Chapter 3 #4
"And tell them what? That I have hearsay evidence from an anonymous source that the sheriff might be planning something?
" I shook my head even though he couldn't see me.
"Even if they thought it was credible, they'd never get here in time.
And even if they did, Dawson would just deny everything. Say it was a misunderstanding."
"Then what—"
"I need proof," I said, my mind already working through the angles. "I need evidence that will hold up in court. Something that can't be denied or explained away."
Evidence. Leverage. Something concrete that would force Dawson's hand.
Because if I couldn't get the charges dismissed—if the medical examiner's report came back inconclusive, if the motion failed, if we ended up going to trial—I needed insurance. And Dawson attempting to kill Kael would be the proof I needed.
Proof of corruption. Proof of attempted murder. Proof that would bury Dawson so thoroughly that it would prove the Orcs were right to fear his involvement.
It was risky. Insane, even. But it was also the only decent card I had to play.
"Sarah, you can't go there alone," Marcus said urgently. "If Dawson catches you—"
"He won't." I was already pulling back onto the road with such force my tires squealed. "I'm just going to observe. Livestream it on Facebook or something so Dawson won't be able to go through with it."
"This is insane," Marcus said, but I heard the resignation in his voice. He knew me well enough to know I'd already made up my mind.
"I'll be careful," I promised. "And Marcus? Thank you. For telling me."
"Just—don't get yourself killed, okay?" His voice was rough with worry. "Mom would never forgive me."
"I won't," I said, and ended the call before he could argue further.
My first instinct was to call Ruka. Or Argon. Hell, call the entire Orc village and let them storm the jail like something out of a medieval siege. They'd get Kael out. They were strong enough, fast enough, organized enough to do it.
But then what?
Then we'd have a dead sheriff, a dozen dead deputies, and a massacre that would set Orc-human relations back a decade. The National Guard would get called in. There would be investigations, trials, maybe even internment camps. Everything the Orc community had built would be destroyed.
No. This had to be done quietly. Legally. With evidence that could bury Dawson without starting a war.
I pulled up Agent Morrison's contact on my phone, my thumb hovering over the call button.
Georginna Morrison, FBI. We'd worked together on the Nadine situation six months ago—the medical director at the local hospital had tried to kill the Orcs by giving them smallpox-infested blankets.
She'd been professional, thorough, and most importantly, she'd actually given a damn about getting justice for the Orcs.
We'd stayed in touch afterward. She'd told me to call if I ever needed help with a case that crossed into federal jurisdiction.
I was pretty sure "local sheriff planning to murder a prisoner" qualified.
But I couldn't call her yet. Not without proof. She'd need something concrete, something that would justify federal intervention. A panicked phone call in the middle of the night wouldn't cut it.
I needed video. Audio. Something irrefutable.
I pressed harder on the gas pedal, watching the speedometer climb. The jail was forty minutes away if I drove the speed limit. I could make it in thirty if I pushed it.
My phone's clock read 9:47 PM.
The roads were empty this time of night, just me and the occasional deer caught in my headlights. My heart was hammering against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my system and washing away the exhaustion. My hands had stopped shaking. My mind was clear, focused, running through the plan step by step.
Park somewhere out of sight. Find a vantage point with a clear view of the back door. Set up my phone to record. Wait.
And if Dawson actually went through with it? If he actually tried to kill Kael?
I couldn't let that happen.
The jail came into view at 10:40 PM, a squat brick building on the edge of town with a parking lot that was mostly empty. I drove past it, circling the block twice to get a sense of the layout. The back of the building faced a wooded area—probably why Dawson had chosen it. Privacy. No witnesses.
I parked in the shadows at the edge of the lot and killed the engine. For a moment I just sat there, my hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady my breathing.
This was insane. Marcus was right. I was a lawyer, not a cop. I had no business sneaking around in the dark trying to catch a corrupt sheriff in the act of murder.
But what choice did I have?
I thought about Kael sitting in that cell, cocky and infuriating and completely unaware that he might not live to see morning. Thought about the way he'd broken those cuffs to defend me, the way his body had moved without hesitation to put himself between me and Dawson.
He was an idiot. A reckless, impulsive idiot who couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his life.
But he was my idiot. My client. My responsibility.
And I'd be damned if I let Dawson kill him.
I grabbed my phone, checked the battery—58%, good enough—and opened the camera app.
I set it to video mode, made sure the flash was off, and tested the audio.
Clear enough. It would have to do. I'd take a video of them taking Kael out of the jail, text it to a dozen of my contacts for insurance, and then confront Dawson.
I got out of the car and started walking.
The night was cool, the kind of mountain cold that seeped through clothing and settled into bones.
I was wearing a blazer over a blouse and slacks—professional attire that was completely wrong for sneaking through the woods.
My heels clicked against the pavement until I stopped, cursed under my breath, and took them off.
The asphalt was rough and cold against my bare feet, but at least I could move quietly.
I cut through the wooded area behind the jail, using my phone's flashlight sparingly, just enough to avoid tripping over roots and rocks. Branches caught at my hair and clothing. Something—probably a spider web—brushed across my face, and I had to bite back a yelp.
This kind of shit was definitely not covered in law school.
I found a spot about thirty yards from the back door, behind a thick oak tree that gave me cover while still providing a clear line of sight. I crouched down, my back against the rough bark, and set up my phone on a low branch, angling it toward the door.
Then I pulled out my earbuds, connected them to my phone, and opened my messaging app. I typed out a message to Agent Morrison:
Georginna, I'm about to send you a video. Sheriff Dawson in Franklin is planning to kill my client tonight. I'm recording evidence. If something happens to me, please make sure this gets to the right people. —Sarah
I didn't hit send yet. Not until I had the video. Not until I knew for sure.
My watch read 10:34 PM.
A little over an hour until midnight.
I settled in to wait, my heart pounding so hard I was sure someone would hear it. The woods were alive with sound—crickets chirping, leaves rustling, something small scurrying through the underbrush. Every noise made me flinch, made me certain I'd been discovered.
But no one came.
The back door of the jail remained closed, a single light above it casting a yellow glow across the concrete steps. I could see part of the parking lot from here, empty except for two patrol cars.
Minutes crawled by. My legs started to cramp from crouching. My feet were numb from the cold ground. I shifted position carefully, trying not to make noise, trying not to think about what I was doing.
Trying not to think about what would happen if Dawson caught me.
At 11:15, I heard voices. Shouts.
My entire body went rigid. I pressed myself flatter against the tree, hardly daring to breathe.
The back door opened... and Kael walked out.
Not dragged. Not fighting. Just... walking. Calm as anything, his hands unbound, his expression almost bored.
What the hell?
Kael stopped on the concrete steps, stretched his arms over his head like he was working out a kink in his shoulders, and looked directly at the tree I was hiding behind.
His amber eyes found mine in the darkness, and even from thirty yards away, I noticed the smirk on his face.
"You can come out now, Sarah," he called, his voice carrying easily through the quiet night.