“That’s what we told ourselves, these past few weeks. One solid afternoon at the tables and it would all turn around. We’d be okay. Couple of hours even. Just the right coupla hours and we would’ve been fine.”

“You embezzled money from the troopers’ union. You sold your soul to mobsters.”

Shane looked at me. “Gotta have money to make money,” he said simply, as if this were the most logical explanation in the world.

Maybe to a gambler, it was.

“Who did you borrow the money from? Who shot Brian? Who took my daughter?”

Shrug.

“Fuck you, Shane! They have my little girl. You will talk or I will blow off your head!”

“They’ll kill me anyway!” he fired back, eyes finally blazing to life. “You don’t mess with these guys. They already sent me pictures—Tina in the grocery store, Tina going to yoga, Tina picking up the boys. I’m sorry about Brian. I’m sorry about Sophie. But I gotta protect my own family. I might be a fuckup, but I’m not a total failure.”

“Shane,” I said crisply. “You’re not getting it yet. I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to pin the word ‘snitch’ to your chest. I give Tina and the boys about forty-eight hours to live beyond that. Probably less.”

He blinked. “You wouldn’t.…”

“Think of how far you’d go for your sons, and know that I would, too.”

Shane exhaled sharply. He stared at me, and I could tell in his gaze he’d finally figured out how this was all going to go down. Maybe, like me, he’d spent the last few days figuring out there really were multiple layers of Hell, and no matter how deep you’d thought you’d fallen, there was still someplace deeper and darker to go.

“If I give you a name,” he said abruptly, “you gotta kill him. Tonight. Swear to me, Tessa. You’ll get him, before he gets my family.”

“Done.”

“I love them,” Shane whispered. “I’m a fuckup, but I love my family. I just want them to be okay.”

My turn not to talk.

“I’m sorry about Brian, Tessa. Really, didn’t think they’d do that. Didn’t think they’d harm him. Or go after Sophie. I never shoulda gambled. Never shoulda picked up one fucking card.”

“The name, Shane. Who killed Brian? Who took my daughter?”

He studied my battered face, finally seemed to wince. Then he nodded, sat up a little straighter, squared his shoulders. Once, Shane had been a good cop. Once, he’d been a good friend. Maybe he was trying to find that person again.

“John Stephen Purcell,” he told me. “An enforcer. A guy who works for guys. Find Purcell, and he’ll have Sophie. Or at least know where she is.”

“His address?”

Slight hesitation. “Take off the cuffs and I’ll get it.”