Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Alex was working alone in one of the rooms Ethan had also annexed for the task force.
He was typing a report about Mara and preferred to concentrate on it alone.
His phone buzzed against the metal table, rattling in rhythm with the blaring of “Ride of the Valkyries.” He didn’t need to look to know it was Noah.
The ringtone was their own private joke—a nod to the war zone they often found themselves in and the bond that had survived it.
He could picture the scene even before Noah answered. Ethan glaring. That passive-aggressive way he’d hold out the phone like he was offering a loaded weapon. Noah would already be on his feet, jaw locked tight.
Alex didn’t wait. He was already moving, phone clutched in his hand as he walked out of the room and into the hall, where the air was colder and quieter.
“Alex, hold on a second,” Noah said, already sounding wired.
Alex stopped walking and leaned back against the doorframe, pressing the phone tighter to his ear. “Talk.”
“There’s a leak,” Noah said, clipped. “Ethan just got a headline sent to him. Early. Too early.”
Alex swore. “What about Cullen or Charlotte? Did they give you anything?”
“No,” Noah snapped. “And I’m not playing middleman between you and Charlotte. You’re both grown.”
“Answer me,” Alex growled.
Noah let out a breath. “Cullen said the former cellmate—the one still in lockup—said Ward kept muttering the name ‘Rook’ in his sleep.”
Alex let the name hang there for a second. Rook. Useless without context. “Anything else?”
“The guy wouldn’t talk until he knew Ward was dead.”
Of course he wouldn’t. That was how deep whatever this was went—fear buried into the bones. Alex clenched his jaw. “Did you listen to the interrogation tape yet?”
“I’m going through the notes,” Noah said, frustration bleeding through.
“I’m going out to the prison. The guy was there thirty years, Noah. Someone knows more.” Alex felt it, that same burn low in his gut—frustration, instinct, fire.
But before he could respond, Noah cut in again. “Take Killian,” he said. “Don’t go alone.”
Alex froze, biting back the first response. He didn’t want Killian. He didn’t want anyone. But Noah wasn’t wrong. Not this time. “She knows more.”
There was a pause before Noah’s voice came quiet and hard. “I know.” The line went dead.
Alex closed out his laptop and got up. He stood there a beat longer, the hallway silent around him except for the thrum of his pulse. He slid his laptop into its case, turned and walked back into the room. Everything looked the same—but it wasn’t. Not to him.
Ethan had his back turned, spine straight with tension. He didn’t trust easily, and right now, he trusted no one. Across the table, Charlotte and Graham sat, too relaxed. Too damn calm. Too close. They weren’t leaking anything.
Alex’s eyes moved across the room like a scanner. Everyone was busy. Focused. Immersed in their work. Except one. Nathan Stokes.
FBI. Clean suit. Clean face. Too clean. Sitting just a little too still, staring at nothing like he was waiting for the floor to drop out from under him. And there it was—sweat on his brow.
Barely visible, but there. It was March. The AC was humming. The room was cool. Fever—or guilt.
Alex didn’t believe in coincidence. Not here. Not now. He bet on guilt.
The patrol car hummed steadily down the highway, tires whispering over the asphalt.
Morning light slid across the dash, but Alex barely noticed.
He sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands clasped, jaw tight.
His eyes were on the road, but his mind was still back in that quiet bedroom—where everything felt close but never quite enough.
“There’s a leak,” he said finally, voice low and clipped. “Ethan got a headline. Too early.”
Brad let out a short breath through his nose. “Noah’s on it.”
“I know.”
They rode in silence for a beat before Brad spoke again. “You want to talk?”
“No,” Alex said, then, quieter, without looking over, “but you’re not going to let it go.”
From the driver’s seat, Killian chuckled. “Gonna be a long ride.”
Alex leaned back, eyes closing briefly before he opened them again. “Charlotte’s still not letting me in all the way.”
Brad stayed quiet, letting him get there in his own time.
“She’s grieving Chuck—finally letting herself feel it. But I can’t tell if I’m part of the healing or just a distraction from it.” He exhaled sharply. “Last night… I told her I loved her.”
Brad turned slightly, watching his face. “What’d she say?”
“She said, ‘I know.’ She says that all the time.”
Brad winced. “That’s rough.”
“Yeah,” Alex muttered. “It felt like I was standing there naked, and she was behind glass. She let me in physically—but emotionally? She was already halfway gone. Like she was bracing for the fallout. Am I wrong to want more?”
He ran a hand down his face, tension mounting. “She didn’t tell me she went to see Ward. She didn’t tell me about the tapes and slides. All until after. She’s made case decisions on her own, keeping things from me until after. And then she went to Cullen after not speaking with him for years.”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”
“No,” Alex said immediately, but the fire in his voice said otherwise. “I’m angry. She trusted him with something I should’ve known. She says she’s protecting me—but what she’s really doing is shutting me out.”
He glanced out the window, voice hardening. “I love her, but she’s so scared. Like love is a risk she can’t afford. Sophie told me she’d rather push me away than let the shoe drop.”
“That’s realistic. She lost her husband and almost lost each of her daughters.” Brad nodded slowly. “You think she’s hiding more?”
Alex’s stare locked ahead. “Noah thinks so. I can feel it too. She’s holding something back. She looks at me like she’s already two steps ahead—like she’s already decided what she’s willing to lose.”
A beat of silence passed before he added, “Cullen reported the former cellmate said Ward kept muttering the name ‘Rook’ in his sleep.”
Killian flicked his eyes to the side at that.
Alex didn’t blink. “I want to know what that means. And I want to know what Charlotte already knows about it.”
Brad nodded. “Alright. How do you want to handle the questions?”
Alex cracked a small, grim smile. “Good cop, bad cop.”
Brad smirked. “I’ll be the bad cop.”
The highway stretched ahead. The truth was waiting.
The patrol car rolled through the gates of the penitentiary, gravel crunching under the tires. Towering fences loomed on either side, razor wire glinting in the afternoon sun. Alex and Brad stepped out, flashing their badges to the guard without a word.
Inside, the air shifted. Cold. Institutional. They were led to Warden Shepler’s office—wood paneling, neatly stacked folders, the illusion of order. But today, Shepler looked cornered.
Alex leaned against the doorframe with casual ease. Brad stood rigid, arms crossed, jaw set like concrete.
“We need to speak.” Brad’s voice was hard enough to crack stone.
Shepler blinked, composing herself. “I wasn’t told?—”
Brad cut her off, “We’re not asking.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. She knew the difference between a visit and an order. Unlike Charlotte Everhart or Graham Cullen, these two carried weight. Real weight.
Alex stepped forward, smooth voice wrapped in courtesy. “We understand the facility’s been under strain. We're not here to make things harder, Warden. We just want answers about Ward’s time here.”
Shepler hesitated, eyes flicking between them.
“Let’s start with who had contact with him during the last two months,” Brad said. “Doctor. Cellmate. Assistant Warden.”
Shepler gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll order the files.”
“No,” Brad said. “Names. Now.”
She relented. The prison hallways echoed with the clack of boots and the low murmur of radios. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Alex and Brad were led back to the infirmary.
Dr. Rena Fields waited for them in a narrow office lined with metal filing cabinets. She stood when they entered, arms crossed, expression tight. Her white coat was spotless. Professional. Guarded.
Alex smiled gently, extending a hand. “Dr. Fields, thank you for your time.”
She shook it, barely. “I’m not sure what help I can be.”
Brad stood against the door, letting the silence stretch. His badge was visible on his belt. His stare was harder than most men’s voices.
“We need to ask you a few questions about Gideon Ward,” Alex said.
She straightened. “I’m sorry, but patient confidentiality is still in effect.”
Brad let out a short, low laugh. “He’s dead, Doctor. And he was a prisoner. Confidentiality doesn’t apply anymore.”
Her jaw set. “It’s about ethics, not just legality.”
Alex tried again, voice smooth. “We’re not here to make trouble. We just need clarity. Did Ward ever mention the name Rook?”
Fields folded her arms tighter. “I really can’t help you.”
Alex glanced at Brad, who stepped forward. “You’re wasting our time with your games, Doctor,” he said, voice dropping. “You were close to him. You spent more hours with Gideon Ward than anyone in this building. Don’t pretend you didn’t know him.”
She flinched—barely—but it was there. A flicker in her eyes.
Brad leaned on the desk, close enough that she had to look up at him. “So let’s stop playing.”
Fields looked at Alex again, maybe for rescue. He said nothing.
“Ward said the name Rook, didn’t he?” Brad pressed.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“And?”
The silence in the infirmary office stretched, heavy as the concrete it was made from. Dr. Fields sat now, fingers laced tight in her lap, her guard slipping but not gone. Brad stood near the window, arms crossed, watching her like a man watching a fuse burn down.
Alex sat across from her, calm and kind as ever. “You cared about him,” he said gently.
She didn’t deny it. “When he was lucid, he was… sharp. Charming. But it wasn’t just the cancer that kept him talking. He wanted someone to know. Someone outside.”