THE BLOOD ON HIS DAUGHTER'S PAJAMAS WASN'T THE WORST THING HE SAW—IT WAS WHAT CHRIS BROUGHT INTO THE ER

Daniel entered the emergency room with the calm authority of a man accustomed to doors opening before he touched them.

He was forty-six, broad-shouldered, silver beginning at his temples, and still wearing his sheriff's uniform beneath a black ceremonial jacket. The engraved buttons matched the one inside Chris's evidence bag.

James moved the bag behind his back.

Daniel saw the motion.

"I heard Sarah was brought in," he said. "Is she alive?"

The question was correct, but the tone was wrong. Too measured. Too prepared.

James stepped between his brother and the trauma corridor. "How did you hear?"

"Dispatch monitors hospital calls."

Chris leaned against the counter. "No ambulance transported her. I used my truck. No radio call gave her name."

Daniel's eyes shifted to him. "You always did enjoy creating trouble, Morgan."

"And you always hated questions you couldn't control."

The young ER nurse returned. "Mr. Carter, your daughter has a deep laceration along her side and signs of shock. The doctor is taking her to imaging. We also found bruising around both wrists."

James closed his eyes for one second.

"Can I see her?"

"As soon as she's stable."

Daniel took a step toward the corridor. "I need to speak with the staff. This is an active investigation."

Chris blocked him.

"It isn't your investigation."

Daniel's hand settled near his holster. "Move."

"No."

The room tightened around them.

James looked from one man to the other. Three months earlier, he would have defended Daniel without hesitation. His brother had helped raise Sarah after Emily died. He had attended school plays, repaired the porch swing, and brought groceries when James worked late.

But three months earlier, Chris had come to James with a warning.

Someone in the sheriff's department was altering evidence in a child exploitation case.

James had refused to believe him.

That argument ended their friendship.

Now Sarah's blood covered Chris's hands.

And Daniel's button sat inside a sealed bag.

James spoke quietly. "Take your hand off your weapon."

Daniel stared at him. "You think I hurt her?"

"I asked you to move your hand."

Daniel obeyed slowly.

Then his expression softened into injured disbelief. "James, she's my niece."

"Where were you tonight?"

"At the county banquet until eleven. Fifty people saw me."

"And after eleven?"

Daniel hesitated.

Chris noticed.

"Where?" James repeated.

"Driving home."

"Past the old pump house?"

Daniel's face remained still, but something cold appeared behind his eyes.

The trauma doors opened again. A doctor called for James.

He turned away for only a moment.

When he looked back, Daniel was staring at the evidence bag in his hand.

Not at the bracelet.

At the black button.

Recognition crossed his face before he hid it.

James followed the doctor into the treatment area. Sarah lay beneath white blankets, oxygen beneath her nose. A bandage covered her side. Her eyes were open but unfocused.

He sat and took her hand.

"You are safe now."

Sarah's fingers tightened around his.

"Uncle Daniel," she whispered.

James froze.

"What about Uncle Daniel?"

Her heart monitor accelerated.

She shook her head violently and pulled the blanket over her face.

The doctor signaled James not to push.

Outside the glass wall, Daniel stood at the reception desk speaking to the nurse.