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Sinclair and Muir share a look.

“That’s interesting,” Sinclair says after a pause, “because according to the statement your brother gave us, he came across the ring while walking through the resort grounds. Always seemed a little convenient, if you ask me.”

“Johnny had nothing to do with this. He was just⁠—”

“Covering for you?” Sinclair suggests.

“Look.” I lay my hands flat on the table. “I found that ring in my locker. Someone planted it there—Samantha, I’m sure of it. I panicked and asked Johnny to help. That was my mistake, not his.”

“When you say you asked your brother to help,” Muir says, “you mean you asked him to lie for you, is that right?”

Fuck. I never wanted to get Johnny into trouble.

“I put him in an impossible position. He shouldn’t be punished for that.”

Sinclair sighs. “You know what disappoints me about all of this, Robbie? For years, you were in and out of this station. Vandalism. Fighting. Shoplifting. But then things changed. You seemed to settle down. I actually thought to myself, MacDonald’s finally grown up.”

His words shouldn’t sting, but they do. Not because I particularly care what Sinclair thinks of me, but because he’s echoing what everyone in Bannock has always thought—that I’ll never amount to anything but trouble. That’s what my da believes. And it’s what my maw believed when she walked out.

“I have grown up. That’s why I’m sitting here telling you I didn’t do this. I’m not the same arsehole I was in my teens.”

“Let me lay this out for you, Robbie,” Sinclair says. “We have keycard logs showing you entered rooms from which items were later reported missing. We have no maintenance records to explain why you were in those rooms. We have your fingerprints on one of the stolen items. And we have a fabricated story from your brother about how that item was found.”

Put like that, it sounds bad. Really bad.

“I didn’t steal anything,” I insist, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.

Sinclair shakes his head. “Robert MacDonald, you are being charged with theft from the Glen Garve Resort. You will be detained pending a court appearance where you can apply for bail.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. This is really happening.

“Do you understand the charge against you?” Muir asks.

I nod numbly.

“Remember, a verbal response for the recording, please.”

“Aye,” I manage. “I understand.”

“Interview terminated at twenty-two oh-three.” Sinclair reaches to stop the recording, and the red light on the device blinks off.

I stare at the scratched surface of the table, trying to process what’s just happened. Seven years ago, I knocked a guy out cold in an underground fight. An hour or so after that, I found the McIntyres’ car wrapped around a tree. That night changed me. Made me walk away from fighting, from the rush of violence. Made me try to be better.

And now here I am, back in this bloody interview room, about to be locked up for something I didn’t even do.

The irony would be funny if it wasn’t my life falling apart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ROBBIE

The cell is six paces long and four wide. I know because I spent most of the night pacing it like a caged animal. The thin mattress might as well be concrete, and the light overhead, which stayed on all night, casts everything in a sickly glow. Between the two, sleep was nearly impossible. I managed maybe two hours before giving up.

Not that I can blame it all on the cell. My head wouldn’t shut up, just kept looping the same thoughts over and over, trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to get out of this mess.

I sit on the bed, roll my stiff shoulders, and wince. My mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing on an old sock, and yesterday’s clothes have taken on the stink of sweat and frustration. Christ, I’d kill for a shower. Even a toothbrush. But all I’ve got is the toilet in the corner, offering about as much privacy as a shop window.

Earlier this morning, I was taken to court for my bail hearing. The sheriff granted bail with a surety, a hefty one at that. Now I’m back in this cell, waiting—hoping—for it to be paid. If not, I’ll be shipped off to a proper prison to await trial.