“Holy . . . crap . . .” He leaned in to make sure he was seeing right.

All down the guy’s stomach there were deep scars that formed a pattern, and as Jim took a looksee and started in on another round of cursing, Isaac kept going with a fast pat-down. Cell phone, which he put aside. Wallet with a hundred in cash and no ID. Ammo. Nothing in the boots except socks and soles.

Stepping over the body, he headed for the kitchen to get a trash bin. As he was pulling the thing out of its cabinet and wondering how many arms and legs would fit in it, he heard footsteps behind him. Obviously, the peanut gallery had followed, but come on, people. No more talk; they needed action. Grier was locked in the damn closet upstairs and he had to get the shit cleaned up before he let her out—

“You lied.”

Isaac froze and cranked his head around. Grier was standing on the far side of the island with the cellar door just shutting behind her. How in the hell had she . . . Crap, there must be a hidden stairwell that linked to the basement. He should have guessed there would be multiple escape routes.

As she stared at him, she was white as Kleenex and shaking in her shoes. “You never intended to come forward. Did you.”

He shook his head, not knowing what to say and all too aware of what was in her front hall. This situation was totally out of control. “Grier—”

“You bastard. You lying b—” Abruptly, she focused over his shoulder. “You . . .” She pointed at Jim, who’d come to stand in the archway. “You were the one in my room the other night. Weren’t you.”

An odd expression filtered across Jim’s features, kind of a fuck-me, but then he just shrugged and looked at Isaac. “I will not allow you to turn yourself in.”

“Your new theme song is getting on my nerves,” Isaac bit out as he decided to bag the bin and go unstructured with some of Hefty’s best.

Chatter, a lot of chatter from just about everyone—and all of it directed at him. But whatever. Selective deafness was something he had excelled at as a kid, and what do you know, the skill set came back to him without a hint of rust.

Isaac bent down under the sink and prayed that the most logical place for more trash bags was in fact—bingo. He took out two of them along with a broom and dustpan that were not going to survive this particular job.

God, he wished he had a hacksaw. But maybe with some rope, they could fold the bastard up tight and carry him out like a sloppy suitcase.

“Stay with her,” he said to her father. “And keep her in here—”

“I saw it happen.” As Isaac froze, she glared at him. “I watched him do it.”