He unsnapped the wallet and looked at the pinched-faced picture, at Robby, back at the picture. His expression went blank, his blue eyes narrow. He leaned down and hooked an arm under her arm and hauled her up. She felt a twinge in her ankle and played it for an ace, going limp against him, screaming in pain. A crowd congealed around them, a forest of craning necks. She couldn’t see Jim anywhere.

“Ma’am,” the guard said. His fingers dug into the meat of her arm like pliers. “Ma’am, you’ll have to come with me.”

“Me?” She poured all the Irish she could find into the word. “Me! When your own thug knocked me down and took me purse? They all told me, they said America was worse than Dublin, but I didn’t listen, no, I said it was a fine place, and look at you, drag-gin’ me off like a common thief. I’ve been hurt!”

“Yes ma’am, I can see that. I’m taking you to get medical treatment.” The guard was playing to the crowd, but she saw the cold glitter in his eyes. No use trying to slither free; his jacket bulged over his pumped biceps, and he’d lost his neck in muscle.

He pinched a nerve. She glared.

Over his shoulder she saw Jim standing on the other side of the mall, close to an exit, the smart bastard. At least she wasn’t holding, thank god. She could talk her way out of it. Enough blarney and bluff. Musclehead would let her go before the police arrived.

Jim put his hands in his pockets and started walking.

Toward her.

No, she thought, frozen. No, no, you stupid man, no!

“Excuse me, young man, but that doesn’t seem to be any way to treat her,” piped up an older lady burdened under two huge shopping bags. She had kind eyes and a pug-dog face and an absurdly large diamond necklace that flashed fire as the woman leaned forward to pat Robby’s cheek. “Poor dear thing, knocked down like that. I’d be petrified.”

“It was very sudden,” Robby agreed pitifully. A few faces in the crowd—a thin artistic-looking man, another grandmother, a perfect-faced model—nodded in sympathy and glared at the guard. “I just want to sit down. Dear me, I’ve gone all shivers.”

She wished she could burst into tears, but that level of acting wasn’t in her. The best she could do was bat her eyes suggestively and gulp for breath. The guard looked disgusted; it was a pitiful display.

Jim shoved aside two sullen teenagers with hair in their eyes and reached over toward her. She looked up and met his eyes.

She could confuse the issue further, play him as an abusive husband, scream for protection—no, Jim was holding the wallets, he was vulnerable. She had to play his game.

She just wished she knew what it was.