I could eat. Are we going to hit Denby and Sparks tonight?”

“Might as well strike while the iron’s hot enough to burn their asses. You up for it?”

Michaela settled in the passenger’s seat, looked back at the house, thought of the girl. “I’m up for this one.”

Both men said: Lawyer.

Unsurprised, Red started the ball rolling for a public defender for Denby—who claimed he couldn’t afford to hire one—and gave Sparks his call so he could contact his own.

With Maggie’s exceptional chicken and dumplings—and a slice of Julia’s spice cake—happily filling his belly, he huddled with Michaela.

Both agreed, of the two, Denby racked up more stupid points. They’d take him first.

Together they walked into the interview room. And though he restarted the recorder, Red held up a hand. “It’s going to take awhile for the court to appoint your lawyer, and awhile for him to get here. You don’t have to say a word, that’s your right. We’re just here to let you know it might take till morning, and to give you a little information.”

“I got nothing to say.”

“Nobody’s asking you to, just making you aware that Charlotte Dupont’s exchanged considerable information in exchange for a deal. First come, first served—you know how it works, Frank. With what we got from her, and from other sources, the state intends to go for life, no parole.”

“That’s bullshit.” But he’d gone sickly gray. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Not asking you what you did or didn’t. Are we, Mic?”

“No, sir, the suspect has engaged his right to an attorney. Until that attorney—well, whoever the courts can scrounge up—gets here, we’re not asking a single thing. Simply informing.”

“I bet it’s Bilbo.” Red let go a snickering laugh. “With this guy’s luck I bet it’s Bilbo. Anyway, from what we already know, this was your operation, so you’re likely to go down the hardest.”

“Mine? That’s a crock of—”

“Now, Frank.” Red held up his hand again. “You don’t want to say anything until you talk to your”—he rolled his eyes at Michaela—“lawyer when he gets here. Mic and I put in a long one today, but figure before we lock you up, get on home, we should let you know how things stand. The blonde? She rolled hard on you, Frank. And you were the one who had a gun in his possession. Then you got the blackmail.”

“There wasn’t any blackmail! That was bogus.”

“Frank, if you keep saying stuff, we’re going to have to put you back in your cell without giving you the information to help you decide how to handle things when your lawyer gets here tomorrow.”

“Screw a lawyer. There wasn’t any damn blackmail. I’m not going down for fucking blackmail.”

“Look, if you’ve got something you want to say, something you want to tell us, you need to waive your right to an attorney. Otherwise—”

“Didn’t I say ‘screw a lawyer’?” His eyes darted back and forth between them, shooting out genuine fear. “I waive that shit then. Blackmail, my ass.”

“Okay, the record shows you’re waiving your right to an attorney and want to talk. You showed Ms. Dupont and Mr. Sparks photographs you’d taken of them in some very compromising positions.”

“That’s right, that’s right. With Sparks’s camera, for Christ’s sake. Do you think I could afford one of those long lenses? Do you think I could’ve gotten inside the walls of that big-ass estate without him setting it up?”

Michaela didn’t miss a beat, just cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Jesus, he expects us to believe Sparks set all this up? We’re wasting our time on this one, Sheriff.”

“He did! It’s what he does, it’s his game. He hits up rich women. He hits them up for loans, big-ticket gifts, cash, whatever. He’ll honeypot them for more if he figures he can squeeze them.”

“And you know this how?” Red asked.

“Maybe we ran a few together. It’s not the first time he’s tapped me for a game.”

“Now they’ve worked together.” Michaela kicked back, yawned. “Sparks makes good money as a PT for wealthy clients. Why would he risk that to hook up with a second-rate grifter like you?”

“Look, bitch—”

“Now, now,” Red said mildly. “Language.”

“He’s got the style, okay? That’s his gig. Sex, style, finding women who want some of both. Sometimes he wants somebody to hit the mark with photos. That’s me. You squeeze a few thousand, and you move on.”

“A few thousand? You were hitting for ten million.”

“Ten—” Everything about Denby went dark, went ugly. “That son of a bitch. He said two. We’d split two. Biggest take ever. He had the woman wrapped. He saw how it was. The kid wasn’t a big deal to her—but the kid was a really big deal with the father. And the father, he had the money. A hell of a lot of money. The fucking Hollywood Sullivans, right?”