think I know how to help you with this, Joe. Joe? You know your boss is inside. He's inside there because he's worried about you."
"He's okay. Dune's a good guy. I screwed him. Stole from him. I don't blame him for firing me."
"I hear you say that, and know you understand you're responsible for your mistakes. You're a responsible person, and you want to fix those mistakes. Dune's a good guy, you tell me, then I'm going to believe he understands that, too. I'll talk to him for you if you want. I'm good at talking. If he'll give you an extension on paying back the money, that would help, wouldn't it?"
"I... I don't know."
"I'll talk to him for you."
"He's a nice guy. I stole from him."
"You were feeling desperate and scared, and you made a mistake. I sense you're sorry for that."
"I am sorry."
"I'll talk to him for you," she repeated. "You need to give me the gun, and come back off the ledge. You don't want to hurt Lori."
"I don't, but-"
"If you could talk to Lori right now, what would you say?"
" I... I guess that I don't know how it got this far, and I'm sorry. I love her. I don't want to lose her."
"If you don't want to lose her, if you love her, you have to give me the gun and come back off the ledge. Otherwise, Joe, all you're leaving her with is grief and blame."
"It's not her fault."
Phoebe eased off the ledge, held out a hand. "You're right, Joe. You're absolutely right. Now, show her."
He stared at the gun, stared as Phoebe slowly reached out to take it.
It was slippery with his sweat as she flipped on the safety, secured it in her belt. "Come on off the ledge, Joe."
"What's going to happen?"
"Come on off the ledge and I'll explain it. I won't lie to you." Once again, she offered her hand. Shouldn't, she knew. Negotiators could be pulled off by a jumper. But she kept her eyes on his, then clasped her fingers tight on his hand.
When his feet touched the roof, he simply slid down to the floor to sob again. She went with him, draped her arm around him, and shook her head fiercely at the cops who came through the door.
"It's going to be all right. Joe, you're going to have to go with the police. You're going to need to have an evaluation. But it's going to be all right."
"I'm sorry."
"I know you are. Now you come on with me. Come on with me now." She helped him up, took his weight as they walked to the door. "Let's get you some clothes on. No cuffs," she snapped. "Joe, one of the officers is going to go get you a shirt, some pants, shoes. Is that all right?"
When he nodded, she gestured one of the officers toward the bedroom. "Am I going to jail?"
"For a little while. But we're going to get started on that help right away."
"Will you call Lori? If she'd come I could... I could show her I'm sorry."
"I sure will. I want that sunburn treated, and he needs some water in him."
Joe kept his eyes downcast as he pulled on jeans. "Sorry, man," he mumbled to Duncan.
"Don't worry about it. Listen, I'll get you a lawyer." Duncan looked blankly at Phoebe. "Should I?"
"That would be between you and Joe. You hang in there." She gave Joe's arm a light squeeze.
He was led out, a cop on either arm. "Nice job, Lieutenant."
Phoebe pulled out the gun, opened it. "One bullet. He was never going to shoot anyone but himself, and the odds are fifty-fifty he'd have done that." She handed the gun to her captain. "You figured he needed to talk to a woman."
"It leaned that way for me," Dave agreed.
"All in all, looks like you were right. Somebody needs to track down his wife. I'll talk to her if she balks at seeing him." She swiped at her sweaty brow. "Is there any water in this place?"
Duncan held out a bottle. "I had some brought up."
"Appreciate it." She drank deep as she studied him. Rich, dense brown hair, tousled around an angular face with a good, strong mouth and soft blue eyes that were currently pinched with worry. "Are you pressing charges?"
"For what?"
"For what he nipped out of the till."
"No." Duncan lowered himself to the arm of a chair. Closed his eyes. "Christ, no."
"How much was it?"
"A couple thousand, a little more, I guess.