His eyes blurred. He opened his mouth but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t seem to pry them out, squeeze them past the blockage in his throat.
“Griff?” Pierce’s tone changed.
He got out a shaky breath. Poor Pierce probably wondered if he was getting an obscene phone call. No such luck.
“Are you okay, Griff?” Pierce’s voice was so uncharacteristically gentle, the tears dazzling Griff’s eyes spilled over.
He let out another of those shuddering sighs and said, “I think I was named for the stone statues in the front courtyard.”
“Where are you?”
“At the house. In the sunken garden.”
Pierce sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay, listen to me. You need to leave. Now. Don’t go down to the cottage, don’t go inside the house. Just turn around and leave. Go to my house. Or go to my office. Just go. Get out of there.”
“There are cops all over the place.”
That wasn’t true though. There had been cops at the gate but he hadn’t noticed a police presence in the house, and he wasn’t seeing any uniforms patrolling the grounds either. The cops had the murder weapon, the library was sealed off, and the raincoat apparently worn by the killer had been hanging in a closet in the main hall. Maybe they thought there was nothing else to look for.
“Griff, there was a house full of people last night. We’re talking about someone who was desperate enough to take that chance. And having gone that far, there’s no way he’s going to stand by and let you waltz in and scoop up all the marbles.”
That got through. Griff sat up straight. “No one knows about me.”
“You’re not hearing me. There is a real and immediate threat, and it is specific to you. To you. Michaela was here when I told Jarrett that you are Brian.”
“You did what?”
“Griff, we don’t have time for this. Leave the premises immediately.”
“You told Jarrett before I had a chance to even figure out things for myself?”
He could hear the effort Pierce was making. “I had to tell him. It was either me or Nassau P.D., and I thought it would be less of a shock coming from me.”
“What is it with you, Pierce? I’ve never met anyone more highhanded and—”
“I’m hanging up now and calling the cops.” Pierce clicked off.
Griff stared in disbelief at his phone. Anger had replaced his numbness. He rose and crossed the lawn, starting back up the moss-stained stairs. Overriding everything else was the need to get to Pierce Mather as soon as humanly possible and tell him to his face what a complete and total asshole he was.
He was halfway up the steps when a shadow fell across him. Someone was coming swiftly down the staircase. Griff looked up in time to see the incoming sole of a boot aimed directly at his face. Instinctively, he grabbed for the boot, locking arms around the attached jean-clad leg, and yanked sideways.
Momentum carried them both off the narrow staircase. It was only a six-foot drop, but it still knocked the wind out of Griff as he landed spread-eagled beneath his assailant. The other man’s boots bounced onto his chest. His fist landed in a vulnerable part of Griff’s anatomy.
Griff had been in the occasional scuffle, but no one had ever tried to kick him in the face before—let alone grab him by the nuts—and his reactions were not as fast as they should have been. He tried to slither away, hauling long, desperate drags of oxygen into his lungs. His bruised chest hurt like hell, but then suddenly he could breathe again. He attempted to block with his arms as the other man took another kick at his head. The blow that landed on his forearm felt like it fractured the bone. He tried to roll out of range.
“Why the fuck couldn’t you stay dead?” Ring panted. His next kick landed between Griff’s shoulder blades.
It was like being hit by an anvil. Griff yelled his pain and scrambled up, trying to get away. That was his entire focus. Get away—because there was no way he was a match for Ring Shelton in this kind of brawl. It was like fighting a grizzly bear.
“It’s all over,” he cried. “The cops are on their way. They know everything by now.”
But maybe it wasn’t about that anymore. Maybe it wasn’t about anything more than discharging that raw, physical rage on the only available target.
Ring launched himself forward, his arms clamping around Griff’s waist, throwing him backward. Ring landed on top, his meaty hands closing around Griff’s throat. Massive hands crushing his windpipe. Griff slammed his fists against Ring’s head. He wriggled, kicked, tried to throw Ring off, but it felt like a boulder had landed on his chest.
He couldn’t breathe. Could not breathe.
Griff’s hands slapped down on Ring’s, he desperately felt for little fingers, trying to drag Ring’s hands away from his throat. He could hear Ring talking to him but it was like listening from underwater. Stars shot behind his eyelids. His vision began to blacken at the edges.
He wrapped his fingers around a digit that felt like a sausage and yanked with all his might. Someone roared in the distance, Griff gulped in air, and then a blow like a hammer smashed into his head.
He fought. He was fighting with every last breath, but his arms were getting heavier and heavier. The sunlight faded out to night.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cool sweet oxygen filling his nostrils, filling his lungs.
Griff dragged in a deep breath. His eyes snapped open. The vise around his throat was gone. The mountain sitting on his chest had moved—and was groaning in a pile of rubble next to him.
“You all right?” a gruff voice asked.
Griff peered up. A burly figure stood over him holding a shovel. Nels Newland.
Griff nodded, pushed to his feet and nearly toppled over again. Weaving, he stared down at Ring who was muttering to himself. Blood trickled down the side of Ring’s face into his beard.
“I guess you do annoy some people,” Newland commented.
Griff turned to him. “I guess I do.” He took a couple of steps back and his legs seemed to give way. He sat down in the wet grass.
Newland frowned down at him.
Griff stared up. A thought occurred. “May Chung told me to ask you...”
“Ask me what?”
Griff shook his head. What the hell did any of it matter now?
Newland’s craggy face twitched in annoyance. “Oh, I know what she’s thinking,” he said.
Ring rolled over and began to crawl on his belly toward the stairs. Newland raised his shovel again, as though about to squash a slug. But there was no need. Suddenly cops were pouring in from every direction. Two burly uniformed men scrambled down the stairs. A couple of young, energetic types jumped from the wall surrounding the garden—only to discover that it was a longer drop than they’d realized.
Newland watched the air dance performance and made a derisive sound. He turned back to Griff. “I’ll tell you what May Chung is afraid of. She’s afraid you’re going to write something bad about her father because he was the one who hired Johnson. Well, I’ll tell you the truth. I did know Johnson before. I met him at the racetrack and he seemed like an okay fella. How was I to know he’d driven the getaway car in an armed robbery? I did recommend him to Tuppalo. And he did know how to drive. He was a hell of a driver. How was I supposed to know about the rest of it? Of course I didn’t know!”
The biggest and burliest of the cops approached Griff, keeping a wary eye on Newland and his trusty shovel. “Are you all right, Mr. Arlington?” he asked.
* * *
Pierce did not show up while Griff spoke to the police. He had been instrumental in getting the cops to locate Griff. He had been instrumental in pointing the investigation toward Ring Shelton. Shelton’s Hell’s Kitchen restaurants were in financial hot water—boiling hot water—and “Brian’s” resurfacing and Jarrett’s decision to reinstate the original will had been the worst possible news at the worst possible time.