Page 5 of Dead Man's Hand

“Do you remember Titus Grandville? He’s an investment banker in the same building as his father’s bank.”

Is that what he was calling himself? “Crooks wear suits, too, baby sister,” he said, and turned to stare out at the passing countryside while he tamped down his anger and tried to concentrate on the beauty. It had been so long since he’d been back here. He’d forgotten how breathtaking the snowcapped mountains were. The pines were so dark green against the cobalt blue of the big sky. He felt an old childhood ache for a place that he’d once thought of as paradise.

“Who’s his muscle?” he finally asked.

She mugged a distasteful face. “Butch Lamar. He’s the one you talked to on the phone. He’s new in town. Hangs out on the Turner Ranch. He’s friends with Rafe Westfall, the son of one of the men who used to live out at our old ranch.” She shot him a look. “They’re serious, DJ. The first time Luca couldn’t pay, they beat him up real bad. This last time...”

“He still alive?” DJ asked, hoping so for selfish reasons.

“Barely. He’s hiding out. That’s why they grabbed me.”

“Did you know?” he had to ask. Her silence said it all. He swore and turned on her. “You grew up with this. How could you let him?”

“I didn’t let him. He thought he was—”

“Smarter, right?” DJ cursed under his breath. “And he thought he was going to surprise you, make you happy. How do I know this is the last time he’s going to have to be bailed out?” He saw her jaw tighten.

“I’m divorcing him. I’m done. He’s on his own after this.”

He studied her, trying to decide if she was telling the truth or just saying what he wanted to hear. He made a living reading people, but his little sister was a mystery to him because he loved her so much. “Does he know that?”

“Yes. He says he was trying to make money to save our marriage.”

“Bull,” DJ snapped.

She swung her head in his direction. “Don’t you think I know that?” She quickly turned back to her driving as the SUV swerved. “It’s not the first time. We had to sell everything last time.”

He found himself grinding his teeth and had to look out the side window again. In his line of work, temper was a real weakness and one he couldn’t afford. But this wasn’t business. This was personal.

Ahead, he saw the turnoff to Whitehall. “Take this exit. We’ll get a couple of rooms here and go into Butte in the morning.” What he didn’t say was that he wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet. The city brought back too many memories.

“By the way, where is Luca hiding out?” He asked it casually, but Keira knew him too well.

“I don’t want you to do anything to him.”

He waited, counting off the seconds until she finally spoke as if she knew he’d find out even if she refused to tell him.

“Lonesome. It’s a small town up by—”

“I know where it is,” DJ said. “Why’d he choose it?”

She didn’t answer right away. “He’s staying at Uncle Charley’s cabin up there.”

Charley had a cabin? This was news. He thought that his uncle had lost everything back when he lost the ranch. And why outside of Lonesome, one of only a few small Montana towns that he noticed his uncle had avoided? When asked, Charley had been surprised that he’d noticed. “Some towns aren’t worth the trouble.” But he’d looked at him strangely, as if he wanted to say more but had changed his mind.

DJ had guessed that Charley had unfinished business in Lonesome. Those last few years of his uncle’s life, he hadn’t seen much of him. When he did see him, he worried that Charley was in more trouble than he could dig himself out of. As it turned out, that was true.

Charley always had his secrets. Now he knew that his uncle had a cabin that he’d somehow managed to keep—and Keira knew about it.

He glanced over at her, wondering what other secrets they’d both kept from him.

Chapter Four

Leaving Keira in Whitehall, DJ rented an SUV and drove to Butte alone. He found the investment banker’s office on the top floor of the Grandville Building. He’d checked it out online last night as he prepared for this. A four-story brick edifice from the late eighteen hundreds that housed the Grandville Bank started by Titus’s great-grandfather. The bank was still on the ground floor with two upper floors converted into condos and the top floor office space.

He found Titus Grandville in his corner office overlooking the historical section of downtown Butte. “Nice digs,” DJ said as the banker motioned for him to take one of the leather club chairs. He declined and approached the man in the large office chair behind the massive desk.

Like all the Grandvilles, Titus was short and squat with a cowlick at the crown of his brown hair. While dressed like a respectable investment banker, he still looked like the thug he was.

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