Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Keira
“So this Donny Phelan is our primary suspect.” Dean glanced up at me from the paper he’d been studying. “What’s your level of certainty?”
We were sitting at my dining table with the contents of a file strewn across the tabletop. A tablet screen showed more photos and information about Phelan.
“Not high,” I said. “But this is what we’ve got.”
We’d spent the rest of yesterday and this morning going through everything I remembered about the night of the shooting, including my confrontation with Donny Phelan at the roadhouse.
Maybe that had just been a coincidence, but cops rarely believed in coincidences.
Usually, when something happened at a certain place and time, there was a reason for it. Motives mattered.
River, our friendly neighborhood hacker, had provided us with both the police report and some preliminary background on Phelan. River had agreed to keep our project to himself and under the radar of the rest of the Protectors, including Sheriff Owen Douglas.
The sheriff was still keeping me at arm’s length from the official investigation, which of course I understood.
He had to be careful to keep things clean.
Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Owen knew River had access to confidential department records.
Owen might’ve even given him that access. But it was all about deniability.
By now, Dean and I had read through the sheriff’s report and the transcripts of the interviews with the witnesses at the roadhouse that night: Misty, the server.
The bartender. Even Stephie and Vivian, who’d given statements too.
There was no security camera footage from the roadhouse, though the dashboard cam on my personal vehicle had recorded my arrival and departure.
Aside from that, we had little to go on. Phelan had an alibi, and unless he talked to the police and gave something away, the official investigation had to look elsewhere for leads.
As for the DNA evidence from the shooter I’d managed to wound, the technicians hadn’t found any matches in the national databases. Another dead end unless the sheriff had a suspect to compare samples.
But maybe Dean and I could somehow knock something loose. Unofficially.
As we looked through the papers and scrolled through the info on the tablet, I kept casting glances at Dean. It was impossible not to. Having him this close after so much time apart was distracting.
My chest ached with longing I couldn’t quite suppress. I’d tried staying angry at him. Lord knew I’d tried. But my anger was slippery, and underneath it, something softer kept rising to the surface.
Was it just a physical reaction to this man? Something about his pheromones made me weak when he got near.
Brynn had been here when Dean arrived this morning. He’d brought coffee and breakfast for all three of us. To-go containers from Jessi’s Diner with omelets and home fries, danishes and fruit. An entire spread.
After breakfast, Brynn had pulled me aside and asked if I was really okay with having Dean around again. I’d explained that we were going to do some investigating of our own into Donny Phelan, though I’d left out the whole revenge thing.
Brynn wouldn’t necessarily have a problem with vigilante justice. But I hadn’t wanted her to worry about me.
“I can handle Dean,” I’d said.
“I know you can. Just wanted to make sure you know it too. And that you know that I know.”
“I’m confused, B.”
She’d laughed. “Me too. You’re fine with my leaving you alone with him? Thought I’d get in some gym time today. Trace offered to spar with me. I look forward to handing him his ass.”
“Yeah, go. Have fun. I’m good.”
Then after Brynn left, Dean and I spent hours going over the files on Phelan. I was wearing the fuzzy socks Dean had given me, and last night, I’d slept with the new throw blanket over me and the lavender candle on my nightstand.
Yesterday, after I’d told Dean to leave, he’d defied me and stayed. I was trying not to read too much into that. Even though all the things he’d said yesterday kept running laps around my head.
I missed you. I care about you.
I’m going to find the men who hurt you.
I’d be damned if I let him treat me like some helpless damsel in distress. But I’d be lying if I said his words didn’t affect me.
None of that mattered. Once we were finished with this, whatever this really was, he would leave. I was determined not to fall under his spell again. No pining for him, no daydreams. Absolutely none.
I had a zero-tolerance policy for romantic feelings toward this man.
“Alright,” Dean said. “Let’s go over what we have so far on Phelan. Even on paper, I can’t stand this guy.”
I huffed a laugh. “Trust me, he’s worse in person.”
Donny Phelan was thirty-two years old. A self-made media tycoon who’d first gotten attention through posting rage bait on social media.
He’d quickly amassed a following of hundreds of thousands, who now tuned in every week for his online show, which he also reposted as a podcast. He ranted about current events and put forth his opinions about how to fix the world. Mainly, it was all about blaming women.
His show was called The Real Man Formula.
Phelan had moved here to Hart County in the last year, buying up a massive property, as the roadhouse bartender had told me.
Phelan made money from his show via advertising, but the real money was in merch and all the extras he’d started selling.
Like personal coaching, supplements, books on his Real Man Formula for finding your inner masculine strength, and online seminars on the same subject.
We’d even listened to a couple episodes of the show.
It had sounded like he stuck a variety of sound bites in a blender, mixed them up, and spewed them back out, claiming to have all the secrets they don’t want you to know.
It had a lot to do with the dangers of women working, talking, having independent thought.
A real catch, this guy.
Dean shifted through the papers, looking contemplative. “So, Phelan imagines himself as a Real Man. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. But we need to understand how much is marketing and hype, and how much he really believes. What makes him tick. Who he’s connected to.”
“Right,” I said. “The average podcaster doesn’t have trained killers on standby to call up in case he wants to teach an off-duty cop a lesson.”
From everything we’d learned, Phelan wasn’t the type of guy to forget about being humiliated, especially by a woman. Yes, sending masked gunmen to kill me was an extreme reaction. But I’d heard of worse.
Dean rubbed his jaw. “I need to talk to him. Face to face. As sheriff, Owen can’t question Phelan if he’s invoked his right to an attorney, but I’m a private citizen. I can ask him any questions I want.”
“You mean, we need to talk to him.”
Dean stared across the table at me. “You’re a cop. That means you’re barred by the same rules as Owen.”
“I don’t feel like a cop right now. I’ll be acting as a civilian, just like you.
We can’t force him to talk to us, but if he’s willing?
” I pointed at the background on Phelan on the tablet screen.
“The man is all about saving face. Looking important and authoritative. If I come to him, he won’t be able to resist finding out what I have to say. If only so he can tell me I’m wrong.”
“Maybe. But you’re still healing. If he lays a hand on you…”
“That’s not his style. The worst he might do is say nasty things to me.
So what? The important thing is, I doubt he’ll refuse to talk to us if I’m there.
It’s one thing to hide behind his lawyer when it comes to the sheriff.
But hiding from the little girl who made him look foolish in that parking lot? ”
Dean’s fist squeezed a pen so hard it creaked.
And then the thin metal snapped, making me jump. He muttered a curse, wiping ink on a spare piece of paper.
“But you have to stay calm,” I pointed out.
“I’m always calm.”
“I thought you were. When we first met, you had this whole Zen aura going on. All quiet and thoughtful, listening behind the bar to other people’s problems. Now, I’m not so sure.” He’d always been mysterious to me. But just how much of himself had Dean hidden under the surface?
“I’m a highly controlled person, Keira. I may not be a sniper anymore, but those skills are ingrained.”
“Right. Highly controlled. Says the guy who punched a wall and just destroyed an innocent writing instrument.”
“It seems I’m sensitive when the subject is your safety.”
I raised my eyebrows.
I’d been thinking constantly about what else Dean had confessed yesterday. That he’d been a government assassin. I just couldn’t imagine him killing someone. The man I’d gotten to know when he lived in Hart County was so different from that image.
“All right,” he said. “I guarantee I will stay calm when we’re having our casual, unofficial chat with Donny Phelan.”
“Or I could do this by myself. You can be my driver and wait in the car.”
“No way in hell,” he growled. Not his usual, laid-back voice at all. But the sound of it sent vibrations of pure want along my spine and down between my thighs.
Shit. Dean had always been sexy to me when he was gentle and sweet. Pure catnip. But vengeful Dean?
Dangerous. In every sense of the word.
I wanted to drive out that very afternoon. But Dean urged caution. He wanted me to get past my next physical therapy appointment and make sure I was healing well.
We also took the time to do a bit of recon, getting a better sense of the online activities of Mr. Real Man Formula. Filling in more details.
Phelan was one of those people who kept his followers apprised of his daily activities, which made it pretty easy to predict when he would be home. He always recorded his show on Wednesdays and spent Tuesdays on prep work.
Which meant he’d probably have the time to see us on a Tuesday as well, if we could convince him. We figured surprise was better than trying to make an appointment and giving the guy a chance to claim a scheduling conflict.
On one Tuesday afternoon, Dean pulled up in front of my house in a beat-up truck. I climbed inside. The interior smelled faintly of old leather and motor oil, and the bench seat was patched with duct tape in two places.
“Hey,” he said. “I brought drinks in case you need an afternoon pick-me-up. Coffee for me, chai for you.” He nodded at the two cups in the center console.
“Thanks. Extra caffeine is probably good.” Though I’d already been up early to style my curls. I would be spending all day with Dean. Could you blame a girl for wanting to look good?
Since we’d started working together, this was my first time venturing outside my house with him, and somehow, it felt momentous. Not just because we were going to see Donny Phelan.
“Brynn told me you bought a truck,” I said. “People have been talking about you in town. Nobody knows exactly where you’re staying or what you’ve been up to.”
I’d also decided not to ask him those questions myself. Because I wasn’t supposed to care. Yet here I was, bringing it up.
“People do like to talk in small towns,” he remarked. Giving nothing away.
Fine. Whatever. After this was over, Dean was going to leave again. That was what I had to keep reminding myself.
The Phelan property was almost an hour’s drive away. We took a winding mountain road north, climbing through stands of pine and aspen until the trees thinned and the view opened up. Late spring had painted the landscape in vivid greens. Snowy peaks rose in the distance.
Then we descended into an open, sweeping vista.
Rolling hills stretched as far as I could see, divided by split-rail fences and studded with grazing cattle.
It was breathtaking. Views like this were the reason I’d never wanted to leave Hart County.
Dean was the opposite. Always in search of something newer and better, it seemed.
Today he was quiet, his hands squeezing the steering wheel and making it squeak. Those white knuckles gave away the tension he was feeling.
Funny enough, I wasn’t even that nervous about seeing Phelan again.
Maybe it was because I was finally doing something, and that felt good. Or maybe it was just knowing that Dean was going to be there beside me. No matter how frustrated I got with him, I did like being around him. And I certainly needed his help with this makeshift investigation.
“So,” I said. “We still haven’t settled on our approach.”
“I know.” The muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I really think you should let me take the lead. We go in, and I politely explain to Phelan that we’d like his help.
I’ll ask if he noticed anything suspicious at the roadhouse that night.
Give him cover for engaging with us and playing along, so that he can act like the hero. ”
“Then we’re just inviting him to lie.”
“We have to expect he’ll lie regardless. But the liar always gives something away. Some hint of the truth. That’s what we need. We need certainty that he actually did this. If it wasn’t him, there’s no point in us wasting our time.”
The house appeared in the distance. It sat on a rise, commanding a view of the entire valley, with a circular driveway and a huge garage off to one side.
“You and I both have the same strategy,” I argued. “We want to get him to show his hand. But I think making him angry will be the fastest and most effective approach. You just don’t want him to say mean things to me.”
“Of course I don’t. You made me promise to stay calm. If he’s mean to you, it’ll be much harder.”
“And who exactly are you supposed to be, anyway? In this scenario where we show up and you’re all buddy-buddy with him at first.”
“Your friend. Exactly what I am.”
My chaperone, more like, I thought.
“Are we friends again?” I asked. “Have I given my consent to that?”
Dean chuckled. “I’ll keep working on earning back your friendship.”
I kept my eyes on the view outside the window. “We can compromise.”
“Frenemies?”
I snorted a laugh. “No. I mean about the approach to Phelan. We’ll start your way. Playing nice, asking for his help. But if that doesn’t work, I’ll try my way. Provoking him. And you will be the calm, reasonable Dean you usually are.”
Because there was no way Phelan would actually lay a finger on me today. He didn’t seem like the type to get his hands dirty, certainly not in front of an audience.
Dean smiled, and there was a new edge to it. Something harder and far more intimidating. A brief glimpse beneath his surface.
“Alright. The good cop/bad cop routine. Sounds like a plan.”