LITMIR.BIZ

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included assault with a deadly weapon, gun possession and armed robbery. Just as bad as he liked them. And he’d been caught with heroin—the same drug that’d ensnared Jack’s younger brother after he’d gotten hooked on oxycodone following surgery.

      He shoved the folder under his arm and stood, determination firing through him. “A real sweetheart. I’ll get him.”

      Randall pushed to his feet and extended a hand. “I believe you will. There’s more to his story, but I’ll let Sheriff Covington fill you in.”

      Curious, he pumped Randall’s hand and strode outside where Lance leaned against his SUV, Butch slumped in the backseat.

      “So. Smiley.” Lance nodded at the folder. His mouth flattened at Jack’s nod and he stepped closer. Dropped his voice. “An informant fingered him in the Remy Phillips case.”

      The name sounded familiar. It rolled in his mind, then fell into place. He whistled. “The double homicide last month. A home invasion, right? Big society couple.”

      Lance’s brow lowered. “Remy Phillips owns the largest investment firm in Denver and it looks like a professional hit. Since our snitch is unreliable and motivated to exchange information for a reduced sentence, I didn’t give it too much credit, especially when Smiley agreed right off to come down to the office to answer questions. Problem is, he never showed. I’d planned on chatting with him the following day at his court date.”

      Understanding dawned and Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Then he jumped his bond.”

      A frustrated breath escaped Lance’s clenched teeth. “Looks suspicious. He’s still just a person of interest, but let’s just say, I’m real interested. Bring him in, Jack.”

      “I will.” And he would. Forget the ball game. He had much better plans with Smiley’s family, the last known address for the runaway and alleged killer. It’d been his mission, since Jesse’s murder, to get opiate dealers like this off the streets and make sure no one else died like his brother had.

      “Got something else to tell you.”

      He turned back to his cousin.

      “This is between us. Ballistics and crime scene evidence suggest we’re after two men. A .45 and a 9mm were used at the scene. Plus, the Phillips’ safe was broken into, but the family can’t identify what’s missing. Whoever wanted it hired two pros for the job, so it must be important. I’m hoping that where there’s one...”

      “Got it.” Jack nodded. Grim. This case looked better by the minute. He’d always liked two-for-one deals. Technically, he couldn’t bring in the other wanted man, but he’d hold him. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

      Lance squinted at the sky. Spoke to the sun. “Keep me in the loop, okay? And, uh, heard the family reunion is at your ranch this year. Want to be my plus one?”

      Jack’s gut clenched and he was glad his sunglasses hid his expression. “You’re not my type.”

      Lance clocked him on the shoulder. “Come on, Jack. How long before you go home? You know they miss you. Especially your mama. And no one blames you for...for...”

      “I blame myself.” Jack swung into his truck and slammed the door. Engine revved, he peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward Smiley’s address. No sense dwelling on family and loss. Action was what he needed.

      And retribution.

      He glanced down at his forearm. Black ink sketched out a belt buckle with an intricate pattern, the scripted letters aJc in the center. It was an image of the buckle Jesse had won in a junior bull-riding championship the year before he got hooked on painkillers and then heroin. Every time Jack looked at it, he was reminded of happier times...of what his brother could have been...how Jack wanted to remember him.

      When Jack left the ranch to become a bounty hunter, he’d vowed that with enough persistence, he’d someday catch the two lowlifes who’d ambushed him and later killed his brother on a back road. Sooner or later their paths would cross and he’d make them pay.

      His pickup bounced up a rutted, dirt drive that ended at a listing two-story farmhouse. A tan-and-white pit bull lunged on its chain, snapping and growling, as he strode past and clomped up the steps. With the sun gone now, he needed to secure this house before Smiley slipped away into the night.

      The door swung open before he raised his hand to knock. A sour-faced woman peered at him through the ripped screen door. Her worn-out appearance matched her sagging porch. The color leached out of her face when her flat pale blue eyes rose to meet his. They were a little too wide, not enough blinks. She backed up a step and looked down at the Glock holstered on his hip. Something unpleasant worked on her top lip.

      “Wha-what do you want? We don’t want no trouble.”

      “I’m looking for Smiley. He here?” The smell of old grease and mold streamed from inside. The pit bull continued barking madly.

      She licked her lips. Rubbed her palms together. “Haven’t seen him.” She raised her voice. “Shut it, Tank.” The dog whined and quieted.

      He leaned an arm on the soft wood doorjamb. Casual. Just a hint of menace. “Since when? Yesterday?”

      Her glance flew to his then dropped. “Can’t remember.”

      “Let’s see if I can jog your memory. Mind if I look around?”

      “You got a warrant?”

      He held it up. “Come in,” she said wearily, and lumbered inside, her large ankles ballooning over her slippers, the hem of her housecoat swinging around her calves.

      She let him in right quick, Jack mused. Seemed unlikely his quarry lurked here, then. Still, he checked the place top to bottom before he returned to her kitchen, where she stirred something brown and lumpy in a kettle. Goulash by the smell of it.

      “So, where’s Smiley headed?”

      Her wooden spoon stopped and she spoke without looking up. “I told you. I haven’t seen him.”

      He held his impatience in check. Play this game long enough, you learned the rules. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled his hip against the crowded counter. “You ready to stake fifty thousand on that? What’s this house worth? Maybe they’ll take that, instead, since you cosigned his bond.”

      Her mouth dropped open. Worked. She shoved her lank, gray locks off her fleshy face and sighed. “Maybe I did hear something.”

      “Tell me.”

      “He and some fella stopped by the other night wanting money. Asked for a ride.”

      He pressed his lips together and strove to hear his own thoughts over the sudden drumming of his heart. “Who was Smiley with?”

      Her brow furrowed. “Ain’t seen him before. Evan somethin’ or another.”

      “Evan, or Everett?”

      She shrugged. “Could be either, though now that you say it, I think Everett sounds right. Tried not to pay him no mind. A dangerous-looking man. Cold. Real cold.”

      In a flash, the room receded, the walls, the floors, the roof, as he peered backward to the night his brother lost his life. He saw the two men who’d concealed their appearance with hoodies and scarves on that cold winter night. Pictured the names of the strangers listed on a local hotel registry that night. One in particular, Everett Ridland, had been a suspect in connection with another murder. The name, an alias, turned out to be another dead end.

      “Where’d you bring them?”

      “Shawnee.”

      “What’s there?”

      “Smiley works at Mountain Sky Dude Ranch sometimes. Could be he intended on asking them for money...” Her voice trailed off like the last air from a deflated balloon.

      Jack straightened. He’d gotten everything

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