And he’d tried to kill Paige.

Her skin had lost all color, and her eyes were wide and pleading on his. “Zach,” she said in a strangled whisper, horrified by the sight of O’Neill’s gun jammed into the back of his head.

Zach stared at her, a thousand conflicting emotions rushing one after the other.

They’d been trying to frame him. All those years ago and now. Using the one thing, the one thing, Zach gave a shit about. Using her against him.

Once, he’d had a death wish. Once, he’d physically welcomed any pain that could even reflect the pain he’d had inside him. But at this moment, when he had never in his life wanted to live so badly, he was stunned by the force of his fear. Fear of failing her, fear of losing her, fear that after O’Neill shot him, she was next.

“Drop the gun.”

Fuck.

His Glock clattered to the floor.

Sue Ellen jumped to her feet, shaking her head as she clasped her hands to her chest. “Please, no! Larry, you said no one would get hurt!”

“Sue Ellen, yes. This can still work.” O’Neill shot the distraught woman a desperate smile. “He did it. He has no alibi, and we caught part of her testimony on tape. His car was used to run the judge off the road. Tangible evidence. I know where that sucker is hidden. He killed the judge, and when she remembered, he shot her. I had to shoot him to defend you and myself. It can work!”

Sue Ellen cried, “Larry, you said you only wanted to know how much she knew, for me to help confuse her, nothing else!”

“They can talk, Sue Ellen.”

“So what if they do!” Anguished, Sue Ellen covered her face with her hands, her cry muffled by her palms. “It’s gone on long enough!”

O’Neill pressed the barrel of the gun harder against the back of Zach’s head. “Nice and slow, Rivers, lean over and take out the backup piece and drop it.”

“Ease up, asshole,” Zach growled as he leaned down and slowly withdrew his backup piece from the ankle holster.

He could dive and try to shoot O’Neill as he rolled. He could swing around and knock the fucker down, but dammit, he could not risk Paige getting hit in the crossfire.

He let the weapon fall on the plush taupe carpet, his eyes flickering to hers. Her face was a mask—surprisingly contained. Christ. His brave, sweet Paige.

“Drop everything else,” O’Neill instructed.

Zach reached behind him. He extracted the tape recorder and gingerly pressed REC before he dropped it. A small pocket knife followed. His cell phone. Dropped it.

“Now, turn around and back away. It won’t do for you to get shot in the back.”

Zach did so with gradual, prolonged steps that kept Paige firmly out of view behind him. In his crisp gray suit, O’Neill remained thin-lipped and stoic, completely emotionless except for the determination in his eyes.