Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dean
Nox Woodson had to be one of the shooters who’d attacked Keira. He could lead us to the second.
We needed to know all we could about him. Had to know where he went, who he spent time with, what he was hiding. But it was too risky to show up on Phelan’s doorstep again. Even if it would’ve been funny to see the look on that asshole’s face.
The access to the security cameras at Phelan’s place, provided by River, was a good first step.
From watching the feed, we noticed Woodson now had a limp.
Keira swore he hadn’t been limping the day she saw him in person.
Which suggested Woodson had been the driver of the car that followed us and tried to force us off the road.
No matter what, I would not put Keira in danger again. Not until she was actually healed and ready to fight back.
So stealth would be our friend. Like a sniper roosting in a nest.
One Friday night, I parked us on a dark, deserted stretch of road, concealed by some trees. Keira and I were both dressed in dark, nondescript clothing.
“I’ve got him.” She tapped at her screen. “Woodson’s talking with his buddies in the hall. Should be leaving soon for the night.”
“Good. We’re ready.”
Woodson would have to drive this way as he was leaving Phelan’s property. From there, we were going to follow him.
Our plan was to stick a GPS tracker on Woodson’s vehicle to find out where else he liked to spend his time.
It had taken over a week to get ourselves set up and ready for this op. River had arranged for me to pick up some gear from Last Refuge, no questions asked. The rest of the Protectors weren’t aware of the specifics of our investigation. Simply because we wanted to involve as few people as possible.
My truck was too recognizable, so I’d borrowed a vehicle from River with the guarantee that I wouldn’t leave a scratch on it. I’d already switched out the real license plates for some decoys. As usual, the Last Refuge Protectors had a lot of different toys to play with.
But where Keira was concerned, over the past week I’d been on excellent behavior. No more heated looks. Minimal touching. Absolutely no kissing. I’d been all business. Which probably explained the dour mood I’d been in.
“And there’s Phelan. Huh. Look at that.” Keira held up the screen for me to see the camera feed.
It looked like Woodson was giving Phelan a lecture. The podcaster had his shoulders slumped, head down as he nodded at whatever Woodson was saying.
River’s access to the security feed lacked any sound, but from what we’d seen, it was clear Phelan was not a fan of his bodyguards. Every time he was around them, he cringed away. Natasha, his assistant, also gave them a wide berth.
Supposedly, Crosshairs Security was working for Phelan. But the podcaster acted like they were in charge.
Made no damn sense.
“Do they have something on him?” Keira mused. “Or…”
“Or there’s something very weird going on,” I finished.
“Too bad we can’t see every room in Phelan’s mansion. Like the room Woodson and his friends were sitting in when I overheard them talking about the shipments.”
I nodded. But the security cameras were only fixed on the entrances and main hallways. Enough to see the comings and goings of people there, but no eye-in-the-sky to see these mysterious shipments. Or whatever else Phelan and Crosshairs might be doing there.
We now had profiles of several more Crosshairs Security employees, but no match with the Ryan name. One face had also been conspicuously absent: the man who’d offered to buy Keira a drink at the roadhouse the night of the shooting. He’d been wearing a Crosshairs ring.
All these pieces, and we were nowhere near fitting them together.
“I’m not even sure we can call Phelan a suspect anymore,” I said.
“If he was pissed off at you, why would Crosshairs agree to risk exposure by trying to kill you in the first place? They had to know you’re a cop.
Maybe Phelan would be that stupid, but Crosshairs doesn’t seem to be.
Especially with an ex-Special Forces guy like Harris Medina as their leader. ”
“But then why did Woodson go after me? I’ve never met him before in my life.”
Exactly what bothered me. The attack on Keira seemed personal. Not random. Woodson and his buddy had wanted to kill her specifically. But if Phelan hadn’t been behind it, what was the motive?
“Okay, Woodson’s on the move,” Keira said. “Heading toward the exit.”
I checked the clock. We’d timed out how long it would take for someone to drive past this spot after leaving the Phelan residence. About six minutes.
I set my stopwatch.
Six minutes and five seconds later, headlights swept past us. I gave Woodson another 30-second head start.
Then I turned over the engine and pulled out onto the highway, following the direction Woodson had gone. His taillights were just visible on the straight stretch of road ahead.
Keira put the tablet away. “Have you done anything like this before? Tailing someone?”
“Sure. Never in the USA, but I sometimes had to track my targets overseas. Study their movements. Figure out how they were most vulnerable.”
“Want to share with the class?”
I heard the smile in her voice. I didn’t know how she managed that. Being so unaffected by the details I confessed about my old life. I was talking about assassinating people, and she always shrugged it off. Maybe because Keira and I had been plotting to destroy the men who’d shot her.
But the things I’d done? They were different. There was no way she’d ever understand it fully.
Keira would never be a cold-blooded killer deep down, and thank fuck for that.
“You don’t want to hear about this stuff,” I muttered.
“Are you kidding? Yeah, I do. I want to learn. And it’s fascinating. You were like a spy.”
“I was not a spy. I didn’t gather information or develop intelligence assets. I murdered people, Keira.”
“You didn’t kill them because you enjoyed it.”
“You think I didn’t?”
She turned sharply toward me, skin tinged blue from the dashboard lights.
Dammit, why had I said that?
We kept driving. I thought she’d dropped it, but then she said, “You could tell me, you know. What that necklace is really about. The rifle round.”
Fuck. This woman had a way of cutting my rib cage open and reaching inside with just a few words. I felt torn between wanting to tell her the entire ugly truth about me and wanting to protect us both from that forever.
“Maybe I will someday,” I said softly. Knowing that was a lie.
“That’s what friends do. They talk to each other.”
“So we’re friends again? I hoped so, but you hadn’t said it.”
“You know we are. I couldn’t stand eating so many meals with you otherwise.”
I felt the corners of my mouth lifting. “Your friendship means the world to me. It’s the best thing I’ve got going for me at this point.”
“Asshole,” she said with a laugh.
“That wasn’t sarcasm.”
She had no idea how sincerely I’d meant it.
Keira rolled her shoulders, stretching them. “Anyway. I’m glad you know what you’re doing, at least. Otherwise, I would insist on doing the driving. I’m allowed now, you know. Not my first stakeout or mobile surveillance of a suspect either.”
“Yeah, I know, Deputy. Next time, it’s all you.”
“Dean,” she said a little while later. “Do you honestly think you’re a bad person because of the things you’ve done?”
“Yes.” The word came out rough. Like something scraped up and bruised. “I know I am. Good people always have a tiny moment of hesitation about taking a life, however brief, even when it’s their job. That means you still have a soul. I don’t ever want you to lose that.”
“What about you?”
“I lost my soul a long time ago.”
“Let’s say for a moment I believe that’s true. Just because you’ve lost something doesn’t mean you can’t get it back.”
Her words echoed in the quiet of the cabin, answered only by the faint rush of the tires as we drove. I didn’t know what I could possibly say in response.
But I wanted her to be right.