PART ONE

ONE

Ben Cartwright was hot and dusty and saddle sore, and not in the best temper. When he had given in to the lure of the West, leaving New England and its century-old civilization behind, it was with the knowledge that life would be one long fight. Not only would the elements be against him, but man as well. There would be herds of cattle lost to the Indians and to disease. Too little and too much rain bringing times of drought and floods that would threaten to wash away everything he had done. There would be men who would, by force, try to wrest from him what was his – cattle rustlers, highwaymen and thieves. But no one had warned him about the most God forsaken creatures of all.

Bureaucrats.

He'd been in Eagle Station all day wrangling with businessmen and lawyers over a disputed piece of timberland. While all his holdings were secure, it seemed there was always someone who came forward to dispute his ownership of this or that particular parcel of land – and always the best ones! When he'd asked why the man hadn't come to him in the first place to work this out, the contender's lawyer had made it quite clear that his client feared he would 'inflict bodily harm' on him if he did.

Ben snorted out dust as he wiped the back of his sleeve over his face.

Damn right!

After tethering his horse, the man with gun-metal gray hair walked over to the watering trough. He removed his gloves and anchored them behind his waistband and then worked the pump, sending a cool gush of clear liquid into the wooden vessel. Bending, he put his head under it and let it run over his hair for a moment. Straightening up, he tossed the gray waves like a dog, sending clear cold missiles flying out to strike the packed earth. Then he reached for the ladle that hung on a nail driven into the trough. As he did, the door to the house opened and the man he hired to care for and to cook for him and his boys came out.

"Happy see you home, Mistah Ben," Hop Sing said, his shrewd eyes taking him in. "You no have tough day in town?"

"I have tough day in town," Ben chortled as he took a sip. He glanced around. It was nearly dark and that meant the days chores were done. He'd been surprised when none of the boys rushed out to greet him. Especially Joseph. With a frown, he asked, "Where is everyone?"

"Mistah Hoss still out with men. Due back soon." The man from China paused. "Mistah Adam look for Little Joe."

"Adam's looking for Joseph? You mean the boy's disappeared?"

His cook sighed with exasperation. "Hop Sing look for boy everywhere! No can find him. Mister Adam, he say he look in stable."

Ben glanced at the building. It looked quiet. "When was this?"

Hop Sing looked up. "Maybe twenty minutes ago. Not sure how long. " He scowled. "Hop Sing busy. Beat meat and bang kettle. Make stew for supper."

As he hung the ladle back on the nail, Ben asked, "Twenty minutes? What would the boys be doing in the stable for that long?"

"Hop Sing not know. Stew burn he any longer. Just wanted Mistah Cartwright to know."

With that the man from China turned and walked back into the house.

Ben scowled as he watched him go, and then he realized he had been scowling all day. He was home now. Supper was on the table and he was looking forward to an evening with his boys, hearing about all they had done, and maybe playing checkers or chess with one of them. All three had keen minds and were good at both games, though Adam preferred chess and Joe and Hoss, checkers. That wasn't surprising since checkers was a more straight-forward game. Chess required a slightly devious mind.

A 'sneaky' one, as Hoss liked to say of his eldest brother.

With a chuckle, Ben turned and walked toward the stable.

Even when the sun was shining, the inside of the stable could be dark. It amazed him sometimes how night seemed to arrive sooner inside than outside. As he entered Ben heard several of the horses shy as if they were nervous. Instantly alert, his hand went to his gun as he stepped into the main room. His eyes were busy scanning the stalls and so he didn't see the object lying in the middle of the floor until his foot encountered it and he was forced to look down.

It was as if the world stopped.

"Adam! Good Lord! Adam!"

His eldest son was lying on the stable floor. One hand was folded under his chest and the other thrust out toward the door as if he had been reaching for something when he fell. In the dim light Ben couldn't tell whether his son had tripped and fallen or if something worse had happened. Adam's skin was naturally pale, but it seemed even more so than usual. As he felt for a heartbeat and found it, a suspicion, unsupported and just as undeniable, punched him in the gut. This was not good.

Really not good.

"Adam?" Ben called softly as he sank to his knees beside his oldest boy. When his son gave no response, he tried again, "Adam, it's your Pa. Adam, wake –"

He'd felt something wet at the boy's middle.

Thick and wet.

That suspicion had just become a surety. His fingers were covered in blood.

Ben looked around. He instinctively knew no one else was there, but caution demanded he look. In the end he decided there was nothing he could do but leave his son laying where he was and run to the house for help. Placing a hand on Adam's head, Ben promised a quick return, and then walked briskly to the stable door. Once there, he glanced back. A beam of moonlight, falling through one of the windows, illuminated Adam's still form. His son hadn't moved or made a sound.

He was yelling before he burst through the door. "Hop Sing! Hop Sing! Come quick! Adam's been hurt!"

Ben made his way to the sideboard in the dining room where they kept extra linens. He had no idea how badly Adam was wounded, but he knew it was imperative to stop the bleeding.

Hop Sing came out of the kitchen, dishrag in hand. "What you yell about? All time yelling! Bad as boys! Hop Sing..."

The face Ben turned toward him caused his cook's words to trail off. Grabbing the linens, he headed for the door. "Adam is in the barn. He's hurt. Bleeding. Get some bandages and then follow me."

"What about Little Joe?"

Ben stopped dead in his tracks. At first the words didn't register, he was so focused on what had happened to Adam.

"J...Joe?" he stammered.

"Mistah Adam look for Little Joe," Hop Sing said, his voice quiet. "You no see Little Joe?"

The proportions of the disaster he was facing suddenly became all too apparent. For just a moment, Ben felt he might collapse, but just as quickly his resolve surfaced to keep him on his feet and moving.

"We'll just have to hope Little Joe is being his naughty self," he said, his tone grim as he looked at the amount of blood on his hands. "Adam may be dying."

The time it took to cross the yard and reenter the stable seemed like an eternity, though in truth it was probably thirty seconds. Ben tossed the linens to the floor and sat by his son. Drawing a breath, he gently rolled Adam over just as Hop Sing arrived. Bless him, the man from China had brought a lantern as well as extra bandages and a canteen of water. Lifting his eldest boy, Ben slipped in under him. As he rested Adam's head on his arm, he whispered a quick prayer and then felt for the boy's heartbeat. It was there. Fairly steady, if a little weak.

That was a good description of him at the moment as well.

"What happen to boy?" Hop Sing asked.

He was unbuttoning Adam's shirt. He had no idea. Had his son injured himself with one of the farm tools? There was a rake laying at an odd angle on the straw close by. As he probed Adam's left side and encountered the wound, his question was answered.

Launching a thousand more.

"He's been shot," he said, his jaw tight.

Hop Sing had wadded up some of the linens and doused them with water. As he handed the bundle to him, he asked, "Who want to shoot Mistah Adam?"

Ben shook his head as he pressed the linens against the wound.

Hop Sing rose to his feet. The next words he spoke were a knife-thrust to his heart.

"Mistah Ben want me look for Little Joe?"

"Not...here..."

Ben looked down. He was surprised to find Adam looking up at him.

"Son?"

"Joe's...not...here. He..." Adam winced with pain and let out a short grunt before trying again. "...took...him..."

Adam was reaching up. Ben caught his hand and squeezed it. "Who, son? Who took your brother?"

His son's hazel eyes closed and opened with less focus. He looked at their joined hands and then back to his face.

"Pa?"

"Yes, son, I'm here." Ben glanced at Hop Sing.

The man from China nodded. "I go to town for doctor and sheriff. Come back soon as can."

"Hop Sing, I know you don't like to ride, but my horse..."

"Take Mistah Ben's horse. Go faster. Come back soon."

Adam's eyes lazily followed their cook's retreat.

"Mad..." he said.

"What is that, Adam?" Ben frowned as he noted the blood already seeping through the thick wad of linens he had pressed against the boy's wound. "I'm not mad."

Adam's lips curled in an unlikely smile. "Hop Sing... Going to...miss supper..."

Ben ran a hand along his son's brow, clearing the matted black hair that clung there. Adam had lost consciousness. Shifting, Ben slid out from under his boy. He gently laid Adam's head on the floor before going to look for blankets and anything else that might keep him warm until Hop Sing's return. Until he knew more about Adam's wound he was hesitant to move him. Still, he knew it would be hours before Hop Sing could return with the doctor. He thought if he pulled the boy over to where he could sit with his back against the wall, he could hold him until then. It was imperative Adam know he was not alone in case...

No.

As he picked up one of the blankets to cover Adam with, Ben heard a sound. He turned toward it and found a solid form blocking the open doorway.

"Pa?" Hoss asked as he entered the stable. "What are you –?"

He'd seen. Ben dropped the blanket and went to over to his middle son. "Adam's alive, Hoss, but he's hurt. I sent Hop Sing to town."

He saw his son's mind working, turning over what he'd said. He and Adam, here. Hop Sing, gone. No little brother in sight. The inevitable question followed.

"Where's Little Joe?"

The older man shook his head. "I don't know, son. He's not here."

There was no emotion Hoss felt that didn't show in those clear blue eyes. He'd come home from a day of ranching to find his world changed, and perhaps forever. The boy's love for his two brothers was fierce, but there was a special connection between him and Little Joe. Along with Hop Sing, Hoss had reared the boy after Marie died. He'd always been busy. Away. Preoccupied.

If Joe was...

Hoss had moved past him. He was kneeling beside his brother. The teenager looked up at him, fright in his eyes.

"He's bleedin' bad, Pa."

Ben went to join him. Hoss was right. The linens pressed against Adam's side were nearly soaked through. So far as he could tell, the bullet had gone through the soft flesh of his son's right side, escaping out the back. While the loss of blood was troubling, at least there was less fear of blood poisoning.

As the older man pressed his hand against Adam's forehead, checking for fever, Hoss asked, "You want I should take him into the house, Pa? It's awful cold out here."

It was the season where the weather was changeable. While it had been near seventy degrees during the day, it had rapidly fallen off to where it felt like it might be in the high forties.

"Do you think you can carry him?" Ben asked.

Hoss smiled shyly. "Shucks, Pa, I carried feed sacks heavier than older brother here." As he spoke, his giant of a son gently placed one arm under Adam's shoulders and the other behind his brother's knees. With little effort, he rose to his feet with his burden. "You want I should take Adam to his room?"

"Why don't we put him in the downstairs bedroom until we see how badly he's wounded."

Tears entered his son's eyes. "Who'd do this, Pa? Who'd want to hurt Adam?"

All he could do was shake his head.

Who indeed?

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Hop Sing and Paul Martin made it in record time. Still, even at that, it was early morning before they arrived.

The night had been harrowing. More than once Ben thought he had lost his son. Even though the bullet had passed through Adam's body, exiting out the back, it appeared the wound had been contaminated by the fact that the boy had – at some point – dragged his body across the stable floor in an effort to reach the door. It was all Ben could do to think of it – his young son, wounded, bleeding, pulling himself along the floorboards, desperately trying to reach the yard where he could be seen and found.

Ben cast a glance at the staircase even though he knew the effort was useless. He would hear the doctor as he began to descend. Rubbing a hand over his face, the rancher shifted back in his chair, easing the pain in his tired body, if not his troubled soul. Paul had been as encouraging as he could be when he arrived. He said – if Adam had to be shot – the good news was that the bullet had entered and exited, and his son had been struck in such a way that no vital organs were involved. The bad news was Adam had lost a lot of blood and the wound was infected. The boy had quickly developed a high fever and spent half the night screaming out in his delirium.

Screaming for his youngest brother.

Little Joe was missing. He'd sent a dozen hands out to look and the boy was nowhere to be found. At first, he'd hoped Joseph was just being his usual high-spirited self. There had been other nights when his youngest had forced him to come looking for him. In a strange way, he thought, Joseph needed the reassurance that his father loved him and would set everything else aside to find him. Joe had suffered the worst of his sons in the loss of his mother. While Marie's death had been hard on his older sons – Hoss most of all – both older boys regrettably knew and understood the dangers of the West and had accepted its harsh nature and the grief that could come with it. Joseph knew nothing of this. All he knew was a safe home with a wonderful woman who loved and nurtured him – a wonderful woman who had been there, drawing him onto her lap and lavishing kisses one moment, and then gone the next.

He worried about the boy.

"It's been an awful long time, Pa. You think Adam's okay?"

Ben looked at Hoss. Neither of them had slept for more than a few fitful minutes since the night before. His middle son was devastated – one brother shot and the other gone. He'd tried to help Hoss but, as usual, it had been his gentle giant of a son who had helped him even more.

"Adam is in the hands of Doctor Martin and the Lord," Ben replied, knowing his words were pat.

Hoss's young face scrunched up as it always did when he was thinking hard. Finally he asked, "Pa, how come God lets this kind of thing happen?"

Ben leaned back in his chair and looked over steepled fingers at his teenaged son. How many times as a young man had he asked himself that same question? His faith in God was deep and abiding and hard won, but that didn't mean he had all the answers.

"I don't know, son," he answered honestly, "but I honestly believe God does." Ben paused, thinking. "Do you remember that time you got your finger caught in the fish hook and we had to take you to Doctor Martin to have it cut out?"

"I sure do, Pa. It hurt like the dickens!"

"While we were on our way to town, we came across John and Myrtle Hicks on the road. Myrtle was trying to get John to town, but the wheel on their carriage had broken and they were stranded."

Hoss nodded. "I remember."

"John had a cardiac insufficiency. Now, while I am sure you would have wished that hook hadn't lodged so deeply in your finger that neither Hop Sing or I could get it out, the fact that we were on that road and were able to get John to town in such a short time saved his life." Ben paused. "John and Myrtle are praying people."

The look was there again, multiplied by ten. "So...somethin' good came out of somethin' bad?"

Ben nodded. "Exactly."

At that moment, there was a sound outside.

Hoss rose to his feet. "That's horses, ain't it, Pa? Who do you suppose it is?"

Sadly, he didn't have to 'suppose'. Ben knew who all too well who it was and, while the man was his friend, he would have given everything he had not to greet him.

" Roy," Ben said as he opened the door and stepped out of the way. "Come in."

Deputy Roy Coffee stood on the porch, hat in hand. Their friendship was one of long standing, dating back to when he and the boys had first come to Eagle Station. He liked Roy. The lawman was a simple, honest individual. The world to him was black and white.

Someday, he would make an excellent sheriff.

"I'm sorry we have to be seein' each other under these circumstances, Ben," Roy said as he entered.

Looking past him to the riders still sitting their horse s in the yard, he asked, "Would your men like to come in as well?"

"Them two boys? Nah. If'n it's okay, though, I'll tell them to tend to the horses while they wait." Roy hesitated. "Once I get done talkin' to you, we'll be headin' out to see if we can find your boy."

Ben could feel Hoss' unease. It radiated across the room. Turning to his son, he said, "Hoss, I want you to show Roy's men where to find everything they need." When the boy failed to move, he added quietly, "Please, son. I know you want to hear what Roy has to say, but – "

"Beggin' your pardon, Pa, but that ain't it."

"What is it then?"

"I know Roy's gonna do all he can to find Little Joe and...to find those men who hurt Adam." Hoss moved to stand beside them. The look his son gave him was almost desperate. "I want to go with him, Pa."

Ben exchanged a glance with Roy. The lawman spoke before he could.

"Son, I know you're worried about your brother and I ain't blamin' you for wantin' to take a crack at the man that hurt Adam, but – "

"Pa, you tell him I ain't no kid!" Hoss interrupted. Once he realized that he had, the sandy-haired teen apologized. "I'm sorry, Deputy Roy. I didn't mean no disrespect. But the truth is I ain't been a kid since Ma died. I know how to be responsible." His son's clear blue eyes moved to him. "Pa cain't go since Adam needs him. One of us needs to be out lookin' for Little Joe."

Roy was eying him. "How old are you, son?"

"Near nineteen, sir."

The deputy drew a deep breath, as if considering the responsibility he was thinking of shouldering. "What do you say, Ben?"

What did he say? Or what did he want to say?

No, of course.

No. The boy is only eighteen. Barely past being a child. I can't expose him to such danger.

But then he thought again.

Hoss was eighteen. Boys married at that age and were suddenly men. Some even had children of their own. And Hoss was right, he wasn't a child. When Marie died his middle son had been forced to grow up quickly. He and Adam had to run the ranch. Hop Sing was wonderful with Joseph, but he too had his work and it was demanding. It was Hoss who had been in the right place and of an age to become both mother and father to his youngest son.

And he had done a wonderful job.

Ben drew a breath as he stepped over to his boy. As he let it out, he anchored his hands on the teen's shoulders.

They were of a height.

"This mean a great deal to you, doesn't it, son?" he asked softly.

Hoss had tears in his eyes. "It's not that I ain't just as worried about Adam, Pa. But you know...you know me and Little Joe."

Ben nodded. His smile was a little forced.

Yes, he did.

"You will take no chances, you hear me? And you will do everything Roy says, or either of his men. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Ben laid a hand alongside his son's face. "I love you all. You are just as important to me as Joseph and Adam. You take care of yourself."

"We'll be leaving as soon as we can, son," Roy Coffee said. "We'll be out today and tomorrow before heading back."

As Hoss nodded, Ben told him. "See to Roy's men and their animals first and then come in and gather your gear. I'll have Hop Sing put together some food for you."

Normally, the thought of Hop Sing's cookin' would have brought a smile to his son's lips. Not this time. They were set in a thin line of determination.

"We'll find Little Joe, Pa. We'll bring him home."

Ben released his son. Forcing a smile, he said, "I know you will, son. Now, you'd better get going."

"Thank you, Deputy Coffee," Hoss said.

"I'll be right honored to have you along, boy," Roy replied.

As the door closed behind his son, Ben said to the lawman. "Let me give some instructions to Hop Sing and then I'll be back."

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Roy Coffee watched his friend disappear into the hall that led to the ranch house's kitchen before crossing over and taking a seat before the fire. No matter how many times he came to Ben Cartwright's home, he was impressed. Not that Ben had built it to impress – he was too good a man for that – but impress him it did anyhow with its size and simple elegance. It always brought a smile to his face to look at all the items in it. While most of them were what a man would choose, there were still traces of the woman who had graced Ben's home for five years such as the elegant striped settee, the floor lamp with a flood of crystals hanging from its glass shade, and several sets of china and glassware.

Weren't too many homes he went into on the outskirts of Eagle Station where he worried he was goin' to break the dishes just by lookin' at them!

Yes, Ben Cartwright had done right well by himself, forgin' an empire against all odds by grit and determination. Maybe he'd had a little luck – or maybe God just loved Ben a little bit more than others – he didn't know. What he did know was that Ben was one of the best men he'd ever known and he'd raised just about the finest boys he'd ever met.

It was a damn shame someone was out to do them harm.

Since the sheriff had left town, he'd been holdin' the fort along with the two men outside who'd been deputized before the older man rode away. The sheriff had to give testimony in San Francisco and so he was goin' to be in charge for a good three or four weeks. It wasn't his first time doin' it, but it wasn't his tenth either and he was right nervous about gettin' it correct. He'd been up early every day lookin' at wanted posters and then patrollin' the streets of Eagle Station mornin', noon, and night to see if he spotted any of the mean hombres on them. He'd had a talk with the proprietors of the local saloons, givin' them fair warnin' that he wasn't goin' to put up with no nonsense. In fact, he'd felt right proud of himself for keepin' the trouble down.

Then Ben's Chinese cook had ridden up to the jail and let loose a string of foreign words there weren't no way he was gonna understand. It took him a moment to calm the little man down. When he did and he finally got some English instead of that overseas jabber, he'd realized he didn't have to look for trouble – trouble had come to him.

Adam Cartwright had been shot and left for dead on Ben's own land and Little Joe was missin'.

Lord have mercy!

"Roy," a tired voice said. "I'm sorry I can't say that I am happy to see you."

The lawman turned toward the stairs. Doctor Paul Martin was comin' down them. He'd expected he was here. He'd seen Hop Sing pullin' out of Eagle Station with the Doc in tow.

"Seems you and me has a way of runnin' into each other when the news ain't so good, Paul," he said in reply.

The doctor had reached the floor. He looked around. "Where's Ben?"

"In the kitchen," he replied, nodding toward it. "How's the boy?"

Paul fixed him with a stare that was less than welcoming. "I suppose you want to talk to him?"

"It ain't a matter of wantin'," he answered without apology. "That boy's the only eyeball witness we got us right now."

They both turned toward the kitchen wing as a tall gray-haired figure appeared. As he made his way past the dining table, Ben asked, "Paul, how is Adam?"

Ben Cartwright was a strong man. If you'd have asked Roy on any given day, he would've said weren't nothin' could scare him.

He was scared now.

"His fever is still high, but not dangerously so. The combination of the medicine I gave him and Hop Sing's ancient remedies seems to have turned the tide." Paul paused and his eyes moved to Roy. "Adam's very weak, Ben. He's lost a lot of blood. It will take some time to build it back up."

"Can I see him, Doc?" Roy asked.

"I'd rather you wait until tomorrow," came the expected reply. Then, surprisingly, he added, "It's up to you, Ben."

The rancher blinked. "Up to me? Since when is it 'up to me'?"

The doctor cracked the first smile he 'd seen. "You've reared some tough boys, Ben. Adam is insisting he be allowed to talk to the law. I told him I would leave it up to you."

Ben snorted and shook his head. "Coward."

Paul Martin chuckled. "Guilty as charged." He sobered quickly. "He's very concerned about his brother."

Roy watched indecision flicker across his friend's broad face. He was glad it weren't him havin' to choose. One boy missin', and the other one hurtin' and maybe holdin' the only key to findin' him.

"Is Adam strong enough" Ben asked at last.

"No," Paul said abruptly, "but he's determined and sometimes that is a different kind of strength." The physician turned to the lawman then. "Keep it to a few questions and a few minutes, Roy. If Adam gets too upset, I will call a halt. I won't jeopardize his life."

No. But he might be jeopardizing Little Joe's.

"I'll do my best to keep it short," Roy promised as he held out his hand. "After you, Ben."

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It had been hours since he had seen his eldest son and Ben was shocked to see how pale he remained. His mother had had skin like ivory.

Adam was whiter now than Elizabeth had ever been.

He appeared to be sleeping.

"I gave him something for the pain," Paul said softly. "You'll have to rouse him."

Ben nodded as he headed to his son's side. Sitting in the chair he had earlier pulled up to the bed, he reached out and ran a hand along Adam's forehead, pushing back the fringe of black hair that lay in such stark contrast to his skin. With a glance at Paul, who nodded, he called him.

"Adam. Adam, it's Pa. Can you hear me?" He waited. "Adam?"

His son made a small noise. A grunt that turned into a low moan. He shifted slightly and his eyelids fluttered. A second later Adam's eyes opened. And closed. And opened again.

"Pa...?" he asked with a frown.

"I'm here, son."

Adam frowned and his breathing quickened. A second later words exploded from him. "Joe. Pa! He...took...Joe!"

Ben caught his son's hand in his own. "Adam, you have to remain calm." He shot a look at Paul Martin, who was frowning. "Otherwise Paul will chase us out of the room. Can you do that?"

Adam's eyes closed again, as if he was drawing on some inner reserve of strength to combat a rising fear. A moment later he opened them and nodded.

"Son, you said 'he'," Roy Coffee interjected as he drew closer to the bed. "Did you know the man who took Little Joe?"

Pain tightened the skin at the edges of Adam's lips and eyes. He gave a small shake of his head and then fell silent. Ben thought he was asleep and rose to shoo everyone out of the room, but at that moment Adam spoke again.

"Name," he said.

Ben sat back down. He glanced at Roy. His own hope was reflected in the lawman's eyes. "You know the man's name?"

Adam's jaw was tight. He licked his lips as he nodded. "Told...me."

"He told you his name?" Roy asked, obviously surprised.

"Tell your...Pa..." Adam struggled to speak. "Tell your Pa...Wade Bosh...taking what's...owed him."

"Ben, that's enough," Paul Martin warned. "He's getting too upset."

"Pa, you...have to let...me..." Adam's fingers gripped his shirt, tugging him closer. "Bosh...shot me. Joe...he hurt Joe. You've...got to...find him before..."

Abruptly Adam's fingers released his sleeve.

"He's unconscious!" Paul snapped. "You two get out of here and, Ben, send up Hop Sing. I may need him."

He turned to the doctor to ask a question, but it died on his tongue.

Roy took hold of his arm. "Come on, Ben. Best let the doctor do his work and let me get to mine."

Ben didn't remember descending the stairs. Even as his fear for Adam fought with his terror for Little Joe, his mind set about trying to unravel the puzzle of his oldest son's words.

The man who took Joseph had been careful to make sure Adam knew who he was.

But who was Wade Bosh?

And just what did the man think he owed him?