LATE THAT AFTERNOON, back in Dallas, Nathan Thomas sat across from the man they’d tackled to the ground at Fort Richardson.
They’d discovered two sets of identification on his person – one set proclaiming him to be Grant Forrester, and the other under the name of Stephen Walsh. He’d been captured holding Grant’s missing Winchester 1873, and his fingerprints had returned a ninety-nine-point nine percent match to all four crimes.
For Nathan, it was like looking into a mirror image of Grant’s face. The single difference was the thin white jawline scar Stephen Walsh possessed.
The rest of him, however, could not have been more different.
From reading Stephen’s file, Nathan knew of the physical abuses he’d suffered as a child, first from his adoptive mother, and later at the hands of a part
