Only two thoughts were running through Shawn's mind as he slowly drifted back into consciousness.
God, my head hurts…
And why the hell is my wrist so cold?
He groaned and tried to rub his throbbing temple, but he couldn't lift his right arm more than a few inches off the hard mattress he was laying on.
His eyes shot open.
"What the—?"
He looked down at his right wrist, which had been handcuffed to the guardrail on the hospital bed.
He began to tug fiercely at the cold metal, but it wouldn't give.
So that's why my wrist is freezing…
"Actually," a voice from the other side of the room spoke. "Those were my idea."
Shawn glared at his father.
"Handcuffs, Dad? Really?"
Henry was by the bed now, returning Shawn's glower with one of his own.
"Well, after your last little escape stunt, the doctors agreed it was a good idea. You're not going anywhere for a while, Kid."
Shawn was still working at the binds, trying to squeeze his hand through narrow space between the metal and his wrist.
Of course, it was a completely fruitless endeavor.
"I can't believe you still carry handcuffs!" He grumbled, finally giving up. "You haven't been on the force in ten years! Why the hell do you still need…oh, God. Don't even answer that. I don't want to know."
"Don't get smart. And don't bother trying to get them off. You can't. You're sitting this one out, Shawn."
"Dad! I can't! I—"
Henry just waved off his son's protests.
"How the hell did you get in your head that you're the only one with brains around here?" He demanded. "You think you're the only one who can find Lassiter? That cop…the blonde one…she's on top of it."
"You mean Jules?"
Shawn settled back into the bed, finally resigning himself to his inactive fate.
Henry nodded.
"Yeah. That one. She's sharp."
"Yeah," Shawn agreed, smiling faintly to himself.
Henry pretended not to notice.
"She's running a check on the other robbery, seeing if any of the third bank's employees were in on drunk and disorderliness that night. If there's a connection, she'll find it. You got her that far. But playing Fake Psychic Rambo and bleeding to death in the woods isn't going to help anything."
"I didn't bleed to death."
"You sure as hell tried to."
Shawn met his father's gaze evenly, defiance smoldering in his eyes.
"You know I can find a way out of these if I try."
Henry just scoffed.
"And you should know that I have the doctor's permission to crack you upside your head if you even try. He said a mild concussion is better than internal hemorrhaging."
Shawn stared at him in disbelief.
"You wouldn't."
Henry crossed his arms sternly.
"Try me."
"There's blood in the back of your van!" Juliet shouted, pounding the table.
Across from her, the suspect was shaking.
For once in her life, this felt natural.
For once, she didn't even have to think about being Upper-Case Mad.
"It's not my van," the suspect stammered, the blood draining from his face. "It's Ty's. I…I… was just…"
"What?" She snapped. "Along for the ride?"
He nodded, his terrified eyes refusing to look at her.
It hadn't taken long to find them.
Once she knew what she was looking for, it hadn't taken long at all.
There was only one employee at the third bank who had been in jail on a drunk and disorderly the night it was robbed.
Ty Green.
One call to the bank confirmed he hadn't shown up for work that morning.
Within an hour, the State boys had spotted his van outside Santa Barbara and picked him up.
His accomplice, Jesse Smith, was still with him.
They quickly ascertained that he also worked at bank. One that hadn't been robbed…yet.
Neither of them could explain the blood in the back of the van, which they hadn't had a chance to clean up, or the bags of the cash.
But right now, Juliet wasn't interested in the cash.
She only cared about the blood.
She snapped her fingers under Jesse's nose, drawing his gaze back to her.
She knew she had him…
She could crack him…
She had to crack him…
It was the only chance Carlton had. If he was even still alive.
No. She told herself firmly.
Don't think if…he's alive…he has to be…
"Do you know what they do to cop killers?" She demanded.
The suspect's knees were bouncing nervously...up and down, up and down…
His hands were trembling.
He wouldn't hold out much longer…
He couldn't….
"I didn't kill a cop! I don't know anything about any dead cops!" He insisted.
"Then whose blood is in the back of the van?"
"I—"
She could feel the dark, sinister cloud settling over her face.
When she spoke again, her voice was low and threatening.
It almost scared her…but it felt good.
"If we find him and it's too late, there's nothing I can do. If he dies because you sat here and lied to me, you're going down. I will personally bring you down."
For a moment, Juliet thought the suspect was going to be sick. He was shaking his head frantically, moaning incoherently.
Finally, it all came bursting out.
"I didn't do it! I told him not to do it! It was Ty! He shot the cop! But he's not dead! At least…he wasn't…"
Juliet's heart began to pound.
It might not be too late…
"Then tell me where he is."