With a whispered curse, he took halting steps forward and gripped the carved jamb of the archway. The place looked like it had been hit with gale-force winds, furniture tipped out of place, paintings hanging cockeyed, liquor bottles smashed.

“Where’s Devina?” he asked.

“In the hospital,” someone answered.

“She’s what?”

“Hospital.”

He turned to the cop who had spoken. The guy was built like a bulldog, and with the hard expression he had on his face, he looked like one, too.

“Is she okay? What happened?” Vin eyed the handcuffs that were being unclipped from the man’s belt. “What do you need those for?”

“You’re under arrest for assault and battery. Please show me your hands.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are under arrest for assault and battery.” The cop didn’t wait for compliance, but grabbed Vin’s right wrist and slapped the cuff over it. A quick wrench and Vin was locked in. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney”—now the guy’s voice grew wry—“one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I’ve stated them?”

“I haven’t been here since this afternoon! And the last time I saw Devina, she was leaving—”

“Do you understand your rights?”

“I didn’t do any of this!”

“Do you understand your rights?”

Vin hadn’t been arrested for years, but it was like riding a fucking bicycle; it all came back to him. Except for one salient part—back then, he’d known precisely why he was being taken into custody because he’d actually commited the crime.

“Answer me something,” he demanded as he wheeled around to confront the badge. “Why do you think I hurt her?”

“Because she said you did, and going by the busted knuckles on your right hand, I’d say you were in an altercation very recently.”

Devina…had lied. Big time.

“I didn’t hit her. Ever. I had no reason to.”

“Oh, really? You mean when she told you she’d been with your buddy, that didn’t tick you off? Hard to believe.”

“My buddy?”

“Let’s get you booked. And then you can call your lawyer.” The cop glanced around the ruined living room—which still managed to look expensive, even as trashed as it was. “Something tells me you won’t be needing a public defender.”

CHAPTER
25

Jim woke up on Sunday lying on his side, with Dog tucked into his chest, and the television on mute in the background.