Page 112 of Taken Away

His eyes hardened.

“And now everybody’s circling it like buzzards.”

That got Luke’s attention.

“Who is everybody?”

Red held his gaze.

For a long second, neither man spoke.

Then Red shrugged.

“Lawyers.”

“Developers.”

“Distributors.”

“People who see acreage and dollar signs.”

Luke made another note.

“Anybody specific?”

Red smiled without humor.

“You’re the detective.”

Luke closed the notebook. Not because he was finished.

Because he’d learned something.

Red wasn't acting like a guilty man.

He was acting like a grieving one.

Luke knew those weren't always the same thing.

As Luke headed back toward his cruiser, something near the porch caught his eye.

A pair of mud-caked work boots sat beside the steps.

He stopped.

Red noticed.

“Something wrong, Deputy?”

Luke glanced down.

The soles were worn nearly smooth.

His mind drifted briefly to the print outside the Victorian's glass.

He said nothing.

The old rancher met his gaze without blinking.