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He changed the subject. “Out of curiosity, am I your only suspect?”

“No. But you’re my best suspect.”

Archie made a sound that was partly amusement, partly scorn.

“You think it’s personal on my part?” Beau challenged.

Archie glanced at his profile, said honestly, “I think it’s partly personal. Hell, yeah.”

“You have the most to gain from John’s death. That gives you the strongest motive.”

“Both of those are assumption on your part.”

“Fact.”

“Bullshit.”

Beau ignored him. “You haven’t been back in how many years? Seven? And not forty-eight hours after you fly in, John is dead.”

“That’s barely even circumstantial. It’s coincidence at best.”

“You discovered the body.”

Archie said nothing because, yes, discovering John’s body was guaranteed to put a spotlight on him. That was just the way it worked.

“And witnesses describe your demeanor before you found John as agitated, disturbed, strange...”

“Off,” Archie said tersely. That one stung.

“Off,” agreed Beau.

“Which is subjective opinion not expert objective evidence.”

“Agreed, but that opinion was pretty much unanimous.”

“I hate this town,” Archie said bitterly. “I hate these fucking people.”

Which was neither reticent nor smart.

“Oh, we know,” Beau said. “We got the message a long time ago.”

Chapter Nine

What in the hell was the matter with him lately that he just couldn’t seem to keep his feelings to himself?

But he couldn’t.

Somehow, suddenly, all that old nearly-forgotten emotion was bubbling up as hot and raw as if he’d been freshly wounded. Archie made a sound of incredulity, heard himself say, “I’m not the one who said I should do everyone a favor and take the job in Anchorage, that there was nothing for me here.”

“Not that you disagree,” Beau said with aggravating calm.

“No. I don’t disagree.”

I did then.

Back then, he’d been about as broken-hearted as a twenty-something dumbass could be over the end of his first real relationship. He clamped his jaw shut on any further comments.

Beau said tersely, “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”