“True. But how are you going to do that?” Owen asked.

“Do what?”

“Leave. Are you suggesting I give you a lift to the bus station? Your car is on fire.”

“You can’t shoot me in front of Carly. Or at all. She’ll know. That’s not right.”

“I can’t? You burned a dead body in front of her. And, Jesus, look at Marcelline. You beat the shit out of her friend. Held a knife to her throat. You actually told Carly to bring you that painting so you wouldn’t kill her friend. But I can’t shoot you? Hmmmm.”

Jonathan hoped Carly held sway over Owen. She worked quickly on men like them. She’d taken him from wishing his girlfriend were childless to being a content stepfather. An amused one. One who sought her approval. He and Owen weren’t so different.

“Carly, listen. Carly, please. Remember what I said about us making ourselves? You have to understand I was going to—”

Owen lowered the gun and covered the distance between them in a few shockingly fast strides. Jonathan’s body jerked in opposing impulses, to relax out of the gun’s sights and to retreat from Owen’s sudden lurch toward him.

Jonathan didn’t work out the conflict in time to get clear of Owen’s open hand. It crashed against his cheek in a slap that stole his vision briefly. Owen backed up immediately and reextended the pistol.

“Don’t you talk to her, you sack of shit.”

Owen stepped back and poked at the grass with his foot. He stooped and picked up the larger piece of the painting, then reached again for the splintered triangle of its left side. It had broken off just past the waterwheel at the foot of the bridge.

That corner. The first thing Jonathan had seen poking up from the box in his father’s garage. The wedge that had shown in the video as he pulled it up on his computer with the cops behind him. The tattling glimpse that no one should have seen.

Jonathan breathed in a lungful of complicated air. Smoke. The green of trampled grass. Fresh decay. Wisps of clean breeze. Metal and meat.

He watched the maw of the gun never waver off target. Fresh sweat bloomed into his armpits and groin.

“Carly.” Owen called to her and she walked over, stricken, mouth like a tragedy mask. Owen gave her the pieces. “I want you to take this to the car. Put it inside and then keep walking down the road. I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”

She looked past Owen into Jonathan’s eyes.