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People were drawn to him. He was—OK, he wouldn’t say godlike, exactly—but he was a father figure. Someone pop singers and film stars and other celebrities and socialites and rudderless rich kids and middle-aged druggies could come to, could trust . That was his essence: his bigger-than-life personality, his strength, his power. His generosity.

So when Jerry asked for help, Gordon was more than willing to help him.

That’s what brothers did.

Chapter Twenty-Two

TESS WAS JUST finishing her shift, which included cleaning up Pat Kerney’s typos on his reports. The first week she’d come on board he’d gotten his bid in early for them to read each other’s reports, which really meant she read his . He called them “typos,” but Tess thought they were something else. Lately, his police reports were riddled with more typos of a specific type: “thank” instead of “think,” “witch” instead of “which.” In this report he’d quoted the woman as saying, the goat “wooden stop struggling.”

It seemed to be getting worse.

So here she was, cleaning up his syntax while he was in the restroom. He spent a lot of time in there—his prostate.

Bonny ducked his head into the work area Tess and Pat shared. “I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

She followed him into his office.

“Close the door.”

Bonny hitched his duty belt up a bit on his waist and set one haunch on the edge of his desk. “Everything OK?”

“Fine,” Tess said. Thinking about Pat wanting to interview “the victim’s sun.”

Bonny looked at her from under his grizzled eyebrows, his eyes searching. “Something wrong?”

“Just the same old.” Tess had never been a snitch.

“This sleepy county’s going to get a lot worse soon, what with the prison goin’ belly-up and being bought by outside interests. Things are changing around here, and there’s going to be a lot more crime to go along with the building boom.”

“Building boom? What building boom?”

“It’s coming, don’t you never mind. They’re adding one thousand beds to that stinkhole across town, and the governor’s making noises about all the drug cartels in this county.”

“Drug cartels?”

“Yeah, I know—there aren’t any. But we’re talking federal money. It’s all exaggeration to generate more revenue for the governor, but now all the counties are getting caught up in it. If I want to survive, I’ll have to play the game. I’m too old to start a new career now, and people want me to protect ’em from things that ain’t never gonna happen, at least not for many years. Which is all a roundabout way of saying that I need to make some changes around here. There are folks who aren’t crazy about my detective.”

Tess saw Pat’s report in her mind’s eye, the one he pecked out with two fingers, typing “stinkbug” instead of “stun gun.”

“You come from a big city, and people—some people—are clamoring for, uh, more sophistication. Pat’s retiring next year, but the election’s next year too, and that’ll be too late for me. So. Raise your right hand.”

Tess raised her right hand.

“You’re detective.” He added, “I can go through the whole rigmarole, but I don’t have time for that nonsense. I’m sheriff and as sheriff I can make you detective, so, tag, you’re it.”

“What about Pat?”

“He gets to be detective too. I figure that’s what Solomon would do. But because he’s still detective, you won’t get a raise in pay. The good news is, you can wear regular clothes. Darrell at Watson Chevy unloaded a plain-wrap on me—you can drive that now. It’s got low miles, believe it or not, so it’s a step up. Only thing it doesn’t have right now is a radio, and I figure we can get that put in this weekend.”

Tess opened her mouth to protest.

But Bonny closed it for her with his next words: “I know about Pat’s dyslexia, or whatever it is, and I know it’s getting worse. It’s nice of you to cover up for him but it isn’t a help. Pat’s making noises about going to live with his daughter and I’m not going to discourage that. What do you say?”

“He’s not going to like it.”

“He doesn’t have a choice. I’ve made my decision. I hire you on to ‘learn the ropes’ with him, or I start looking for someone else, and Pat will be out sooner rather than later.”

There was nothing else Tess could say. She had always seen herself as a detective, had been one for four years before she had to leave Albuquerque. And she was good. A part of her wanted to show just how good.

Bonny said, “Besides, you remember everyone you meet and you can tell them what they ate and prob’ly even when they had their last poop. So congratulations, go out and paint the town.”

Tess permitted herself a tiny smile.

Until she realized she would have to be the one to handle Pat.

Chapter Twenty-Three

TALIA L’APEL POKED her head into Jerry’s study.

“I’m busy here!” Jerry Gold shouted. “I don’t need any distractions right now, especially since I’m trying to clean up your mess.”

Talia’s lips pressed together in a tight line. Talia, Queen of the Silent Treatment. Jerry could hear her moping from all the way across the room.

“Dylan’s here.”

“Oh, great. The one day he shows up on time. All right, I suppose I’d better see him. Give me a minute.”

“Fine. He’s in the foyer.”

“He didn’t see you, did he?”

“No, he didn’t see me .”

“Well, for God’s sake, have Delilah offer him something to drink and take him out by the pool.”

He had to tell her every little thing. For a girl with such sharp instincts for garnering publicity, Talia could be awfully obtuse about some things.

Like thinking.

She had people for that.

Had people. This week, Talia was flying solo.

The last couple of weeks she’d been hiding out here whenever she could slip the paparazzi. This essentially meant she’d left behind her stylist, her publicist, her hangers-on—all of them. She’d let it be known through her publicist that she had “gone into seclusion,” to prepare for her trip to Africa and her husband’s homecoming. Talia had used the “I’m a private person and need my space,” line, and surprisingly, people had believed it. She’d always been a convincing actress.

Everyone knew what a bad boy Max Conroy could be. Talia deserved all the sympathy in the world for helping to turn him around, and the public believed his domestication was almost complete. All he needed was the clean bill of health from the Desert Oasis Healing Center and a few happy photo ops with his loving wife and new baby.

Unfortunately for Max, that happy domestic scene would never take place.

Jerry wished he’d told Talia to stay away. Not only did they risk being caught out, but it played havoc with this thinking process. He didn’t want anyone around while he was in the planning stages. Talia was a distraction. But she’d worked so hard at dodging the paparazzi, he felt he really couldn’t say no.

Jerry needed more than a minute to get his mind out of the world he’d created in his storyboard.

He was serious when he told Gordon he wanted to do it his way. The other idea was too clunky, with too many moving parts—there was much more of a chance for something to go wrong. Gordon had done a beautiful job, sure—the scenario had a certain elegance. It was like a motion picture in miniature. But he didn’t quite trust Gordon’s ability to brainwash Max the right way. In fact, he didn’t know if brainwashing worked at all.

Jerry’s plan, on the other hand, was simple.

The kidnappers could go ahead and kill Max—as long as they didn’t do it on camera—but the body could never be found. That would add a new twist to the story. It would only enhance Max’s legend.