Finn parked in front of the police station in a primo spot that gave us a clear view of the entrance. He’d tipped off his contacts at the local newspaper, TV stations, and radio stations, so there was already a passel of reporters waiting on the steps. The cameras started clicking and flashing before Bria even got the sedan parked. The media feeding frenzy reached a fever pitch as Xavier hauled McAllister out of the back of the sedan and led him toward the steps. Finn rolled down the car windows so we could hear the reporters’ barrage of questions.

“Jonah! Jonah! Are the charges true?”

“Did you arrange the attempted robbery at the Briartop museum?”

“Why was Mab Monroe’s will among the contents taken from the vault?”

McAllister winced and ducked his head, cringing against the sudden onslaught of light, noise, sound, and fury, but he clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut. He knew that the court of public opinion could be the most damning. No doubt, he was already thinking about how he could spin things to his advantage. Let him try. It wouldn’t save him. Not this time.

Finn pulled out his phone. “The newspaper’s already posted it as breaking news on its website. It’ll go viral in a few minutes. Come morning, this place will be swarming with press from all over.”

“Good,” I said. “So unless Mab’s heir is hiding under a rock, he or she should see the story sometime in the next few days.”

“That’s the plan,” he said. “Your plan. I would have just gone ahead and killed him.”

“I know, I know. But I can always kill him later. This way, at least we get to humiliate him first.”

Finn eyed me. “Sometimes I think you’re even more devious, twisted, and vicious than I am.”

I grinned. “You only wish you could be as ruthless as me.”

“Absolutely.”

We sat there and watched the flashes and lights of the cameras explode in McAllister’s face over and over again, brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July. Xavier got halfway up the steps, then dramatically paused and turned so that he and the lawyer were facing out toward the crowd of reporters. Bria stepped to one side, making sure that all of the reporters, photographers, and camera people got a good, long look at the lawyer. For his part, McAllister kept squinting into the glare. He seemed more shocked and frozen than a possum caught by a pair of headlights on a dark country road. I’d waited a long, long time to see that cringing, beaten, vulnerable look on his face, and I savored every single second of it.

After another minute, Bria grabbed McAllister’s arm and led him up the rest of the steps and into the police station. Xavier stayed on the steps, holding his hands out wide and keeping the media vultures from storming inside.