She knelt beside him. He was lying on his back, and the half of his face visible in the dusk light was ghastly pale. Then he groaned, half conscious. Ashley went rigid to keep herself from shaking.

“We’ve got to get him inside,” she said to David.

Her brother nodded grimly, kneeling beside her in the cool grass. There was a huge swelling on the side and back of Stevens’s neck. “Looks like he’s been hit pretty good,” David said, slipping his hand under the older man’s armpits.

Stevens winced as David began to ease him gently off the ground. “Ribs."

Ashley put her arm around Stevens’s waist and took as much of his weight from her brother as she could. The lawyer’s head lolled to one side, and he lapsed into unconsciousness. She eased to his side, letting his long arm drape over her, her arm still supporting his waist. He was very tall and she felt herself sinking under the weight. David took the other side.

“Can you make it?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

His voice was laced with pain. Ashley said, “We could always call an ambulance—”

“Let’s just go.”

Half dragging, half carrying MacGregor Stevens, they got him into the kitchen, propped him against the refrigerator and caught their breath.

“He’s a big son of a bitch, isn’t he?” David said.

“Tall. I feel crushed.”

“I guess Carruthers lied.”

“I guess he did.”

They resumed their positions and got Stevens into the living room, where they laid him on the couch, covered him with afghans and went for ice. Ashley wrapped the ice in plastic wrap and, kneeling on the floor next to the couch, placed it on the still-colorless swelling.

Stevens opened his eyes. “I can manage.” His voice was less than a whisper, and the hand that took the ice from her was trembling. “I’m all right. Thank you.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, Mr. Stevens,” Ashley said tartly. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

His hand shot out, and he dropped the ice. A dozen cubes clattered to the floor. “No.”

She collected the ice. Behind her, David paced, holding his tender ribs. Ashley pointed out gently, “Mr. Stevens, you could have a concussion.”

Again the gray eyes focused on her. She thought that must be a good sign. Were they supposed to be dilated? Or not? She didn’t know much about head injuries.

“I’ll be fine.” He was making an effort to sound fine, she realized, but it cost him. He sank into the frayed couch cushion and seemed to lose more color, although Ashley couldn’t imagine that was possible. “Fine,” he repeated, shutting his eyes.

Ashley held the ice to the wound. “I don’t know what to do,” she said to no one in particular, staving off her own incipient panic. “Oh, Lord.”

“I was hit.” The gray eyes didn’t open; the lips barely moved. “From behind. Your uncle.”

“Barky?” Her throat hurt. “But that’s impossible! He’s...fishing.”

David came and stood next to her. “Your friend Carruthers said you didn’t know Barky—you mistook him for someone else.”