“No problem.”
He strode off to the well-lit house, and Mollie followed Griffen over to her makeshift wine bar. “Griffen, there’s no rush-”
“Thanks, but we’re all tired. I know I am.”
Mollie hesitated. “About what you said earlier-”
Griffen swung around, her dark curls whipping into her face. “Will you forget what I said earlier? Please?” She sounded grouchy and tired more than distressed. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“But, Griffen, if you’ve got any ideas or insight about what’s going on with the Tiernays and this jewel thief-”
“I don’t. I’m sorry, Mollie. Look, I need to get busy. I’m dead on my feet.”
Mollie relented, wondering if Griffen’s obvious romantic problems with Deegan had affected her judgment and what she’d said hadn’t meant anything. She’d rehashed her friend’s words dozens of times while trying to enjoy her guests.
It would help if Jeremiah returned.
She retreated into the house to see about cleanup and Deegan. She felt a faint uneasiness at not quite knowing who was still behind Leonardo’s gates, on the property with her. When she got everyone out, she planned to jump in the pool, clothes and all.
If Jeremiah was back, maybe not clothes and all.
She smiled, her body humming at the thought of him.
She gathered up paper cocktail napkins on the kitchen counters, no sign of Deegan in the sprawling kitchen.
Then she heard a noise coming from the media room. She stopped, motionless, and listened, her heart drumming.
A sob.
Someone was crying.
Moving quietly, she edged to the doorway and peered into the huge leather-and-wood room.
Deegan Tiernay sat in the middle of the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees, shaking, sobbing.
“Deegan?” Mollie rushed in. “Deegan, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, and when she reached him, she saw tears streaming down his cheeks and chin, dripping onto his knees, all the cockiness and charm gone. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose was running. And she knew it had all gotten to him. He was twenty, and his brother had nearly been killed, and it was his fault.
“Deegan…”
“You know, don’t you?” His voice was hoarse from crying; she could see him squeezing his knees together as hard as he could, as if that would somehow keep him from flying apart. “Griffen…Griffen’s suspicious. I can tell. She’s different…God, I can’t believe…” He sank his face between his knees and sobbed uncontrollably, his back shaking.
Mollie touched his shoulders, felt the hot sweat and strong muscles through his shirt. “Deegan, you’re young.” She was surprised at the gentleness of her own voice, her lack of animosity toward him. He would have to account and make amends and pay for what he’d done, and he would have to get help. “You can’t see the forest for the trees right now. If you call the police yourself…”
His head shot up, and he screamed, a numbing, wordless, fierce sound that seemed to come from his very soul. Finally, his shoulders slumping, he got control of himself. He sniffled. “Mollie, this isn’t your problem. I never meant to make it your problem.” His lower lip and chin trembled. “I’m so scared. Kermit…he can’t take the fall for me.”
“I know. I understand.”
“No, no, you don’t. I didn’t…I could never have done that to my own brother. To you. I…you…” His voice croaked, tears and spit mixing together on his chin. “I was just having fun. Then everything went haywire.”
She frowned. “You mean you didn’t attack me or make the threatening call? Deegan-”
“Whoa, kid. Don’t answer that.”
They both looked up at the sound of the calm, unfamiliar male voice. The security expert. George Marcotte. His man must have let him in. He was a big, fit, muscular man whose size at the luncheon yesterday Mollie had found reassuring. Now she stared at him, confused, banking back the flutter of fear.
He addressed Deegan first. “Relax, kid. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
Mollie rose. “Mr. Marcotte-”
“Now, hold on, Miss Lavender. Just hold on.” He seemed perfectly calm, as if he did this sort of thing every day. “I’m glad my guy kept your little party this evening crime-free. However, I have something I need to do. You can sit on the couch there and be quiet. Okay?”
As if she had a choice. Glancing at Deegan, whose face had gone pale beneath the red splotches, she dropped onto the couch in the middle of the room. Leonardo’s media equipment-for viewing, recording, and listening-surrounded her.
Marcotte moved deeper into the room. He didn’t swagger, didn’t waste any energy on unnecessary displays of ego. Again he addressed Deegan. “Here’s the deal, kid. The thefts stop.”
“They already have-”
“Wait.” He held up a hand, quieting Deegan. “Let me finish here. As I said, the thefts stop. If they’ve stopped already, that’s good. Then I can stop beating up skinny kids and robbing pretty blondes to throw the police off your scent. I mean, it was a kick at first, and a man’s got to make a living, but I take no pride in that kind of work.”
Mollie came forward on the couch. “The police-”
“The police have shit. They’re confused as hell. This whole thing will die a nice, quiet death if this spoiled little fuck here knocks it off and you and that reporter knock it off.”
“Jeremiah and me? We haven’t-”
“You have and you are. Look, I don’t care. Really. I’m on a time clock, so to speak. I’m hired to get results, and results I get. My point is, if we all just figure out what’s in our individual interest, we’ll do okay here. If not, then this thing keeps going, and it keeps getting worse. That’s hard on you. It’s hard on me. You remember my speech, right? Expedience is the key here. You fight only to get away. And I’m offering you a way out.”
Mollie suddenly felt chilled. “Mr. Marcotte, you don’t understand Jeremiah Tabak. He isn’t going to back off a story just because you want Deegan-”
“Not me, Miss Lavender. I don’t give a shit about Deegan.”
“All right. Then Jeremiah isn’t going to back off just because whoever hired you wants to keep Deegan from getting caught. My God. Why didn’t you put the fear of God into him sooner?”
Marcotte shrugged his massive shoulders. “We thought he’d get scared off at the idea of some real muscle horning in on his territory.”
“That was the attack on me.”
“Yep. Didn’t work. The little fuck swiped Lucy Baldwin’s watch. Didn’t work to try to put the fear of God in you, either, I might add. So, it was on to Plan B.”
“Croc.”
“He’ll take the fall for the thefts. Deegan here will get with the program and shut up.”
“And me?” she asked quietly.
“I’m thinking.”
Deegan sniffled, but he’d stopped crying. He looked spent. Dropping his hands to the floor, he pushed himself up on his feet. A flash of the old cockiness asserted itself. “You can go to hell. So can whoever hired you. I’m calling the police and confessing. You can explain what you did.”
“They’ll lay everything on you. All the thefts, the call, the attack on your brother. That’s the idea, you know. To put you between a rock and a hard place. If you confess, you get the whole ball of wax dumped in your lap because it’s easier that way.”
“You fucking son of a bitch-”
“Who hired you?” Mollie asked, breaking in before Deegan could try to jump the guy. “The Tiernays? They must have realized Deegan was in over his head and tried to stop him-”
Marcotte snorted. “You kidding? They don’t have a clue what their little angel here’s been up to.”
Diantha Atwood came into the room from the opposite entrance. Regal and calm, she sighed at her grandson. “I thought this might work. I honestly thought it might. Obviously we’ll have to try sterner measures.”