He opened a tube of lipstick, sniffed it, replaced the cap, and tossed it back onto the table. “His condition is critical. He probably won’t survive. But we can’t count on that. He may pull through.”

Petey was looking like he might throw up.

“But actually, the woman is more of a worry than The Major. Her injuries aren’t that serious. She’s able to communicate, and communicating is what she does for a living. So, Petey, I need to know, and know now, if she saw you.”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. She’d locked herself in the bathroom.”

The man played with Kerra’s key chain, his expression thoughtful. “How did you come to realize she was in the bathroom?”

“No sooner had I shot The Major, I noticed the light go out under the bathroom door. I went to check. Sure enough, the door was locked. By the time we’d busted it down, she’d gone out the window. Jenks fired at her, but she—”

“Was swallowed up by the darkness.”

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t you chase her down?”

“No time to. We heard a car turning off the main road. Saw the headlights coming up the drive. We went out the back, but not before thinking to grab her bag there.”

“Nobody saw you?”

“No, sir. I’d swear to it. She was too busy running for her life to look back, and the house was between us and whoever was approaching in that car.”

“It was the TV crew’s van. Five of them.”

“They couldn’t’ve seen us. Jenks had left his truck at least a half mile from the house. We found our way back to it in the dark. Near froze our balls off on that hike. Anyhow, we drove on back to town and shared a basket of ribs at the barbecue place on the square. Established an alibi, like you told us.”

“Which will make no difference if The Major survives.”

“No way he could. I’d lay money on that. They must be keeping him alive with machines.”

“Kerra Bailey isn’t hooked up to machines. Eventually she’ll tell everything she knows.” He dwelt on that for a moment as he absently jangled the key ring. Then he set it down and motioned for Petey to lean forward as he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m nervous, Petey.”

“I swear she didn’t see us.”

“Not about her. About Jenks.”

Petey flinched with surprise then threw a look over his shoulder toward the closed door that stood between them and the next room in which Jenks had been told to wait until it was his turn to give his version.

Coming back around, Petey asked in a hushed voice, “What about him?”

“When The Major came to the door, why didn’t Jenks blast him with the shotgun?”

“Shocked him to see The Major with a rifle.”

“Hmm. That concerns me. If Jenks is so easily rattled, he’s unreliable.”

“No, sir. Nerves of steel. He’s as solid as the day is long. I’d swear to that.”

“Your loyalty to him is admirable, Petey. But what about his loyalty to you? Are you willing to bet your life on it? This Bailey woman might not have seen you fire a bullet into an American hero’s chest. But Jenks did.”

Petey’s eyes darted out and back, then up and down. He licked his lips again. He was thinking it over. “He’s solid,” he repeated, but with noticeably less conviction.

“In order to protect yourself, me, all of us, you know what you have to do.”

Petey swallowed noisily. “Not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Yes you are.” He let that rest for a second or two, then said, “Make sure you bury his body deep enough so scavengers can’t get to it, or sink it in The Pit with enough weight that it’ll never surface. Do you understand?”

Petey understood, all right. His forehead was beaded with sweat. He looked miserable. “When?”

“Now.”

“It’s coming up on daylight.”

“Then you’ve got no time to waste, do you?”

Petey blinked several times. “Me and him have come to be good friends.”

“I know. I also know you understand the gravity of your situation. You said The Major didn’t see you. Either of you.”

“No. Jenks clouted him before he could.”

“And Kerra Bailey didn’t.”

Petey shook his head.

“Leaving only one person who remains a threat to you. To us. Harvey Jenks. Right?”

Petey nodded but looked on the verge of tears.

The other man reached across the table and gripped Petey’s hand hard, like a general commending a volunteer, then motioned him up. “Ask him to come in now.”

“How come?”

“It would look fishy if I didn’t talk to him, too.”

Petey shuffled to the door, opened it, and in a jocular voice that sounded close to normal, said, “Your turn.”

For the next twenty minutes, Harvey Jenks was put through the same drill. His account was almost word for word identical to Petey’s. “When we ran out of time to take care of her, I thought to grab her bag,” he said of the disemboweled Louis Vuitton. “Too bad the fall didn’t kill her.”

“That is too bad. It’s also too bad that The Major’s heart is still beating.”

Jenks reacted with a start, then rubbed the bridge of his nose as he processed it. “Petey shouldn’t have got so trigger happy. Or he should’ve shot him twice. At least.”

“Why didn’t you shoot him as soon as he came to the door?”

“He had a rifle.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“He might’ve got off a shot or two, even if it was recoil. If we’d been hit, it would’ve left blood. Evidence. I disabled him by knocking him out.”

“A shotgun blast to the head would have disabled him.”

Jenks frowned his regret. “Hindsight.”

The man pursed his lips as though thinking it over. “It was Petey’s mistake. He should have made certain his shot was fatal. He didn’t, and now we’re in a fix. This isn’t the first time he’s messed up. He’s excitable and likes to boast. Which makes him a risk we can no longer afford.” He then leaned across the table, crooked his finger, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

Several minutes later, Jenks left the room, having been given the same order as his cohort had been issued a few minutes earlier. It would be interesting to see which of the two returned. Whoever did would have proven himself to be blindly obedient and absolutely ruthless.

The man sat back in his chair, fingered the adorned leather case of Kerra Bailey’s cell phone. She had made that stunning revelation during the interview, no doubt counting on it to further her career.

Rather than to end her life.

Trapper checked into the motel where Kerra had been staying since Tuesday. Once settled into his room, he called Carson.

“These calls are getting old, Trapper,” he growled. “If you need somebody to talk to in the middle of the night, why don’t you get married.”

“The Major’s been shot.”

After several seconds of silence, Carson blurted, “Gunshot?”

“He’s alive, but only by a thread.”

More silence, then, “You’re not kidding.”

“No.”

“Jesus, man. This is unreal. My bride and me took a timeout to watch the interview.”

“Happened a couple of hours after it.”

“We shut off the TV and went to bed early.”

He gave Carson a rundown of the chain of events. “I just left the hospital. She looks like Rocky, and he’s critical.”

“Swear to God, Trapper, I don’t know what to say. You see the interview? They dropped quite a bombshell.” After a beat, he groaned, “Oh hell, bad word choice.”

“It’s okay. It was a bombshell.”

“Are you all right? I mean, you know, he’s your dad and all.”

“I’m all right.”

“You’re compartmentalizing.”

Carson must’ve picked that up from Dr. Phil, but damn if it wasn’t accurate.