Chapter 14 #2
Mason shook his head. “But when I told him I didn’t know her, he smiled. Just a little. And said…” His voice faltered. “‘If you see her, tell her Donovan’s looking for her.’”
The words settled like a weight. The air felt heavier in the room, and a steel band tightened around Ethan’s chest.
“What happened next?” Ethan asked.
“I hesitated,” Mason said, his voice unsteady. “Something about him felt…wrong. I was gonna call the police after he left. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, set it on the counter.” His hand drifted to the bandage on his head. “I think he noticed.”
Mason swallowed hard, his throat working.
“He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me, like he was trying to decide what I was.
” Mason shook his head. “Then he dragged me across the checkout counter and threw me into the shelves. Hard. Chips went everywhere.” His jaw worked as he forced the words out.
“He stood over me, hand on a gun, and then looked up like he heard something. Then he hit me and ran.”
Liam kept his voice even. “Did you recognize him?”
Mason frowned. “Not right then. It didn’t click until after.”
Ethan leaned in slightly. “After what?”
“After he left,” Mason said. “I saw the report on the news later about the prison escape in South Carolina, and it hit me.” His voice dropped. “Same eyes. Same tattoo. Same look.”
Silence pressed in.
“I didn’t want it to be him.”
Ethan and Liam exchanged a look.
“You did the right thing coming forward,” Liam said. “We’ll take it from here.”
Mason nodded, relief flickering across his face.
Ethan handed him a business card. “My cell number is on the back. If you think of anything else, let us know.”
“Take care of yourself,” Liam said.
Outside the room, the door clicking shut behind them, the hallway felt too bright.
“That photo isn’t public,” Liam said quietly. “He got Aubrey’s picture from somewhere. Or someone.”
“We’ve got a leak,” Ethan finished. “And Donovan’s acting the part of a fed to get people off guard.” Ethan pulled out his phone again, already moving down the corridor. “And now,” he added, voice hardening, “we stop assuming he’s reacting.”
Because Finn Donovan wasn’t chasing ghosts. He was hunting with information.
Ethan’s phone buzzed as they left Mason’s room. He checked the messages. “It’s Montgomery. Renegade PD has a tip on the whereabouts of Finn Donovan.”
“Where?”
“Southwold area. Near the old rail depot. There are a lot of places to hide. Abandoned warehouses, old row houses that are used by gangs. Someone spotted him hanging out.”
Liam exhaled. “No way. There’s no way he’d be that stupid and risk getting caught. More likely it’s misdirection.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Are we sure it’s Donovan?”
“They used the prison description, photos on file. Montgomery texted Aubrey. RPD had an APB out on him.”
“Good. Any word on Rousseau or Frost?”
“Nobody has seen or heard from Rousseau in a couple of days. He might be in Costa Rica for all we know.”
“I hope not. Only problem is, lot of people in this town love the Rousseaus and would do anything for them.” The elevator doors opened, and Ethan pressed the button for the first floor.
“Even hide a fugitive,” Liam said.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Rousseau has to be someplace close. There’s too much at stake.” Ethan tried to keep their conversation on a lower decibel level, although it was difficult to be heard with all the traffic around the hospital.
“Agreed. I’ll go back and check with Destiny Rousseau once I drop you off at the office.”
“Good. Take Montgomery or Albright with you. We don’t need another ambush, and none of us needs to be alone with Destiny Rousseau.” Ethan scanned the hospital parking lot.
Everything looked normal enough. Family members going inside to see a loved one. A florist delivery van. Transportation vans and wheelchairs lining the curb.
After Ethan dropped Liam off at the courthouse, he called dispatch and asked for backup from local PD at the house where Donovan had supposedly been seen.
The farther he drove from downtown Renegade, toward Southwold, the emptier the streets became. Abandoned cars had rusted where they’d been left, warehouse parking lots gaped open and unused, and the houses between them looked hollow—windows dark, doors sagging, no sign of life.
The hum of the tires filled the cab, but a thought nagged him. Stanton hadn’t checked in yet.
Ethan’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. “Butler.”
“You going to tell me what’s been going on with you?” Rudy Patterson asked over the line. “Because someone just handed me a missing piece to this case. Who, or what, is the Shadow Syndicate?”
Ethan slowed at an intersection where the traffic lights hung dark and lifeless. An abandoned sedan sat half on the curb, corrosion creeping along the doors. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“They’re the reason I was suspended recently,” he said.
He let out a slow breath, unsure he’d meant to say that.
But right now, there was zero point keeping anyone in the dark.
Lives were at stake. “Except it wasn’t a suspension.
It was a covert assignment. I was tracking Roger Rousseau, and I ran into Draven Frost.”
“And no one knew?” Patterson said. “You got no whiff of the operation they were working on.”
“I couldn’t risk anyone here knowing, so I leaned on a friend in Denver.
” His jaw flexed as he passed a dilapidated house.
“I tailed Rousseau for days. I came back empty-handed, and now this? He and Frost must’ve gone to ground after they met, waiting for the right moment to hijack that decommissioned plane. ”
A rusted pickup sat on the side of the road, tires flat, windshield cracked. Ethan eased around it, eyes tracking the shadows between warehouses.
“The file I got didn’t come through official channels,” Patterson said. “Someone leaked it. Quietly. And whoever did that didn’t want their name attached.”
Ethan’s jaw clenched. “Meaning?”
“Meaning someone inside law enforcement, or adjacent to it, knows what the syndicate is. And they’re scared enough to stay invisible. Probably worried about backlash.”
He turned onto a street with no streetlights. “Sounds right. After all, the syndicate has had several people killed recently.”
“My boss, ASAC Kumar, and I think it intersects.”
Ethan’s grip tightened on the wheel.
“Two potential witnesses are dead, and anyone else who might’ve known something has gone quiet.”
Ethan said, “From what Detective Martinelli and Luca Saxon have pieced together, the syndicate has been developing something dangerous. A designer drug, supposedly more addictive and profitable than anything on the market. We’re starting to see it creep into the market around town.”
“Watch your back, I guess,” Patterson said, voice low. “Because if the leak is real, you’re not just hunting ghosts. Someone’s been watching who you talk to and where you go.”
Ethan said, “Another potential witness, Dr. Torres, was killed before we could confirm who was pulling the strings. Our best guess? Someone higher up planned to sell the formula to the highest bidder. Might’ve had cartel involvement, they weren’t sure.
Everything went dark after Torres’s death.
” He paused, glancing at street numbers. “Until now.”
“I’ll continue to work this on my end. Stay safe.” Patterson disconnected the call.
For the first time, Ethan had said more than the official report ever had, and now the weight of it pressed heavily on both of them. But he wasn’t facing this alone.
He wasn’t sure what to make of it. There just wasn’t enough evidence.
Ethan drummed out a beat on the console, ready to question Donovan. Their only hope right now was that the convicted felon would talk, implicating whoever was behind this scheme.
He drove up to a row of dilapidated houses in the Southwold area of Renegade. A couple of police cruisers pulled up behind his truck, lights off. Rusty chain-link fences in need of repair surrounded most houses. The tipster’s house was no exception.
A couple of dogs barked from behind a fence, and the sound of a car backfiring split the air.
Ethan cautiously exited the vehicle and stepped over a missing plank on the porch.
An old aluminum storm door hung at an odd angle, the glass missing from the top portion and now covered with a piece of cardboard.
He waved to one of the officers to take position off to the side of the house.
Ethan rapped on the door while the other uniformed officers crouched behind open cruiser doors, weapons ready. A single officer stood behind him at the door, backing him up.
A baby’s thin wail drifted through the house. Then a hesitant squeak—the door cracked open an inch.
“Who are you? What do you want?” The woman who appeared couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but life had aged her, hard.
Her skin hung loose against sharp cheekbones.
Dark circles bruised the skin beneath eyes that had seen too much.
A baby clung to her hip, and formula was smeared across the woman’s faded rock-band tee.
Ethan kept his voice steady. “Ma’am, I’m with the US Marshals Service. I’m Deputy Marshal Butler. Did you send the tip about Finn Donovan?”
“Yeah.” Her gaze darted past him, toward the street, scanning the shadows like she expected someone to be watching.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Ethan said gently.
“Make it quick. My old man’ll skin me alive if he finds out I talked to you.”
“Where is he now?”
“Not here.” The rasp in her voice hinted at cigarettes and sleepless nights.
“How do you know Donovan?”
“He’s friends with my old man.” She hitched the baby higher on her hip, eyes restless.
“When did you last see him?”
A siren screamed somewhere down the block. The woman flinched, her eyes going wide with terror.
“’Bout an hour ago,” she whispered. “Said he was meeting some guy named Roger. And another one. Down at the old warehouse on State Street.”
Ethan knew that place. Before he could press further, she slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
He exhaled slowly. “Finally, something I can work with.”
As he walked back to the SUV, the officer who’d gone with him muttered, “That woman’s scared out of her mind. Hope she makes it through the night.”
Ethan glanced back at the house—paint peeling, curtains drawn, silence pressing in. “Me too,” he said quietly. “Come on, I need backup over to the warehouse.”
As soon as they were done, he needed to check in with Stanton.
Ethan cranked the SUV and sped through town, his mouth set in a grim line. He navigated the narrow streets, dodging potholes, until he finally pulled in beside the other cop cars.
The warehouse rose out of the dark, empty and watchful.
Graffiti covered the brown brick, and windows were missing panes.
Pieces of metal were scattered across the faded blacktop.
He sat in the truck for a second, observing the area.
No sounds or activity came from the old building.
A flock of crows sat on the electrical wire strung across the lot.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered to no one in particular.
He hadn’t heard from Stanton or Aubrey. No calls, not even a text.
Ethan
Stanton, check in. Where are you?
His phone indicated the text was sent, but no answering bubbles. Unread.
An overwhelming need to pray tightened his chest, his pulse thudding hard enough to hurt. Lately, it felt like his words vanished the moment they left him.
Please, God. Keep Aubrey safe.