Frank Sunderland caught up with him at the elevators. “We’ve got an ID on your buddy Croc,” he said, out of breath.
“Kermit Tiernay.”
Frank scowled. “One day, I’m going to scoop you. The younger brother’s up there with him now, and Miss Lavender. She called from the hospital.” The elevator dinged, and they got on. Frank smiled thinly. “I like her. She tells me stuff.”
“She’s a publicist, not a journalist.”
“Exactly.”
Two minutes later they were in Croc’s room. Frank stood back, reluctantly, and let Jeremiah approach the bed. A pale, subdued Deegan Tiernay stood over his injured older brother. Croc—Kermit Tiernay—was conscious, dazed, swollen, and beat to hell, but his blue eyes were trained on Deegan. When he saw Jeremiah and Frank, Deegan went visibly rigid, his emotions held in check.
Mollie, however, was easy to read. She glared at Jeremiah and pounced. “Damnit, you could have told me.”
“I didn’t know.”
His words didn’t register. “Your pal Croc and Deegan are brothers. You had to know.”
Jeremiah remained steady, despite the gnawing pain in his gut. “Well, I didn’t.”
Mollie still didn’t give up. “But you’ve known him for two years—”
“As Croc, a street kid, this crazy guy who brought me information and liked too much ketchup on his fries.” He shifted to Croc, felt a molten mix of emotions hurtling through him. “I could toss you and that bed out the damned window. Just as well you can’t talk. You’d probably try spinning me another tale. And I’d probably swallow it.”
Kermit Tiernay was too swollen and bruised to provide a readable expression, and he couldn’t speak with his jaw wired shut and his lips stitched.
Jeremiah bit off a sigh. “How’re you feeling?”
Croc nodded slightly, an acknowledgment that he was alive but that was about it.
“You hang in there, okay? Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” He turned to Deegan, was aware of Mollie fidgeting to his right, ready to jump out of her skin. “When’s the last time you saw your brother?”
“Last Tuesday.” His voice was steady, straightforward. “I helped him get hold of guest lists from several parties. Between Griffen and a few other contacts, it wasn’t difficult.”
“Did you know why he wanted them?”
“Not at first.”
“When?”
“After the Greenaway robbery. I just assumed he was playing private eye.”
So had Jeremiah. Now, he wasn’t ready to make any assumptions until all the facts were in. A hard lesson learned. “How long have you two been in touch?”
“The past two weeks.”
“Not before?”
Deegan shook his head and glanced back at Frank, who stood quietly by the empty bed, taking it all in.
Jeremiah kept pushing. “He sought you out?”
“Yes. He asked me not to tell anyone, and I didn’t.”
“Then your parents don’t know, your grandmother, Griffen Welles, Mollie—”
“Obviously I didn’t know,” Mollie put in.
Jeremiah glanced at her, knowing she was scared and upset, and he pushed back the memory of her sleek body last night. He said nothing, shifting back to Deegan, who shook his head. “Nobody knew.”
Satisfied, Jeremiah turned back to Croc. He pushed back the conflicting emotions, the anger at himself and concentrated on what he had to do. “One finger up for yes, two for no. You can do it?”
One finger went up.
“Do you want me to find you a lawyer?” Jeremiah asked.
Two fingers.
“You know the police are here right now, listening in?”
One finger.
“Croc,” Jeremiah said, leaning over the hospital bed and the battered body of a young man he considered—he could no longer deny it—a friend. “Is someone setting you up?” He raised one finger, and Jeremiah asked, “Do you know who?”
This time, Croc managed a shake of the head before his eyes, already heavy, closed and he drifted off.
“I’ll tell Mother and Father.” Deegan Tiernay’s voice shook; the cockiness of the young man who’d tossed his girlfriend in the pool the other night gone. “They need to know.”
Not want to know, Jeremiah noticed. “They haven’t heard from him?”
“Not since they kicked him out. It’s been over two years.” He pushed a shaky hand through his hair. “They won’t like it that I’ve been in touch with him, but they’ll understand—I had no choice—”
“Good heavens,” Mollie said, “I would hope they understand. Of course you had no choice. He’s your brother.”
He smiled wanly at Mollie, without condescension. “I wish it were that simple.”
“Your brother’s in trouble,” Jeremiah said, “but we don’t have the full story yet. We need to reserve judgment.”
“Innocent until proven guilty? That’s not how it works in my family.” But he sucked in a breath before he said too much and turned back to Mollie. “After I talk to them, I’ll head back to Leonardo’s and clear out my stuff—”
“Why? I’m throwing a party tomorrow night. I need your help.”
“But I—”