Chapter 6 - Blood in the Shadows
We took temporary refuge at an old hunting cabin owned by Sergeant Miller’s family, nestled deep in the pine ridges twelve miles outside the county borders. It was off the grid, surrounded by thick timber, with a single gravel access road that Miller had rigged with tactical perimeter sensors.
The fire crackled softly in the stone hearth. Hannah was asleep on the sofa, wrapped in a wool blanket, exhausted from forty-eight hours of terror and vindication.
Brooke sat at the rough-hewn oak table, spreading out several banking manifests and police dispatch logs from four years ago.
"The puzzle is finally coming together," Brooke muttered, rubbing her tired eyes. "The night Julian Mercer killed that teenage bicyclist on Route 9, Daniel wasn't just a bystander who agreed to help cover it up. Daniel was in the passenger seat of Julian's car. They had both been drinking at Mercer’s private club."
I stopped sharpening my tactical knife and looked up. "Daniel was in the car?"
"Yes," Brooke said grimly. "Thomas Mercer had leverage over Daniel from second one. Daniel couldn't just keep quiet; he needed a total diversion. He knew you were halfway across the globe on a classified assignment where communication was blacked out for six months. He used your absence as an open canvas. He forged your signature on an admission of reckless vehicular homicide, backdated it, and with Mayor Mercer's help, wiped Julian’s name completely from the county registry."
Suddenly, a dull *beep-beep-beep* chimed from Miller’s tactical receiver sitting on the kitchen counter.
Miller moved instantly, his hand dropping to the sidearm holstered on his belt. He clicked off the living room lamp, plunging the cabin into the amber glow of the dying fire.
"Sensor three just tripped," Miller whispered, his voice dead flat. "North access road. Vehicle approaching with its headlights killed."
I tapped Hannah gently on the shoulder, waking her without a sound. "Hannah, behind the pantry. Down in the storm hatch. Don't make a peep until I open it."
Hannah nodded, fear flashing in her eyes, but she moved swiftly, slipping into the hidden floor space beneath the wooden planks.
Brooke drew a compact Glock 19 from her leather satchel and took cover behind the stone chimney. Miller and I moved toward the front porch windows, peering through the wooden blinds into the pitch-black clearing.
Through the heavy fog, a dark SUV crept forward, engine purring like a caged animal. It stopped thirty yards from the front porch. The driver's door swung open, and three men stepped out. They were wearing dark tactical jackets, baseball caps pulled low, carrying crowbars and heavy-caliber handguns.
"Mercer’s clean-up crew," Miller muttered, pulling back the charging handle on his suppressed carbine. "The old man is getting desperate. He knows the grand jury convenes on Monday."
"They didn't come to talk," I said, cold adrenaline flooding my veins. "They came to make sure nobody shows up to testify."
The lead man signaled with his hand, spreading his team across the front yard. One moved toward the generator line at the side of the house; the other two began advancing up the wooden steps, their heavy boots creaking on the pine boards.
May you like
"Miller," I whispered. "Take the flank. I’ll welcome them to Cedar Ridge."
***