“Yeah, I do. As an officer of the law, I’m asking you to come of your own volition down to the station with me. As a friend, I’m suggesting you get a lawyer.”
“Oh, right, the husband is always the first suspect.”
“Especially when all of the evidence points to him.”
“Shit, man!” Jamison held his gaze, and just as he had the other day at this very house, out by the pool, Pierce felt a fight coming on.
“I came out here as a favor to you,” Pierce said with measured, practiced calm. “So you can come in quietly. With some dignity. So we can handle this without the press, without a lot of fanfare.”
“You’re married to a fucking reporter! What do you mean without the press?”
“Come on, Jamison, don’t make this any harder than it is.”
“You’re fired, Pierce,” Jamison spat. “Do you hear me? You’ve just kissed your career goodbye. Who do you think you are, coming here with half-baked theories instead of doing your damned job?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stalked to the bar and picked up his drink. “Now, get the hell out of my house.”
“It’s over, Jamison.”
“For you.” He drained the drink, and more of his steady facade slipped. “Not for me.”
“You’re gonna make this hard? You’re gonna make me arrest you?”
“I’m not going anywhere! This is crazy. I’m a fuckin’ ADA. And when the DA retires, I’m getting her job!”
“I don’t think so,” Pierce said. “But come on down to the station and explain yourself.”
“Fuck you!” He slammed his empty glass down and, swift as lightning striking, reached under the bar again. This time he pulled out a pistol. Not an antique or collectible like the weapons displayed in the cases. No, this was a semiautomatic handgun.
Deadly.
Accurate.
In the hands of a sharpshooter.
“I hate to do this, Pierce, I really do. But you’re giving me no choice here. I’m not going down for this. Get it? I’m not going down for any of it.”
Pierce shifted and reached behind him for his sidearm.
Jamison took aim.
“Drop it!” Sol commanded from somewhere in the darkened kitchen.
Jamison glanced toward the sound.
Pierce withdrew his pistol and caught a glimpse of Sol, standing full-frontal, two hands on the pistol she had aimed straight at Jamison.
Too late!
Jamison fired.
The muzzle of his gun flashed.
Blam!
Pierce snagged his weapon and took aim at his friend.
Stumbling backward, Sol pulled the trigger.
