Not this time, buddy.

"Speaking of guts," I said, in as calm a tone as I could muster, "did I ever tell you I shot a man?" I'd been reluctant to share the specifics of my involvement with the last murder, but now seemed the best possible time to own up. "Yep," I added brightly. "I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Didn't want to scare you off."

I worried that my sweating palms would cause me to lose my grip, but whoever had created this sword had seen fit to add texture to the hilt. I thanked him now, wherever he was, for the friction required to hold tight.

Speaking with fervor and bravery I didn't actually possess, I continued my manic soliloquy. "He came at me with a knife, can you believe it? Smaller than this, of course. I shot him."

I could tell I'd confused him. Good. Keep him guessing.

"He survived only because my aim was off. It was dark. Not like this." I forced a laugh, and I watched him jerk in surprise at my apparent madness. He started inching toward the door, his eyes beginning to tear. From pain, I hoped. I pretended not to notice, pretended to be caught up in my story while my heart beat like a feral animal caught in my chest. "I hadn't ever taken shooting lessons." I tilted my chin toward the gun without ever taking my eyes off Mark. "I've since rectified that."

That wasn't true, but he didn't know it.

"You ought to know I was a fencing champion in college." Another lie, but what did I have to lose? I shot him a crazed smile. "So which is it going to be? Do you prefer to be stabbed or shot?"

"Grace . . ." He held out his hands and shuffled sideways, closer to the door.

"You've heard the saying about women scorned."

Relief flooded his features. "I understand," he said, "I'm sorry. You know I am." He ran a nervous tongue over his bottom lip. "I never meant to hurt you. Listen," he said, "what I felt for you was real. Grace," this said so softly and with such sincerity that I wanted to run him through with the sword that moment. Instead, I worked up an insipid, hopeful expression and trusted he'd buy it. The man was supremely confident of his allure. "Let me go," he whispered. "I need this." He held up the nylon jacket and I could see the outline where the tiara had settled inside. "Give me a head start, that's all I ask. Please, Grace. For what might have been."

Pretty speech. I swallowed hard, blinking. "On one condition."

I caught the wariness in his glance, suspicious of my agreeing so quickly.

"Promise me," I squeezed a crack into my voice. "Promise you'll let Bruce go. Promise me he'll be safe."

His relief was nearly palpable. "For you, anything." He swallowed, then asked, "The code, Grace?"

I pretended to ponder. "Warren, senior's birth year. Eighteen seventy-one."

He started for the door again, then stopped. "I need my gun."

"No you don't."

"But what if . . ."

"I won't let you hurt anyone else. Go now before I change my mind."

"Give me a half-hour head start, all right? I should be gone by then."

"You promise you'll save Bruce?"

"I promise."

I widened my eyes and nodded.

He hoisted the nylon jacket back up to his shoulder and went to the door, questioning me with his eyes. "No guards in the administrative wing overnight," I whispered. He nodded, looked back over his shoulder, and smiled. "I won't forget this."

It sickened me to return his lovesick smile. "I know."

The minute he reached for the doork.n.o.b, I hauled back and smacked him sideways across his head.

This time he went down for good.

Chapter 27.

THE SECOND HE CRUMPLED TO THE FLOOR, I rushed to the phone to dial security. Seconds later, sooner than should have been possible, alarms rang out all over Marshfield and I waited for the troops to storm in. I picked up the gun and placed it atop the fireplace mantel, within easy reach. I wanted to stay as well armed and as far away from Mark's p.r.o.ne form as possible. You never knew when the killer would get up again.

I then called Rodriguez, talking so quickly, trying to get him to understand that Bruce needed help, that it took me several seconds and Rodriguez several tries before I realized he was trying to tell me something.

"Bruce is fine. He's fine."

"He is?"

"Sit tight. More later." He hung up.

I heard the noise outside the Sword Room as security barged in and took control. I explained what had happened, as Mark began to stir.

Within minutes, he was again facedown on the floor, but this time his arms were cuffed tightly behind his back, and six tall guards surrounded him, just itching for him to make a move. I was surprised to see Terrence among them. Our head of security wasn't in uniform.

"Why are you here at this time of night?" I asked, pointing. "In workout clothes?"

"No time to change. Rodriguez called when they found your roommate tied up."

"How did they know to go to my house?"

Terrence shook his head. "That I don't know yet. What I do know is that Rodriguez called here immediately and my guys called me. We mounted a rescue operation and were ready to storm in." He glanced down at Mark, who stared away. "Looks like you didn't need us."

"I'm glad you were here," I said, feeling weak in the knees all of a sudden. "And I'm glad Rodriguez got to my house. I was so afraid. Where's Bennett?" I asked.

"I sent a team up there immediately to protect him. Weren't sure if that's where the crown they wanted was stored, or what. He set us straight. We might have been here sooner if I'd known . . ."

"The tiara!" I said. Mark's nylon jacket was still tied around his elbow. I tiptoed around him and crouched next to his face. I couldn't stop myself from saying, "You don't mind, do you, darling?" as I untied the arms of the jacket and pulled the gleaming treasure from its hiding place.

Mark didn't answer. He had a giant b.u.mp growing on his head, but the look in his eyes told me he'd heard me just fine.

I stood up and handed the tiara to Terrence. "That's what they were after?" he asked.

"All along. They knew Bennett had acquired it and they set their sights on stealing it for some collector . . ." I rubbed my eyes, thinking about what other treasures this collector might have acquired. "I suppose the police will want to investigate his involvement, too."

Suddenly overcome with weariness, I wanted nothing more than to go home. I knew I needed to talk with Bennett, but right now I believed Bruce needed me more. "Can you tell Bennett I'll be back later?"

"You need a ride?" he asked.

My body and brain had been working in sync for such an extended, pressure-filled period of time that driving myself, alone, would be a thoroughly terrible idea right now. "I'd like that."

FOUR POLICE CARS FORMED A BARRICADE IN front of my house, rendering the entire block impa.s.sable. The squads' red and blue lights rippled high through the dark canopy of trees and sliced across my neighbors' windows in madcap repet.i.tion. Dozens of nosy onlookers, enticed from their homes by the promise of excitement, formed a bustling perimeter. They stared toward the house, talking among themselves, oblivious to us pulling up behind them.

I opened my door when the guard stopped at the corner.

"My job was to see you home safely," he said.

I got out. "I'm safe. Go back. You're needed at Marshfield."

"But . . ."

"Go back," I said, but I'd already slammed the door and was running into the crowd toward my house. "Excuse me," I said, pushing past neighbors I didn't take time to recognize. "Let me through."

Every light in my home was on, the front door wide open. Even though Rodriguez had a.s.sured me Bruce was all right, he'd said nothing about Bootsie. Terror gripped my heart again and I ran like a crazy woman up my front lawn. Uniformed officers policing the outside appeared eager to stop trespa.s.sers. They must have recognized me, however, because they allowed me by without a word. I raced through the front door. "Bruce," I called. "Bootsie."

Everyone was in the kitchen. I heard Scott call, "In here."

I'd made it through the parlor, heading into the dining room, when Rodriguez stepped out to meet me.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Why don't you sit down?"

"Bootsie? Where is she?"

"Your cat?" Rodriguez blinked slowly. "Oh, yes. She got out."

Oh, please, no.

"She's fine," he said quickly when he saw my expression, but I didn't calm down until Bruce came through the kitchen doorway a second later with the little black-and-white bundle sleeping in his arms. He edged around Rodriguez's wide frame and handed her to me. "She's had a big night."

"So have you," I said to Bruce as Bootsie opened her eyes long enough to see who was holding her. "Thank heavens," I said with relief. "How did you-"

"Your cat got out," Rodriguez said again, and this time I waited for him to continue. "Flynn was checking to see if your locks had gotten fixed yet and saw the kitten outside the back door. He picked her up to bring her in and walked in on the crime scene in progress."

Behind him, Bruce nodded. "Couldn't have come at a better time. Lank was about to have me drive who-knows-where when Flynn barged in. It was like a perfectly scripted TV show with the bad guy who never saw it coming. Flynn dropped Bootsie, then managed to take the guy down in three seconds flat."

I held a hand to my head. "That's probably the first time I'm glad Flynn acted first and asked questions later."

Rodriguez gave a low chuckle. "Me, too."

"Is he here?"

"He's getting ready to take Lank, or whatever this guy's name is, down to the station to book him. I should get down there, too, since we have your friend Mark to process as soon as Terrence brings him in."

"I'm sure he's there now."

Rodriguez nodded then pointed out front. "I'll get my team out of your way so you can relax."

"Relax?" I asked.

Rodriguez patted me on the shoulder. "You did good, kid. Again."

I finally made it into the kitchen, in time to see Flynn making his way out the back door, accompanied by two uniformed officers who walked a handcuffed Lank between them. I was thrilled not to have to face that man's evil face again, but I had something I had to do. "Flynn, wait."

He turned and instructed his guys to hold up on the driveway. As always, the young detective's tone was brusque with me. "What do you need?"

"Thank you," I said simply. "You saved Bruce, you saved Bootsie."

Flynn grimaced. "Got lucky," he said.

"Not luck. You saved them and I won't forget that. If it weren't for you, this night could have had a terrible ending." Still cradling Bootsie with my left arm, I touched his hand. "Thank you, Flynn."

"Ethan." He worked his jaw. "I have a first name, you know."

"Thank you, Ethan."

He reached over and scratched Bootsie behind the ears. "I'm glad everyone is okay." With that, he turned and rejoined the group, taking Lank out to one of the waiting squads.

Scott had provided coffee and soft drinks for everyone and now started to clean up. "Well, wasn't this a party?" he said when he, Bruce, and I were alone.

Suddenly remembering something, I made a beeline for the sink. "There you are," I said, dragging my souvenir Boston mug from the bottom of the pile. Scott looked puzzled, but when I glanced over to Bruce, he nodded. I knew that I would forever picture Mark calmly drinking from it at my kitchen table while Bruce's and Bootsie's lives hung in the balance.

I marched over to the wastebasket and threw the mug in. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," I said.

Bruce applauded.

The house was ours again, the street dark and quiet, with only the murmurs of neighbors' conversations and sounds of them shuffling to their own homes keeping us company.

Bruce closed the front door. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, and explained what had happened after Mark and I had left the house. As I talked, I noticed that the pinp.r.i.c.ks of blood around Bruce's mouth had worsened while I'd been gone. I pointed. "Does it hurt?"

"Not as bad as being dead would have. Thank goodness Flynn was on the ball."

Scott was looking from me to Bruce and back to me again, his eyes filling with tears. "I could have lost you both tonight."

I didn't want to think about that. I pulled Bootsie close to my face and nuzzled her neck. "We're here and we're safe. That's all that really matters."

OVER BRUCE'S AND SCOTT'S VOCIFEROUS OBJECTIONS, I returned to Marshfield the next morning. I knew Bennett would want to talk with me. Not only that, I needed to present a calm, confident front for all Marshfield employees. I needed to appear strong if I planned to continue guiding them in the future. We'd been duped-all of us-and I'd been the worst offender. If we were to move forward, we needed to learn from this experience, to work together to ensure nothing like this ever happened again.