He gave Xander a tight, capitulating smile, tipped one finger, and prepared to exit the shot. You’ll be seeing me, he’d growl theatrically, or perhaps something more Colton-esque: If I need to come back, muchacho, it ain’t gonna be pretty. He edged toward the door, deliberating between the two, when Xander decided to ad-lib.

“Hey, you could drive out to Nueva Vida, if you want, but I can save you the trip.” He tugged his cell phone from his back pocket and held it up. “PictoShark. Welcome to the information age, Detective.”

“Huh?” Luke froze mid-step, trying to hold his cool pose.

“It’s a photo-sharing app, like Instagram.” Xander accessed the app, swiped and scrolled, then turned the screen toward Luke. “These were taken last night. Look. There’s a date and time stamp.”

Luke stepped forward, adding a hint of swagger to stay in character. The photo on Xander’s phone—a selfie—showed Xander sitting at a table loaded with colorful drinks, with Johan in the background, one arm looped around a beautiful woman. The date and time beneath the shot supported their alibi.

“Yeah.” Luke scratched his jaw and sneered, affecting doubt. “That could have been taken anywhere.”

“Check out the novelty powder keg behind us.” Xander zoomed in. “Says stray bullets right on it.”

It did.

“And here, look.” He scrolled through a few more photos: Johan with some other long-haired dude, sticking out their tongues; a close shot of an elaborate cocktail; another pretty woman dressed in a cowboy hat and Stray Bullets T-shirt. “That’s Tanika, our server. Notice the tee.”

“Already did.”

“Here’s the stage.” A small raised area loaded with musical instruments and a Stray Bullets backdrop. “A band called Mean Heat played last night. They rocked it. And wait, one more . . .”

Xander zipped through several more photos, a blur of lights, bodies, and faces, and Luke was about to say that he’d seen enough when one of those faces leapt off the screen and almost knocked him onto his ass.

“Whoa, shit! Wait a second, back up, back the fuck up.” He wanted to grab the phone out of Xander’s meaty hands. “Go back . . . no, not that one. Keep going.”

Xander flicked through the images until he reached the right one—

“That’s it. Stop.”

Luke’s heart plunged and his lungs filled with a heavy, unbreathable air. Memories surfaced, incomplete but colorful: slamming tequilas at Uncle Lizard’s; wild, woody aromas mixed with Dolce & Gabbana perfume; the softness of Lisa’s kiss. Luke clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool, but the script he’d been following had burst into flames and Colton Stone had left the set. Now it was just Luke, with all his fears and failings.

“What’s the big deal?” Xander asked.

“Him,” Luke said, and pointed.