Chapter 28
Roque
J udd’s voice was calm and steady, the kind of tone you used when trying to soothe a wounded animal that might lash out. “They want leverage, Roque. That’s all this is. And you don’t kill your leverage, that’s how we know they’re alive and okay.”
I nodded once, my jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Iknewthat, and I’d told myself the same thing a dozen times in the past hour. It was the only thread of logic I could hold on to without unraveling. If this were about control—if Russo wanted to use me—they’d keep Sayla and the kids safe. They’d have to for their plan to work.
But it wasn’t theifsthat were killing me, it was thehows. Not knowingwherethey were or what was happening to themwas eating me alive. My mind kept circling and spiraling through images I couldn’t stop or control. Kaida crying and being scared, Kairo trying to be brave when he shouldn’t have to be, and Sayla forced to protect them both with nothing but her own body and will.
The others had gathered there because it was neutral, secure, and off the grid enough not to draw attention. But I couldn’t stop moving. My skin felt too tight. I needed to do something— anything —besides wait.
Imogen and Judd stood at the far end of the room, a dry-erase board propped against the wall between two windows, already filled with names. The list wasn’t short—officers who’d brushed too close to corruption and were caught intimidating witnesses or planting evidence, only to get slapped on the wrist. Or worse, have “no further action” stamped across their files like that was justice.
Looking at the board, I could feel it in the room—none of us had said it yet, not directly, but it was there in the way everyone moved. The job had rotted under us. The thing we were supposed to believe in, to fight for, had been festering with filth and cover-ups for years, and we were only now starting to peel back the layers.
Beside the names, they were writing addresses—places tied to the syndicate. Safe houses, storage facilities, laundromats, rentals, and any location loosely associated with Titian’s crew went on the list. Kapono was already out checking them one by one. He’d radio in every few minutes with a quick update, and each message made my chest tighten a little more.
Keir finally snapped, storming over to the table and flipping open his laptop. “Screw this,” he muttered. “We’re not doing enough.”
He started typing furiously, pulling up names of known associates, checking tax records, and matching linked addresses. The mayor, his family, his staff, and his new security detail could all be tied into this deeper than we’d guessed.
“Send it all to Kapono,” Judd said without looking up. “Make sure he doesn’t hit them alone.”
We were still in the thick of it when Judd’s phone rang. He stepped away to take it, his posture going stiff the moment he answered. The call didn’t last long, and when he returned, his expression had shifted—more puzzled than worried but not relaxed either.
“That was the hospital.” He held the phone in his hand like it was about to give him another answer. “Topper’s still alive in intensive care, but barely. They ran labs, it’s Hantavirus.”
Everyone stilled.
“Hantavirus?” Keir echoed. “Isn’t that?—”
“A virus carried by rodents,” Judd confirmed, pulling up a page on his phone. “Transmitted through urine, feces, and saliva. It can cause hemorrhagic fever, respiratory failure, and even death.” He read the symptoms aloud: severe fatigue, muscle aches, nausea, abdominal pain, then coughing and shortness of breath. “He’s showing most of them.”
“But there weren’t any signs of rats at Topper’s place,” Kai said, frowning. “Hell, the place was too clean. It smelled like bleach and ammonia the minute we walked in.”
“Exactly,” Judd agreed, his brow furrowing. “It wastooclean like someone scrubbed it hard before we arrived.”
“Which makes sense,” Imogen added quietly, “if someone wanted to cover their tracks, but maybe they missed something.”
“You think someonegavehim the virus?” Kai asked, his voice low.
“I think someone wanted him out of the way,” Judd sighed. “And they didn’t care how slow or painful it would be.”
The room fell quiet again until the sharp buzz of my phone cut through the room like a blade, making me jump. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, it was local but unfamiliar. My gut twisted as I stared at it. It could only be one of two things: another lead or the bastards who took Sayla and the kids.
I braced myself, jaw tight, and answered curtly, “Roque.”
To my surprise, the voice on the other end wasn’t Russo’s or some disguised threat—it was Ned again.
“Roque,” he greeted, his voice low but clear. “My security team and I have been digging a little into your mayor, Walter Griggs.”
I straightened instinctively, shifting my weight as the others in the kitchen looked up.
“He was only elected a year ago,” Ned continued, “after the last mayor was exposed for his… alternate ambitions. Looks like Palmerstown has a habit of choosing the wrong kind of men for the position. We found something we thought you’d want to know about. There’s an old, decommissioned government property about ten minutes out of town that’s been abandoned and forgotten. I’m sending you the address now to add to your list.”
My phone buzzed with the incoming message before I could even respond. I exhaled, the tension in my chest momentarily giving way to a sharp focus. “Thanks,” I said. “Really. If they’reanywherenear there, I’ll bring them home.”
“You do that,” Ned ordered, his tone turning razor-sharp. “And once they’re safe, I’ll help you burn every last one of these bastards to the ground.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Does that include cops?” I explained briefly what we’d uncovered: the names on our board, the ignored red flags, and the buried disciplinary records.
“Especially if it includes those cops,” he confirmed without hesitation. “If your badge protects corruption instead of people, you shouldn’t wear it.”
I hung up and immediately dialed Kapono, my thumb bouncing impatiently against the edge of the phone.
The line rang once, twice, then went dead, so I tried again.
Still nothing.
I cursed under my breath, copied the address from Ned’s message, and shot it through in a text to Kapono. The “read” notification popped up a moment later, but there was no reply.
Imogen looked up from her laptop. “Maybe he’s scoping the place. If people are nearby, he might not want to risk answering.”
Judd and I locked eyes across the kitchen, both of us thinking the same thing— something didn’t feel right.
“I can’t just sit here and wait,” I growled, pushing away from the counter. “I need to move.”
Before anyone could stop me, I grabbed my keys and stepped onto the porch, already heading for my SUV. I slid into the driver’s seat, heart thudding, mind locked in overdrive, when my phone rang again.
This time, the caller ID made my jaw clench—Mayor Griggs.
I stared at the screen for a beat before answering, forcing myself into a neutral tone. “Roque.”
“Detective,” he said, with too much familiarity in his voice. “I heard what happened. It’s just awful. I want you to know I’m behind you a hundred percent. You’re one of the best we have.”
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. I hated how he said we like we were on the same side.
“In fact,” he continued, “I’ve always thought you should be sheriff. I’ve said so since the day we were introduced.”
I grit my teeth and, without saying a word, typed a quick text to Judd: Get outside now.
Then, I activated the speaker and kept my voice calm. “I appreciate that, but I have full confidence in Sheriff Bailey. Right now, I’m focused on finding my family.”
There was a pause until, smoothly, the mayor replied, “Of course, of course. And actually, I wanted to share something. I have reason to believe Chief Topper was involved in something illegal, I’d like you to look into it.”
Judd slid into the passenger seat silently, catching on immediately as I glanced at him and nodded once.
“That right?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve been keeping my eye on a few things, so I have documents and recordings to back it up. I’d be happy to share them once you’re free.”
I didn’t respond.
“You think you’ll find them?” he asked after a beat, his voice curious. Too curious.
I met Judd’s eyes and said without hesitation, “Absolutely.”
There was a pause on the other end, and the mayor’s voice dropped slightly. “Interesting. Well, call me when you’re free. I think you’ll want to see what I’ve got.”
The line went dead.
Judd stared at me. “He’s up to his neck.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, setting the phone down. “And he’s starting to squirm.”
If the mayor was starting to squirm, that meant the walls were closing in. It meant the pressure was getting to him, and our questions were brushing too close to whatever he was trying to hide. People like him didn’t get nervous unless something valuable or damning was at risk of being exposed. And if that was the case, we weren’t just circling the truth anymore, we were on its doorstep. And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, that didn’t feel like a warning—it felt like a sign. We were right where we needed to be.
Kapono
The engine was still running when I found the patrol vehicle, headlights casting long beams down the empty stretch of road. I pulled up behind it, cut my engine, and stepped out slowly, already knowing what I’d find.
Briggs’s body was sprawled a few feet from the car, twisted like a puppet someone had dropped mid-performance. His limbs were bent at unnatural angles, and his eyes—those smug, arrogant eyes—were wide open, fixed on the sky like he was surprised to be dead. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the dirt and cracked asphalt, fresh enough to glisten in the dark. Judging by the angle and the pattern, it looked like a car hit him hard, maybe by someone with more intention behind the wheel.
I crouched next to him and scanned the scene without emotion. We'd already had his name on our list of dirty cops, nothing about him had ever sat right. There’d been too many complaints and favors. Too many reports had been swept under the rug with the same tired phrase— “No further action.”
So, no, I didn’t feel sorry for him.
But I was curious.
What did he do wrong? Did he have a moment of hesitation? A flash of sympathy he hadn’t felt in years. Or was it just a mistake—an arrogant misstep that caught up to him faster than he expected? Knowing Briggs, I figured it was the latter. That man didn’t have it in him to grow a conscience.
I stood and called it in, keeping my voice steady. Then, I returned to my vehicle and headed toward the location Roque had just sent me. Another long shot—but this time, I had a feeling.
All night, it had felt like everything was spiraling out of control. One thing after another—lies, threats, moves made in the dark. Briggs was dead, Topper was in the ICU, and Sayla and the kids were still missing. The syndicate was pushing harder than ever like they thought tonight was the endgame. I couldn’t figure out what they thought they were gaining from all this. Didn’t they realize it was too much and too loud? This was the kind of mess that burned bridges and exposed cracks—notthe kind you walked away from.
I killed the engine a few blocks from the property and approached on foot, moving through the dark without a sound. The place looked old and forgotten—precisely the kind of building people passed every day without really seeing. That made it perfect for hiding something or someone.
I made a slow loop around the exterior, checking for cameras, lights, or any sign of movement. Then, I found a narrow window, almost hidden behind an old storage shed. It was painted shut and probably hadn’t been opened in years, but the glass was dusty, not boarded, and the interior was dark enough that I thought I could slip in undetected.
I pulled my knife from its sheath and worked it under the thick paint sealing the frame. Years of weather and neglect had made it stubborn, but it gave slowly. I was almost there when something shifted behind the glass.
I froze, every muscle locking tight as a shadow moved behind the glass. For a split second, my body tensed for the worst—another guard, another player in this twisted game—but then the light shifted, and her face came into view. Sayla. She was right there, just beyond the grimy windowpane, her eyes wide and searching in the low light.
My heart stuttered, the kind of sharp jolt you feel when something you’ve been afraid to hope for suddenly becomes real. Relief surged through me, fast and hot, but I forced myself to stay calm and steady. This wasn’t over yet. I leaned in slowly, careful not to make a sound, and tapped once against the glass to catch her attention. Our eyes locked, and I could see the tension in her shoulders shift slightly.
I mouthed slowly and clearly, ‘ I’ve got you.’ And I meant every damn syllable. However we had to do it, whatever it took, we were getting her and those kids out tonight.
Sayla’s expression shifted suddenly. Her eyes flicked to something behind her, then to me, urgency in her face. She mouthed, ‘Someone’s coming , ’ and I reacted immediately. I held up my hand, signaling her to return to the kids. She hesitated just long enough for our eyes to lock, then nodded and dropped out of sight. I shifted my position, pressing my back against the wall out of view from the window, just as the light inside the room flicked on.
Voices followed, low and muffled.
I leaned in slowly and carefully and peered through the corner of the window, squinting past the filth that coated the glass. Still wearing that smug, political sheen like a second skin, Walter Griggs stood with his hands clasped in front of him like he was attending some formal event rather than orchestrating whatever the hell this was. But the man beside him set my instincts firing on all cylinders.
He didn’t belong.
His suit was too sharp, his stance too polished. He looked like he’d stepped out of a boardroom, not a backroom deal. Smooth, confident, too comfortable in a room that shouldn’t feel comfortable to anyone with a conscience. He was the kind of guy who didn’t get his hands dirty, he had other people do it for him. And every subtle twitch of his expression screamed control and danger. Titian, it had to be.
I eased my phone from my jacket and raised it just enough to frame them through the corner of the window. There was no flash or sound, just one clean photo.
I dropped back behind the wall and quickly opened a message to Roque.
Visual confirmation : The mayor and possibly Titian are at the location. It's too risky to move. Do not approach. They’re with Sayla and the kids. Wait for my call.
I attached the photo and hit send, and a second later, the message showed as delivered.
Inside, the voices carried on, low and clipped, with a steady cadence that sent a chill crawling down my spine. I couldn’t make out the exact words through the thick pane of glass and the years of grime sealing it, but I didn’t need to hear them to understand the tone. This wasn’t a conversation or a negotiation, it was business. The kind of talk that came from men who expected obedience and delivered consequences—it was orders, not a discussion.
I stayed pressed against the outer wall, motionless, listening to the rhythm—short sentences followed by longer pauses, as if things were being agreed upon, signed off, and decided without question. My breath came slow and shallow, my heart pounding with a steady urgency—not panic but something razor-sharp and deliberate.
Sayla was doing her part inside, staying calm, keeping the kids safe, and protecting them with every ounce of strength she had. Now, it was on me to do mine. I had the window mostly loosened, the photos, and the confirmation. All I needed was for the light inside to go dark again. Once they were gone, I’d finish cutting through the last edge of the paint, and I was getting them out.