Dylan Conrad crouched near the storage shed’s ajar door, listening to the Harwood brothers’ conversation. His heart fired in his chest like a rocket at takeoff.

He’d wondered many times over the past few weeks to what depths the Harwoods would fall in order to protect their empire.

Now he knew.

Murder.

He had walked straight into their trap. Deke’s shocked features pulsed in his mind. Would his brother believe him capable of slitting a woman’s throat? Would he remember the heart of the brother he’d left behind? Would Deke believe Deputy Dickhead’s assertion that he was buying drugs through Gracie? Gracie?

Just thinking her name tore at his guts. She’d only been a month away from getting her associate’s degree in accounting. He didn’t know what she’d been looking forward to more—graduating or enrolling at the university. She’d wanted to be the first in her family to get a bachelor’s degree.

Anyone who knew her would never accuse her of getting involved with drugs. She’d seen firsthand how they’d ruined her father’s and brother’s lives. Though she didn’t like Tina’s side job, she understood the desperation that compelled her best friend’s actions.

Problem was Deke hadn’t been around to know any of this, and he’d left thinking his entire family had turned their backs on him. Why would he give any of them the benefit of the doubt? Especially Dylan, who had been the loudest in his accusations. Not because he’d believed in any of his father’s Big Brother paranoia, but because he hadn’t wanted Deke to go. To leave him behind—in this life-sucking hellhole.

Sheesus, what a shit mess.

The sound of a boot scuffing against the floor reached into his consciousness and yanked him back to his current situation. He shot to the right, ducking around the corner just as the door squeaked open.

Pressing his back against the building, he strained to hear the telltale signs of detection. But no shouts or zinging bullets or violent attacks followed. He forced himself to count to ten before chancing a peek.

The youngest Harwood strode toward the bronze Ford F-150, keys in hand. His heart pounded in his ears while he waited for the older brother to emerge. Although it only took a few minutes, the time crawled by. When Caleb Harwood finally appeared and drove away, he sent a silent thank-you to the Almighty.

The windowless building only had one entrance/exit and it was located at the front. Exposed to anyone coming down the lane. He’d have to work fast. No telling how often deliveries were made to this facility.

Retrieving a nylon pouch from his back pocket, he selected two long metal instruments before returning the pouch. He inserted the tension wrench into the bottom lock and raked the pick back and forth until all the pins were set. Then he rotated the tension wrench until the dead bolt slid open.

The door swung open, and he slipped inside. He stayed near the entrance, giving his eyes time to adjust to the gloom and his emotions time to shut down.

When objects in the murky depths of the large room began to materialize, he realized his emotions hadn’t yet fully disengaged. His throat closed and bile seared his chest. Crate after crate after crate stacked high in the center of the room.

He moved closer, his steps sluggish. Knowing, dreading what he’d find. The same thing the last two buildings had held. Greed, death, and fear. Yet his body pushed forward, needing the macabre confirmation.

One row of containers stored jars of dried, dark brown tear-drop shaped bear gallbladders. Dozens and dozens of them. The row below held larger containers with black bear paws. Some of the paws were smaller than Dylan’s palm.

“Sonsofbitches.”

How many more of these storage units did Harwood own? Why were they stockpiling all of these bear parts? Who would buy all of…this?

He’d stumbled onto this trafficking ring after a feral-swine hunting trip with a small group of his friends. One of the guys’d had a bit too much to drink and bragged about the amount of money he’d made hunting bear out of season. By the end of the conversation, he’d extracted three vital parts from his drunken friend—bear parts, Harwood, and a codename, Gold Star.

He’d never liked Eli Harwood. Several of the grade schools in the smaller towns had merged into one high school. Even with the merge, their class size remained small. So everyone knew everyone.

Something about Eli had always put him on guard. He’d kept to himself—except at lunchtime, where he followed his older brother around like a lost puppy.

Whispers of animal cruelty had circulated around school, though he’d never heard of any specific incidents. Eli hadn’t been the only oddball in his family. The Harwoods had built strong ties in their small town of Creede, through their involvement on the City Council, Development Committee, and School Board. However, their connections didn’t stop them from being suspicious of anyone who didn’t carry the Harwood name. Which made their trafficking enterprise all the more interesting.

Paranoia no doubt drove them to create an intricate network of hoops for their sellers to hurdle. His hunting buddy had only speculated that the Harwoods were behind the bear trafficking ring. All he’d been given was a codename and drop-off location.

Not long after his friend’s speculation, he’d seen Caleb Harwood leaving a restaurant and decided to follow. When he looked back on that moment, he couldn’t identify the exact reason for his pursuit. Boredom, maybe. Curiosity, possibly. An affinity for bears and anger at the Harwoods for their rumored part in an out-of-season poaching ring, more likely.

Whatever had spurred him to follow, he’d picked the right time to get nosey. Caleb had led him straight to one of their contraband storage sheds. To his surprise, they hadn’t installed an alarm system on the building yet. Using his lock-pick set, he’d gained entrance and found a clipboard with all the other locations listed and which ones were unsecure.

What he still needed to discover was the final destination of all the illegal contraband. He’d hoped to find evidence in one of their storage buildings. But after overhearing the brothers’ conversation, he’d have to set his curiosity aside and focus on proving the Harwoods had set him up for murder.

Why? Had they caught on to his quest to find their buyer? Why not just kill him, rather than Gracie? Why the elaborate scheme when they could have just dumped his body in a deep hole in the woods?

Unable to make out the crazy family’s logic, he strode to the small metal desk shoved against the back wall. He rifled the drawers as quickly and thoroughly as possible, not bothering with stealth. He looked for something, anything that would explain Gold Star or a distribution network.

For all he knew, the name was a simple codename for sellers and nothing else. However, his gut had told him that the reference had a deeper meaning to the Harwoods. He needed to find out what.

Had Deke figured out the clues he’d left in his apartment yet? Would he do anything with the information? Or had he finally flipped his little brother the bird and gone back to Asheville? No, Deke would never turn his back on family. If he’d been capable of doing so, he would’ve done it to him years ago.

All this he understood and even admired about Deke, yet he couldn’t stop the resentment from eating at his thoughts.

Did his brother never screw up? Get in over his head? Make a bad decision?

How could they have the same parents and be so completely opposite? He and Deke had one thing in common—secrets.

Even though he’d been pissed about Deke leaving him behind, he’d also been proud of him for getting out of Rockton. So he’d kept tabs on his brother. Why would he get a Master’s in Wildlife Biology and then become a conservation writer? Where did he go when he disappeared for long periods of time? His trips lasted too long for a writer investigating a story. And some of the people he hung out with were more intense than the Harwoods.

Deke had a secret, one he would unearth, but not until he dealt with the Harwoods’ conspiracy.

Coming up empty in his search, he slammed the desk drawer closed.

“Who the hell are you selling this shit to, Harwood?”

“Hoping for a piece of the pie, Conrad?” a voice behind him asked.

Spinning around, he caught a glimpse of Eli Harwood’s fist slicing through the air. His head snapped to the side, his legs buckled, and the ground lifted to meet his face.

Then nothing.