Gun up.
“Don’t you move.”
Low.
Deadly calm.
Sinclair froze.
Mud streaked his face. His glasses hung crooked. His breathing came fast now — real panic.
“Release.”
Rosie let go but stayed between them.
Burke kicked Sinclair’s hand away.
A small blade slid into the leaves.
Burke stared down at him.
For a second, he didn’t speak.
Just looked.
It wasn’t confusion anymore.
It was rage.
“Sinclair,” he said quietly.
No sheriff voice.
Just Burke.
“I respected you.”
Sinclair tried to gather himself. “Burke?—”
“I hunted on that ridge with you.”
Sinclair swallowed.
“We sat at the same table.”
“You stood in my office. Looked me in the eye.”
“And all the while you were taking women.”
Silence.
“You killed one.”
Sinclair’s mouth opened.
“You shot my deputy.”
Burke stepped closer.
