Chapter 15
Fifteen
Dime
Devil and I leave the garage, telling everyone we have to go pick up some parts. We ride in my truck out to one of the barns where we meet. "Do you have any idea what they found?" I ask Devil.
"Not yet, I guess we'll be finding out together."
The silence between us is heavy, weighted with all the things we're not saying.
We both know this meeting could change everything.
If the raid was successful, we're one step closer to shutting down the Rebels and exposing whoever in the Clark family is helping them. If it wasn't, we're back to square one.
When we pull up to the barn, Chief Harrison is pacing. That's never a good sign. In all the time I've been working with him, I've never seen the man pace. He's always calm, always controlled.
But today he's pacing.
Devil and I exchange a look before getting out of the truck. Harrison stops when he sees us, running a hand over his face.
"Tell me you got something," Devil says without preamble.
"We got something," Harrison says. "Just not what we were hoping for."
My jaw tightens. "What does that mean?"
"It means we executed the warrant, searched the warehouse top to bottom, and we didn't find any fentanyl." He pauses. "But we did find evidence that it had been there recently."
"Evidence?" I ask.
"Residue, some packaging materials. A scale with trace amounts still on it." Harrison pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through photos. "Enough to know we were right about what was happening there, but not enough to make any arrests."
"Fuck." Devil kicks at the dirt. "They were tipped off."
"That's what I think. Someone knew we were coming and cleaned the place out before we got there." Harrison's expression is dark. "The question is who and how."
I feel cold settle in my gut. "You think there's a leak?"
"I don't know what to think. The only people who knew about the raid were me, you two, and the judge who signed the warrant. Unless one of you told someone—"
"We didn't," I say immediately. "We were at the clubhouse all night with witnesses. We didn't make any calls, didn't send any texts. We followed protocol."
"Then either the judge has loose lips, or someone very smart figured out we were watching them." Harrison puts his phone away. "Either way, the Clarks and the Rebels know we're onto them now. Which makes them more dangerous."
Devil crosses his arms. "What's the play?"
"We need to get inside their operation. Get someone to make a buy, set up a meeting, something that gets us direct evidence of the drug trafficking."
"You want us to set up a buy with the Rebels?" I ask.
"I want you to ask for a meeting. Tell them you've got buyers, that you want to work with them instead of against them." Harrison looks between us. "It's risky, but it might be our only shot at getting the evidence we need."
Devil and I are quiet for a moment. What Harrison's asking isn't just risky. It's potentially deadly. If the Rebels or the Clarks suspect we're working with the cops, or are cops, we're dead. And not just us. Everyone we care about becomes a target.
But it's also our job. It's what we signed up for.
"We'll do it," Devil says finally. "We'll reach out to the Rebels, see if we can set something up."
"Good. But be careful. These people are smart, and now they're paranoid. One wrong move and this whole thing blows up in our faces."
I nod, my mind already racing ahead to how we're going to approach this. The Rebels aren't stupid. They're not going to just sit down with us without questions. We're going to need a good story, a believable reason for why we suddenly want to work with them.
"There's something else," Harrison says, and his tone makes me look up. "Now that we've poked the bear, now that the Clarks and Rebels know we're onto them, it's time to come clean with Allison. Seriously clean."
My heart stops. "What?"
"She needs to know who you really are, Dime. Or should I say, Grant." Harrison's expression is serious. "If this goes sideways, if the Rebels figure out you're a cop, Allison becomes a target. She needs to know what she's walking into."
"I can protect her without her knowing everything."
"No, you can't." Harrison cuts me off. "You can't protect her if she doesn't know the danger she's in. And you can't ask her to trust you with her life when you're lying to her about yours."
I want to argue, want to say that telling Allison will only put her in more danger. But deep down, I know he's right. She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to make an informed decision about whether she wants to stay with me, knowing what that means.
"When?" I ask quietly.
"As soon as possible. Tonight if you can." Harrison's voice softens. "I know this isn't easy, Grant. I know you care about her. But she needs to know."
Devil puts a hand on my shoulder. "He's right, brother. She needs to hear it from you before she hears everything from someone else."
I nod, even though everything in me is screaming to keep the secret just a little longer. To have a few more days, a few more weeks, where Allison looks at me and sees the man she loves. Not Grant Swain, undercover cop. Not a man who's been lying to her since the day they met.
"I'll tell her tonight," I say.
"Good." Harrison looks relieved. "And for what it's worth, I think she'll understand. From what I've seen, she's a strong woman. She can handle the truth."
I hope he's right. Because if he's not, if I tell Allison the truth and she walks away, I don't know what I'll do.
We talk through the details of how to approach the Rebels, what story to tell, what evidence we're looking for. By the time we're done, I've got a plan. It's not a great plan, but it's something.
Devil and I get back in the truck, and the drive back to the garage is silent. I can feel him watching me, can sense the questions he's not asking.
"You okay?" he finally says.
"No." I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I'm about to tell the woman I love that I've been lying to her since the moment we met. How the fuck am I supposed to be okay with that?"
"She loves you too. She'll understand. Dani understood, and I know Allison will too."
He's right. I know he's right. But that doesn't make it any easier.
When we get back to the garage, I throw myself into work. Oil changes, brake jobs, anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off what I have to do tonight. But no matter how hard I work, I can't stop thinking about it.
About Allison's face when I tell her. About the way she might look at me differently. About the possibility that she might walk away and never look back.
Lee comes out at lunch with his bologna sandwich, and I sit with him at the picnic table. We don't talk much, just eat in comfortable silence. But when he gets up to go back inside, he pauses.
"Everything okay, Dime? You seem off today."
"Just got a lot on my mind."
"Anything I can help with?"
I shake my head. "This is something I've got to handle on my own."
He nods and heads back inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I pull out my phone and stare at Allison's contact. I could text her, ask her to come straight home after school. Or I could wait, pick her up like I always do, and tell her on the drive back to my place.
Either way, tonight changes everything.
I just hope we survive it.
When the afternoon rolls around, I head out to pick up Allison. She's waiting in the parking lot when I pull up, and the smile on her face when she sees me makes my chest tight.
"Hey," she says, climbing into the truck. "How was your day?"
"It was good." The lie comes easy, too easy. "How about yours?"
"Really good. We started a new unit today, and the kids were so engaged." She's animated as she talks, her hands gesturing, her eyes bright.
And all I can think is that in a few hours, I'm going to break her heart.
We drive home, and she talks the whole way. About her students, about lesson plans, about how Whiskers has taken to sleeping on my pillow during the day. Normal things. Beautiful things.
Things that might end tonight.
When we get to my place, I park the truck but don't get out right away.
"Dime?" Allison's looking at me, concern in her eyes. "What's wrong?"
I take a deep breath. This is it. The moment where everything changes.
"We need to talk," I say. "There's something I need to tell you."