Shoulders bowing with dread, he checked the chamber. One bullet, ready to go. He studied it until he figured out the release mechanism to empty the magazine.

It was a nine-bullet clip, but he counted only five bullets. Plus the one in the chamber . . . Three were missing.

Once again he thought of the dead detective and swallowed audibly.

Hands shaking, he replaced the clip and released the slide, covering the chamber. Setting the weapon aside, he reached into the safe once again and pulled out a cell phone.

A single tap to the screen had his eyes filling with tears. It was Wes’s phone. No question. The wallpaper was a photo of . . .

Grant blinked, sending the tears down his cheeks. “Baby girl,” he whispered hoarsely. It was their sister in her cap and gown and Wes in his dress uniform, arms around each other, smiling. A huge sign behind them read CONGRATULATIONS, GRADUATES!

Grant remembered the day. He’d taken the photo. They’d been so damn happy.

And then she was gone.

Please don’t be gone, Wes. I can’t lose you, too.

Grant swiped upward, certain he’d need a password. But he didn’t. He frowned, wondering why Wes would be so careless. He started to touch the apps on the screen, then hesitated. What if this was a trap and the phone was set to auto-wipe itself if anyone tried to look at its contents?

He shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told himself. Now he was getting paranoid.

He checked the screen, but he’d waited too long and it had gone dark. He swiped up again, but the angle was now different and the words Face ID popped up on the screen.

Grant had a similar phone, so he held it to his face. But it wouldn’t wor—

“Well, shit.” Apparently, facial recognition wasn’t completely precise in its discrimination, because Grant could open his brother’s phone.

Encouraged, he touched Wes’s calendar and swiped back day after day until a single entry popped onto the screen. LOTR Poker. The date was two Fridays before, at nine p.m. The same date he’d found on the matchbook.

Relief soothed him. At least he had a lead. He found another calendar entry on Wes’s phone, on March first, the Friday before the matchbook date. LOTR. Richard.

Grant continued to swipe, but found nothing more than a few shopping lists.

He checked the contacts for a Richard but found nothing. There were only Wes’s known friends, family, and coworkers. Other than the wallpaper photo, the only photos on the phone were of Grant’s kids.

Grant returned everything to the floor safe, hesitating when he handled the loaded gun. Should he take it? Would he need it?

Maybe, but he decided it was safer to put it back. If he were caught with an unregistered gun, he’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble.