“Don’t come any closer,” she warns.

“Or what?” Bear says. His eyes flash.

She steadies her gun on him, suddenly settled, still at her core. Her arm is rod straight.

“You don’t have any evidence,” Bear says, turning the power play against her.

“I do,” Kateri says. She hears Hurt stirring on the floor, his limbs slow, his head, she’s sure, ringing from the inside out. She’s been punched like that. Once. By a woman whose son Kateri was arresting. It made her head feel like a bell.

“Why would I kill Pearl Jenkins?” Bear asks.

“Because you were tired of waiting for Shannon to do it,” she says. “Like you wanted.”

She puts herself between Hurt and Bear while Hurt rolls over and pushes himself to standing. He leans on all fours for a minute, still steadying himself. She watches bloody drool drip from his open mouth. With her free hand, Kateri unloops the cuffs from her belt.

“No cuffs,” Bear says. He keeps his shoulders wide and open and keeps stepping toward her, the way a cat creeps through grass when it stalks.

“Not negotiable,” Kateri says.

“You’re an idiot,” Bear says, suddenly louder. He laces his fingers together, gripping. “You’re in so far over your pretty little head,” he hisses.

She sees Hurt wipe his mouth. He straightens up, draws his weapon, and nudges his elbow at Kateri. “Cuff him,” he says, his mouth wet and slurry. “Let’s go.”

“Is that what Shannon told you?” Bear asks, taunting. Of course she believed the kid. It’s her weakness.

“We can add resisting,” Hurt says.

“Did Shannon tell you,” he shouts at Kateri, “that I told him to kill his mother?”

“We can go over the details later,” Kateri says.

“Shannon couldn’t kill a dog,” Bear says. “Shannon couldn’t even throw a punch,” he says.

“That’s why I’m arresting you,” Kateri says.

“Do you think I would have actually done it myself?” Bear asks. “I don’t even sweep my own floor. I’m not getting my hands dirty over Pearl Jenkins. Shannon’s a stupid kid,” Bear says. “Delicious,” he adds, with another menacing grin, “but poor, and stupid.”

His eyes lock on Kateri’s, like he’s trying to outstare her and he’s winning. “He’s not so different from you,” he says.

Bear steps closer, his hands open, his body like it’s gliding through water.

“Stop,” Kateri says, holding her arm taut.

“You’ve never shot anyone,” Bear says. He moves slowly, and she watches every inch, his feet as they creep closer. He catches her eye and holds her attention, and then in a snap motion, he grabs the nose of her gun.

She sets her jaw and fires, afraid for a split second that she saw it wrong, that she imagined his quick grab at the barrel of her weapon. It doesn’t matter. Her shot knocks Bear to the floor screaming, and she fires again. Her ears fuzz over with the noise from the gun, and Hurt is yelling, his mouth moving, but she can’t hear his words.