Chapter Five #2
A moment later, another text followed, then a second and third in quick succession. Jackson read through them, his chest tightening a little more with each line.
“The horses are fine,” he said aloud, glancing up at Avery. “Noah’s got them moved to his place. He says they’ll be looked after.”
Relief flickered in her eyes, but it faded when she saw the hard set of his jaw.
“What about your house?” she asked.
He looked back at the screen. “Gone. Nothing left.”
The words landed like gravel in his throat. He’d already known it, but seeing it written out made it real.
He kept reading. “CSIs combed the area but came up empty. No footprints, no shell casings, no sign of who fired those grenades.”
Avery pressed her lips together. “They covered their tracks.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Standard practice for the Brotherhood.” He scrolled down to the next message. “Sheriff Arden Chase is trying to bring in Charlotte and Darian for questioning. Their lawyers are already pushing back.”
Avery’s eyes flashed with anger. “Of course they are.”
“Noah says the sheriff’s confident she’ll get through the roadblocks,” Jackson went on, “but without hard evidence, she can’t make an arrest.”
That wasn’t a newsflash. Again, it was standard practice not to leave anything behind that would tie back to them.
With the exception of murdering Evan, that is.
Haver had shot and killed Evan in cold blood and had made the number one mistake of having a witness. A witness he hadn’t managed to kill.
Avery stared at the table, her hands curling into fists. “The Brotherhood just walks away from that grenade attack while we hide.”
“For now,” he agreed. “But that won’t last.”
He meant it.
He’d seen too many men like Darian Locke and women like Charlotte Barker think they could control the game.
And sooner or later, they all made a mistake.
Jackson thumbed a quick reply to Noah, Thanks and tell Garrett and Cal good work. And another line about the horses. He hit send and set the phone back down.
Avery watched him, her eyes raw. “Can Sheriff Chase bring Warren in?” she asked. There was hope in her voice.
He shook his head. “There’s a couple of problems with that. Jurisdiction for one. It depends on where Warren sold you out. Also, if Noah names his source inside the Brotherhood, that blows the source’s cover. It could get him killed.”
She swallowed hard. “So what do we do? Sit and wait?”
“No.” Jackson pushed his plate away and rubbed his jaw. The anger was still there, low and slow, useful. “There might be a way around it. We need proof that Warren sold you out without Noah having to name the informant.”
“How do we get proof of that?” she asked.
“We find an angle. Something small Warren did that links him to the Brotherhood. Maybe a payment trail, an email, a meeting. Something he thinks is buried. After dinner, we go through everything you have on him. Bank records, travel, interviews, anything.”
She nodded, desperate and determined at once. “I can pull files from the podcast server. I know where some of the raw audio is stored.”
“Good.” He stood and moved to the sink, washing his hands like he was scrubbing at the problem. “No loud moves. We hit it methodically. If Warren covered his tracks, we can still pry loose the seams.”
She exhaled, a small, shaky sound.
They worked in silence, clearing up the dishes. The clatter of plates and the low hum of the dryer filled the small kitchen. Avery stood beside him at the sink, rinsing while he dried. It should have felt ordinary, but it didn’t.
Every time her arm brushed his, his pulse kicked up a notch. The soft scent of her hair drifted closer each time she leaned over, something faint and clean from the shower. He told himself to focus on the dishes, on the simple rhythm of rinse and dry, but his mind kept drifting.
She was right there.
Three years hadn’t dulled the memory of what they’d had before Evan. It was buried deep, under guilt and time and war, but it was still there, smoldering.
He kept his focus on the plate in his hands. Avery had been Evan’s wife, and that made her off-limits. Always had.
But his body wasn’t getting the message.
She turned to hand him a glass, their fingers brushing. The touch was brief, nothing intentional, but the air between them tightened. She glanced up, her eyes catching his for just a heartbeat too long before she looked away.
Jackson swallowed hard and set the glass on the counter a little too forcefully. “That’s the last of them,” he said, his voice rougher than he meant.
“Yeah,” she said softly, drying her hands.
Before he could say something to break the tension, his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a message from Crossfire Ops dispatch.
He frowned. “That’s odd.”
Avery turned. “What is it?”
“Dispatch says they’ve got a call for me.” He picked up the phone, reading the next line as it came through. His jaw tightened. “It’s from Mick Barker.”
Her eyes widened. “Charlotte’s son is calling you?”
“Apparently,” Jackson said. “What the hell does he want?”
He took a slow breath, weighing it, then said into the phone, “Put the call through.”
Jackson leaned against the counter, the phone on speaker between them. The line crackled once, then Mick’s voice came through, low and strained.
“Mr. Ward, I need you to hear me out,” Mick said. “I’m not calling to start anything. I think I’m being used.”
Jackson shot Avery a quick glance, his instincts already on alert. “Go on.”
“The Brotherhood’s not what my father built,” Mick said. “They’ve twisted it into something else. Darian Locke’s pulling the strings now, and my mother’s backing him. They’re both dangerous.”
Jackson’s hand tightened on the edge of the counter. “You expect me to take your word for that? You showed up at my place with them this morning.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Mick said, his tone raw. “They think I’m one of them, but I’m not. I don’t have any grudge against Avery Hastings. You need to know that.”
“Then why call us?” Jackson demanded.
Mick hesitated. “Because someone in the Brotherhood killed my girlfriend.”
Jackson froze. “Say that again.”
“Her name was Melissa Johnson,” Mick said. “Her older brother was in the Brotherhood, and she was trying to break ties with him. But then she was murdered. The cops called it a robbery gone wrong. It wasn’t. It was the Brotherhood.” His voice broke a little. “I think Darian killed her.”
Avery’s eyes widened. “That podcast,” she whispered. “It was the one I mentioned earlier with ties to the Brotherhood. The case that might’ve caught their attention.”
Jackson studied her face, then looked back at the phone. “Mick, you’re saying Darian killed her. You got proof he murdered her?”
“No,” he answered on a huff. “Just what I overheard. Darian and a couple of the other members were talking about her, saying she should’ve stayed loyal, that if she left she might spill some of their secrets. Might even go to the cops. That conversation was the night before she died.”
Jackson’s gut tightened as he listened. “Why tell me this?”
“Because you can get word to Avery.” His voice cracked, then steadied again. “Someone’s using me. They’re setting me up, and I think they’re going to kill me to make it look like she did it.”
Avery’s eyes flew wide, her face draining of color. Jackson straightened, his hand curling into a fist on the counter. “What do you mean, set her up? How?”
“They’ve got her DNA,” Mick said, his breath coming fast now. “I don’t know how they got it, but I heard them talking about it. They said they’d make it look clean, that it’d point straight to her when it’s done.”
Jackson felt Avery step closer beside him, her voice low and trembling. “Mick, where are you?”
“I can’t say,” he said quickly. “I don’t trust anyone around me anymore. But I need your help. Please, let me meet you.”
Jackson met Avery’s eyes. She was terrified, but he could see the flicker of hope too. She wanted to believe Mick was telling the truth. He wanted to believe it himself, but he couldn’t take that risk.
“No,” Jackson said firmly. “You don’t meet me. You stay put. I’ll send someone else.”
Mick started to argue. “You don’t understand, I—”
There was a loud sound. Maybe a gunshot. And the line went dead.