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"Why didn't you tell me?"

There wasn't an answer fit for daylight.

"Thought it'd scare you."

A sound left her. Small. Not crying yet. Worse.

Hutchins closed the notebook. "Mr. Calloway, do you have anybody who can independently confirm you remained on the ranch during that period?"

"No."

"Phone records, calls made, messages sent?"

"No."

"Any vehicle other than your truck on your property that could be mistaken for it?"

"Three ranch trucks," Wyatt said immediately. "All similar profiles in darkness."

Hutchins nodded. "I'll need makes, plates, and access information for each."

"You're not arresting him on this," Wyatt said.

The formality had gone sharp enough to cut wire.

Hutchins looked tired. "I have probable cause."

"You have a manufactured accusation and Ollie Prewitt."

"I have what I listed."

"You know Boone."

"I know his record."

"My brother has never hurt anyone who didn't earn it."

The words went through the barn.

Five years. That was as close as Wyatt had ever come in public to touching the real story. His face showed he knew it.

Hutchins lowered his voice. "That sentence does not help him."

Wyatt's jaw shut.

The sheriff turned to me. "Mr. Calloway, given the signed complaint, the documented injury, the witness statements, your prior conviction, and the lack of a confirmed alibi, I don't have discretion here."

He meant it.

That was the trouble. Hutchins wasn't enjoying this. He wasn't settling an old score. He was a fair man standing inside an unfair story, and my silence had supplied him bad facts twice now.

"All right," I said.

Josie's hands flew to her mouth.

Cash moved for the first time. One step, quick and hot, and Wyatt caught him across the chest with a forearm.

"Don't," Wyatt said.