Chapter 15
Fletcher stepped into the station house and was immediately greeted by a smile, followed by a frown and a wiggle of a finger.
“What the hell, Fletcher?” Anna, Dawson’s secretary, learned against the counter. “I was told there was an incident, but I wasn’t given the bloody details.”
“Bullet went in.” He tapped the front of his biceps. “And came out clean on the other side.”
“You’ve always been able to downplay any injury.” Anna shook her head. “I bet Baily didn’t appreciate that.”
“Nope.” Fletcher chuckled. “She nearly bit my head off.”
“So, the two of you are…back together…for good?” Anna asked with a twinkle in her eye and a half grin.
“That’s my plan,” Fletcher said. “If I can manage not to screw it up again.”
“At least you’re willing to admit you’re the one who mucked it up to begin with.”
“I might be a little dumb in the romance department, but I’m not a fool.” He pointed down the hall.
Anna nodded. “Dawson’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” Fletcher made his way down the corridor.
Dawson stepped from his office. “How’s the arm?”
“Fine.” Fletcher rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly. “Spent a few minutes with Decker. He’s no worse for the wear, but Emily’s gonna keep him a day or two.”
“I’m so glad he’s going to be okay.”
Fletcher nodded. “He’s all fired up, though. Ready to take on the Barbaros, and I can’t blame him. I want this shit to be over. For Baily to have some peace. Her life has been hard for too long.”
“We’ll get that for her.” Dawson waved a hand, then tucked a folder under his arm. “Let’s go have a chat with this asshole.”
Fletcher followed Dawson into the interview room. A stillness settled over him, reminding him of darker days.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet Fletcher hated—thick, oppressive, unnatural.
The walls felt closer with every second that ticked by.
Dawson sat across the metal table from their shooter—a wiry man in his early forties with the leathery skin of someone who’d spent too much time in the sun and too little time around people.
His brown eyes were flat, unreadable. His hands were cuffed to a metal ring bolted to the table, but he didn’t fidget. Didn’t twitch. Didn’t blink.
Fletcher leaned against the wall, his arm still throbbing beneath fresh gauze as a reminder. Not that he needed one.
The bastard had waited in the brush, watched Fletcher hike up the trail, and then pulled the trigger. If Fletcher had taken one more step to the right, the bullet wouldn’t have grazed his arm. It would’ve gone straight through his neck.
But the man hadn’t missed.
Not entirely.
Fletcher wondered if he’d aimed for the arm on purpose.
Dawson tapped a pen against the tabletop with a rhythm that bordered on irritating. Which, Fletcher knew, was the point.
“So,” Dawson said, his tone casual, as usual.
It was Dawson’s style. Not much rattled the man, and if it did, he rarely let it show.
At least not with a suspect. “We found your perch. You built a nice little nest up there. Perfect view of the ridge. A little off the main path, but not too far for a clean shot. You a hunter, or just enjoy creeping in the woods with a rifle?”
Silence.
The man stared ahead, unmoved and unfazed.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or did the Barbaros tell you to keep your mouth shut?”
Nothing.
Fletcher shifted his stance and stepped closer. “You know, I was trying to figure out your angle. You could’ve killed me. You didn’t. Which means you weren’t trying to. Which means you’re either not a murderer, or you were sent to deliver a message.”
Dawson clapped his hands once, loudly, making the man blink. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were hired to send a message. A simple one. Scare the pretty girl. Put the town on edge. Stir up a little chaos. Then sit back and watch what we do in the wake of all that chaos.”
Still, the man said nothing.
Dawson leaned in. “The thing is, my friend here doesn’t scare easy. And neither does the woman you were trying to rattle. So, you might want to consider talking before the Barbaros decide you’re a liability for not finishing the job because we both know what happens to liabilities.”
That got a twitch of the eyes.
Just a flicker, barely noticeable. But it was there.
Fletcher took a step closer and opened the folder Dawson had placed on the table. He pulled out the folded photo Dawson had printed off. It was a wide-angle shot from the park ranger’s trail cam. The man in the photo, aiming a rifle. Clear as day. He slapped it on the table. “What’s your name?”
The man stared at the photo.
“You talk to us,” Fletcher said, voice low, steady. “Or we let your employers think you already have because we have friends in high places who can find out who you are, and we can deliver our own message. Which would you prefer?”
The man’s lips parted. “I’m not afraid of you,” he said.
“Okay.” Dawson rifled through the folder until he found an image of the Barbaros. “But you should be afraid of them. Afraid of what they’ll do to you or your loved ones. Now you can cooperate with us, and we’ll protect you. Or we can feed you to the wolves. It’s your call.”
The man shifted his gaze between Dawson and Fletcher. “You’re right. It wasn’t a kill order.”
Dawson shot Fletcher a look. “Progress. Now tell me who gave you that order. I need you to say it.”
“A man I only knew as Oliver. Said he worked for the Barbaros. Said the woman had been causing problems. That hurting her wasn’t the goal. I was to make her feel vulnerable. Unsafe. That hurting him would make her weigh her options more carefully as the Barbaros moved ahead with their plans.”
Fletcher clenched his jaw. “You could’ve missed. I wasn’t standing still. You could’ve hit something vital.”
The man nodded. “But I didn’t. I’m good at what I do.
I waited for the right time. Only mistake I made was following orders by sitting around and watching because Oliver failed to mention that the parks and rec guy would call for the police chief and some trained military sniper guy.
” The man rubbed his thigh. “I still need medical attention.”
“The EMTs took a look at that.” Dawson waved his hand. “Flesh wound. Barely a scratch.” Dawson crossed his arms and leaned back. “What about the poison?”
He blinked, jerking his head back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hit on Decker? The man enjoying lunch at Massey’s Pub,” Dawson said. “How do you explain that?”
The man shook his head slowly. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.
They never said a word about any other guy I was supposed to deal with.
Just the parks and rec man. The Barbaros.
.. They don’t let the left hand know what the right one’s doing.
Layers on layers. You’re just a cog in the wheel. ”
Fletcher leaned forward. “Why take the job? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who takes orders easily.” Not that he had any insight into this guy, but he thought he’d take a stab in the dark. It couldn’t hurt.
The man exhaled, long and slow. “Because they have my brother over the coals. I do this for them, and they let him off the hook.”
Dawson's tone hardened. “What’s your brother’s name? And while we’re at it, we still don’t know yours.”
“My name is John. My brother’s Mark Jensen. He’s not a part of any of this. Just a mechanic from Jacksonville. Doesn’t even own a gun.”
“What do the Barbaros want with Mark?” Dawson asked.
John closed his eyes for a long moment before blinking them open.
“A couple of years ago, they loaned him money. I was still in the Marines. I didn’t know, or I would’ve told my brother to tell those assholes to fuck off.
But they come in all sweet at first. Promise you this and that.
Then they have you sign on the dotted line, only you don’t have a flipping clue as to what you’re actually signing, and next thing my brother knows, he’s laundering money for these people.
And strange packages are being delivered. Turns out, they’re drugs.”
Fletcher's pulse ticked faster. He turned to Dawson. “So, what you’re saying is if you did this favor for them, your brother gets his shop back, free and clear.”
“That’s what they said.” John nodded.
“And you believed them?” Dawson asked.
“No. Not really. But what else was I supposed to do?” John asked. “Besides, if I didn’t do it, they told me they’d turn on Mark. Set him up to take a fall, and off to prison he’d go. My little brother couldn’t handle something like that. He’s a good man, a little soft, and prison would break him.”
Dawson rubbed the back of his neck. “You just stepped into a minefield, pal. You want to help your brother? Start talking faster. Every detail. Names. Contacts. Where you stayed last night. You give us enough, we’ll forget about you taking a shot at my friend over there, and we’ll help you get your brother out alive and with his shop intact. ”
The man hesitated, gaze darting to Fletcher, then Dawson. He looked tired. Like a man in too deep to swim but not quite ready to drown.
“How do I know this isn’t bullshit to get me to lay over?” John asked.
“You don’t.” Dawson arched a brow. “But it’s either me or the Barbaros. Time to pick a side.”
“Fine. I’ll talk,” he said finally. “But I don’t know much, except what little my brother’s filled me in on how they operate.”
“I might be a small-town cop, but I know people in high places.” Dawson stood, gathering the paperwork.
“For your safety, I’m going to need to keep you here.
” He pulled out his keys and uncuffed John.
“I’m gonna call in a friend who’s ex-FBI.
She’ll come and have a little chat with you, and I expect you to tell her everything.
She’ll get eyes on your brother and make sure nothing happens to him while we set up our sting operation here. ”