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threaded his way through a maze of trees, occasionally having to shoulder his way past vines and low-hanging branches. After just a couple minutes, the flashlight’s beam found Harley’s excitedly wiggling rear end. A shift of the beam revealed the tear-streaked face of a young man sitting with his back against the base of a tall tree.
    The man held shaking hands in front of him in a pitiful attempt to ward off Harley’s snapping teeth. Luke noted that his hands were covered in blood, probably from where he’d been pressing them over the wound in his side. He gibbered insensibly and stared up at Luke with wide, terrified eyes. The guy looked familiar, though he was sure he didn’t know the man personally. It was something in the shape of his nose and the set of his eyes. The firm jawline, too. It reminded him strongly of someone else. His brow furrowed as he searched the nooks and crannies of his memory, straining to make a connection.
    And then he had it.
    He let out a breath.
    Shit.
    After making Harley heel, he aimed the flashlight’s beam right at the man’s face and said, “You’re Stump’s boy, right? Calvin, ain’t it?”
    The young man grimaced as he sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. Then he glared at Luke. “Yes. I’m Emma’s sister.”
    So he was the brother of one of the dead girls. It made sense. Luke figured most folks had let go of their outrage in the years since the trial. It was just the way life worked. People got wrapped up in the drama of a big thing like that, but public indignation over a supposed injustice had a short shelf-life. The furor died down and the general populace moved on with their lives. But it didn’t work like that with family. Luke knew that well enough. He was still clinging tight to decades-old grudges of his own. With family, you don’t ever forget, especially when it comes to murder.
    Luke shook his head. “So what was the plan, Calvin? Kill my dogs, break into my trailer…and then what?”
    A corner of Calvin’s mouth twitched, his eyes burning with defiance in the glare of the flashlight’s beam. “Was gonna slit your throat and watch you bleed out like a pig.”
    Harley growled at the more aggressive tone, prompting Luke to gently nudge one of his hindquarters with the toe of a shoe. “Easy, boy.” The dog ceased growling and looked up at him, tongue lolling out as he panted. “Calvin, I didn’t k ill your sister. Didn’t kill any of those girls.”
    That same corner of the kid’s mouth twitched again. “Bullshit.”
    “It’s the stone truth, boy. I don’t know who killed Emma or any of the others, but it wasn’t me.”
    The kid grimaced as his hands went to the wound in his side again. “You’re a liar.”
    Luke moved closer and knelt beside him. He set the flashlight on the ground, but kept the .357 clutched in his right hand. “Let’s get a look at this. Lift up your shirt.”
    “Get away from me.”
    Luke sighed. “Kid, if I was gonna kill you, I would’ve done it by now. Now lift up the damn shirt.”
    Calvin’s expression remained mistrustful, but he complied with Luke’s request, the pain from the wound evidently overwhelming his righteous fury. He was wearing a flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. His blood-stained fingers shook as he worked at the buttons of the flannel shirt. Once it was open, he tugged up the T-shirt, and Luke leaned closer for a better look.
    The bullet had carved a pretty nasty groove along the side of his ribcage. Luke didn’t doubt it hurt like a bitch, but the kid had been lucky as hell. The bullet hadn’t actually entered his body. If it had, the little asshole might be dead already. “All right, let your shirt down.”
    Calvin winced as he took his own look at the wound. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit, man.”
    “Relax. You’re gonna live.” Luke snatched up the flashlight, stood up, and moved back a few steps. “Come on, now, get up.”
    The kid braced his hands on the ground and tried to push