Amos backed toward the door.

Harker blocked him.

Judge Merritt looked up.

“This ledger implicates the county clerk.”

Bell said nothing.

“It implicates Pine Valley Land Company.”

Silence.

“And Gideon Creed.”

Every eye turned toward Rowan.

Rowan didn’t move.

Bell slowly began to smile.

There it was.

His escape.

“Interesting,” Bell said.

“Very interesting.”

10
By sunset Rowan Creed was the one in a cell.

Bell had been questioned.

Amos detained.

But Rowan’s father’s name had transformed the room.

Bell claimed Gideon Creed had masterminded the original fraud.

Then he produced letters.

Signed G. Creed.

Orders regarding Black Pine.

Instructions to certify Mara Voss’s heir deceased.

Payments authorized.

The handwriting matched samples from Gideon’s old business files.

Rowan sat behind iron bars while Lydia stood outside the cell.

“You didn’t do this.”

“No.”

“Then why are they holding you?”

“Because my father died fifteen years ago.”

“So?”

“Dead men are difficult to prosecute.”

She understood.

“And sons are convenient.”

Rowan gripped the bars.

“Bell is turning this into inherited conspiracy.”

“He can’t prove that.”

“He can prove I ended up owning the land.”

“You bought it.”

“Through a company connected to my father.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I need to prove that.”

Lydia lowered her voice.

“What if you can’t?”

Rowan looked at her.

“Then you stay away from this.”

Her expression sharpened.

“No.”

“Lydia.”

“No.”

“If they decide you’re part of—”

“No.”

“Listen to me.”

“I listened to men deciding what I should do for twenty-three years.”

That stopped him.

She stepped closer to the bars.

“You were the first person who told me I could choose.”

Rowan closed his eyes.

Lydia’s voice softened.

“Don’t become another man who decides for me because he’s afraid.”

He opened his eyes.

She was right.

He hated it.

“You’re infuriating.”

“I learned from you.”

“Terrible influence.”

“The worst.”

Their fingers touched through the bars.

Then Lydia said, “There is something wrong with the ledger.”

“What?”

“The fifty dollars.”

Rowan frowned.

“Which fifty?”

“The first payment. The one beside my name.”

“What about it?”

“My father always said we were poor after Mama died.”

“He probably lied.”

“No. We were poor before she died too.”

“And?”

“Fifty dollars was a lot of money.”

“Yes.”

“He would have spent it.”

“Probably.”

“But when you paid him in the street, he looked at the coins before he looked at me.”

Rowan waited.

“He counted twice.”

“So?”

“He wasn’t checking the amount.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed.

“He was checking something else.”

That night she returned to the room above the feed store where Amos was held.

Harker initially refused access.

Lydia sat outside for two hours.

Eventually he relented.

Amos was handcuffed to a chair.

He looked smaller without an audience.

“You always were stubborn,” he muttered.

Lydia sat opposite him.

“Why fifty?”

He looked away.

“Go.”

“Why did you sell me for fifty dollars?”

“Needed money.”

“Why exactly fifty?”

“Enough.”

“That’s a lie.”

His jaw tightened.

“You took fifty dollars when you declared me dead.”

Amos looked at her.

Lydia leaned closer.

“Then twenty-three years later you asked exactly the same price.”

Silence.

“Why?”

“Coincidence.”

“No.”

She studied him.

“You recognized Rowan.”

Nothing.

“You knew where he lived.”

Amos’s breathing changed.

“You wanted me at Black Pine.”

Still nothing.

“Why?”

He looked toward the door.

Lydia knew.

Not the answer.

But the direction.

“You weren’t trying to get rid of me.”

His eyes returned to her.

“You were trying to get something from the cabin.”

For the first time, Amos looked afraid.

Lydia felt cold.

“Was it the ledger?”

He whispered, “You should have left it buried.”

“Who killed my mother?”

Amos’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

“Who?”

He looked almost broken.

“I didn’t.”

Lydia stood.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I was many things.”

He stared at the floor.

“But I didn’t kill Mara.”

“Then who did?”

Amos said nothing.

Lydia turned toward the door.

Behind her he whispered:

“Ask Rowan what happened to his wife.”

She stopped.

11
Rowan had never told Lydia he had been married.

She entered the jail just before dawn.

His face told her instantly that Amos had not invented the woman.

“You had a wife.”

Rowan went still.

“Who told you?”

“My father.”

Rowan’s hands closed around the bars.

“What exactly did he say?”

“To ask what happened to her.”

Rowan looked away.

“Her name was Evelyn.”

Lydia waited.

“She died eight years ago.”

“How?”

“Fire.”

“Where?”

Rowan didn’t answer quickly enough.

Her stomach tightened.

“Rowan.”

“At Black Pine.”

The words struck like ice water.

“Here?”

“Before I bought the cabin.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I didn’t own it then.”

“Why were you there?”

He sat on the cot.

For the first time since Lydia had known him, Rowan looked frightened of the truth.

“I’d been tracking my father’s old transactions.”

“Why?”

“Because after he died, men started coming to me demanding money. Families he’d cheated. People he’d ruined. I wanted to know what he’d done.”

“You found Black Pine.”

“Yes.”

“And Evelyn?”

“My wife came with me.”

Lydia gripped the chair back.

“You never mentioned her.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because she died because of me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Rowan looked at her.

“We found the cabin abandoned.”

“After my mother died.”

“Yes.”

“There was a fire.”

“In the barn.”

He swallowed.

“Someone attacked us.”

Lydia’s breathing slowed.

“Who?”

“I never saw his face.”

“What happened?”

“Evelyn ran toward the cabin. I fought one man near the barn. Another shot at us.”

His voice roughened.

“The lantern fell.”

“Evelyn?”

“She was trapped.”

Lydia sat down.

Rowan stared at his hands.

“I got her out.”

“Then why did she die?”

“Burns. Two days later.”

Silence filled the jail.

“Before she died, she gave me one thing.”

Rowan reached beneath his shirt.

He removed a leather cord.

A small silver pendant hung from it.

He had worn it every day.

Lydia had noticed but never asked.

Rowan passed it through the bars.

Lydia opened it.

Inside was a miniature portrait.

A dark-haired woman.

Not Evelyn.

Mara Voss.

Lydia’s mother.

Her hands began shaking.

“Where did she get this?”

“I don’t know.”

Lydia looked at him.

“You’ve had my mother’s picture for eight years?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t recognize her in the photograph from the box?”

“I did.”

The world seemed to tilt.

“You lied.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You said you’d never seen her.”

“I said I didn’t know her.”

“You knew her face.”

“Yes.”

Lydia backed away.

“That matters.”

“I know.”

“You told me to trust what people do.”

“I know.”

“And you hid this.”

“Yes.”

Anger flooded through her.

Clean.

Hot.

Necessary.

“Why?”

Rowan stood.

“Because the last thing Evelyn said before she died was a name.”

Lydia froze.

“What name?”

“Voss.”

Her heart pounded.

“Whose?”

“I never knew.”

“What exactly did she say?”

Rowan closed his eyes.

Then repeated words he had spent eight years hearing in dreams.

“Find the Voss girl.”

Lydia couldn’t breathe.

Rowan continued.