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of police, he wished he had found another vocation.
    “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” McCormick said.
    “I’ll take care of it,” Cade said. He looked across the warehouse to the open door. Through it, he could see Blair, sitting out on that bench, looking so strong and angry, when inside he knew she was falling apart. And sweet Morgan, still clinging to her husband, shivering from the shock. She would accuse Cade of using Jonathan as a scapegoat. She would claim that he was trying to look effective by making an arrest—any arrest—so the people of the town wouldn’t panic. Would she be right?
    But Jonathan owned the murder weapon, and he’d had that fight with his in-laws earlier that day. He was a hothead, always had been. He flew off the handle at the slightest thing. Maybe today he’d gotten too angry . . . gone too far . . .
    If he could just get Jonathan away from Morgan and Blair, maybe he could soften the blow for them. Maybe Jonathan would come willingly and wouldn’t make him cuff him. Or even better, maybe he’d have an explanation for everything, one that made sense and cleared him as a suspect.
    He crossed the warehouse, his steps shaking the hardwood floor. Jonathan met his eyes as he stepped outside. “Jonathan, your speargun wasn’t in the toolshed.”
    Jonathan seemed to process that for a moment, and his face changed. “Gus. He . . . or any of the other tenants . . . could have gotten it out. The key is hanging right there on a hook in the kitchen.”
    “I have somebody still looking for Gus,” he said. “But meanwhile, I’m going to have to take you in.”
    “Now?”
    “Now.” Cade looked out over the water. It looked like a storm was brewing in the south, and the water on the river was growing restless. He wished he could get into his boat, ride the river out to the sea, and watch that angry sky open up around him. It would be better to face that storm than the one raging inside him.
    Jonathan gaped at him, confused. “Cade, you don’t have to take me to the station to talk to me. I don’t want to leave my wife right now. She needs me. I have to take her home.” He pulled Morgan up and put his arms around her shoulders. “When you get through here, you can come over to Hanover House, and we’ll check out the toolshed. If my gun is gone, then that’s a crime scene too. There might be evidence there.”
    “I intend to check out the toolshed,” Cade said. “McCormick put one of my men on it. But in the meantime, Jonathan, I got to tell you—you’re the prime suspect. And as I see it, I have no choice but to arrest you for the murder of Thelma and Wayne Owens.”
    “What?” Morgan asked, her voice hollow with grief. She was shivering so badly that she needed a blanket. “Cade, you can’t!” she cried. “This is crazy.”
    Jonathan got that wild look in his eyes, the one he used to get when their team was behind. “My family has just been gutted, and you’re arresting me? What are you? Crazy?”
    “I’m doing my job, Jonathan,” Cade said. “You have the right to remain silent—”
    “Well, you can do your job on somebody else!”
    “You have the right to an attorney . . .” Cade pulled the cuffs off his belt as he spoke, but Jonathan backed away.
    “Cade, don’t be stupid. People don’t take you seriously as it is. They’re really going to mock you when they hear about this. They’ll ride you out of town.”
    “Jonathan, I’m asking you to come willingly, without the cuffs. I don’t want to make this ugly.”
    Morgan cried out and clung harder to her husband. “Please, Cade. No! Not now.”
    Cade had to turn away and look out over that water again. His eyes stung, and a lifetime of history reeled in fast-forward through his mind. His friendship with Jonathan, his affection for Morgan, his love for her parents . . .
    And Blair.
    He forced himself to look at her. Blair was staring at Jonathan, her face twisted and stunned. “Jonathan, how did