Chapter 18
Eighteen
Mason “Menace” Harrison AKA Chief Harrison
I watch as Dime and Devil leave the spot where we had our meeting. Slowly I walk back to my truck and get in before driving back to Laurel Springs.
There's a lot on my mind dealing with this undercover operation. I know I'm losing control of these guys and their desire to still be on the right side of the law, I'm just worried on how to bring it up.
The truth is, I've been running undercover operations for fifteen years, and I've never had two officers go this deep for this long. Most guys tap out after a year, maybe two. The strain of living a lie, of constantly watching your back, of not being able to be yourself—it breaks people.
But Grant and Derrick have been under for almost four years. Four years of wearing cuts, riding with a motorcycle club, earning trust, building relationships. Four years of being more outlaw than cop.
And that's what worries me.
I've seen the way Grant looks when he talks about the club. The pride in his voice when he mentions Storm or Lee. The genuine affection when he talks about working at the garage. He's not pretending anymore. He's living it.
Same with Derrick. The man has built a life here, found a woman he loves, created a family within Saint's Outlaws. And asking him to destroy all of that when this operation is over? That's not going to go smoothly.
I pull into the parking lot of The Cafe. I've been going to this place for as long as I can remember, and since Leigh owns the place, and her husband used to be the Chief of police, she allows us to have the privacy we need.
Ransom Thompson is already there, sitting in a booth in the back corner. He sees me come in and gives me a subtle nod. I grab a coffee from the counter and slide into the seat across from him.
"Chief," he says, his voice low.
"Ransom." I take a sip of coffee, buying myself time. "Thanks for meeting me."
"You made it sound urgent."
"It is." I set down my cup and lean forward. "I need to talk to you about the operation. About Grant and Derrick."
Ransom's expression doesn't change, but I see his jaw tighten slightly. "What about them?"
"I'm worried they're too deep. Too embedded in Saint's Outlaws. And I need your help figuring out how to handle it."
"Handle it how?" His voice has a bit of an annoyed edge to it, probably because his son works at the garage, too.
I run a hand over my face, exhaustion settling into my bones. "I've got the sample they brought me. The fentanyl-laced weed from the Rebels. It's exactly what we need to make arrests, to start shutting this whole operation down."
"That's good news."
"It is. But if I move on it now, if I bring in the Rebels and start making arrests, Grant and Derrick's cover gets blown. The club will know someone on the inside fed us information, and they'll figure out who pretty quick."
Ransom is quiet for a moment. "So what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking I need to buy us more time. I need to lie to them, tell them the sample didn't test positive for fentanyl. Tell them we need more evidence, that they need to keep working the case."
"You want to lie to your own officers?" Ransom's voice is carefully neutral.
"I want to protect them. And everyone around them." I meet his eyes. "If we move now, we get the Rebels. Maybe some of the Clarks if we're lucky. But Grant and your Derrick? They're dead men walking. The club will turn on them, and I can't guarantee their safety."
"So you're going to keep them under? For how long?"
"Until we can build a case that doesn't rely solely on them.
Until we have enough evidence from other sources that when we do make arrests, their involvement isn't obvious.
" I pause. "But that means they keep living the lie.
Keep getting deeper into the club. Keep making choices that blur the line between cop and criminal. "
Ransom leans back in his seat, studying me. "You're worried they won't come back from this."
"Yeah. I'm worried exactly that." I take another sip of coffee. "Grant told me he loves the outlaw life more than being a cop. Do you know how dangerous that is? How quickly someone can flip when they start identifying more with the criminals than the badge?"
"I know." Ransom's voice is quiet. "But I also know both of them. They're good men. They went under to help people, to stop drugs from destroying lives. That doesn't just disappear."
"Doesn't it?" I challenge. "You've seen good cops go bad before. We both have. And it usually starts exactly like this. They get too close, they forget who they really are, and then one day they make a choice that can't be undone."
"So what do you want from me?"
"I want you to have Keegan continue to watch them. Keep an eye on Grant and Derrick, make sure they're not crossing lines they can't come back from." I lean forward. "And I want us to be ready to pull them out if things go sideways."
Ransom is quiet for a long moment, and I can see the conflict in his eyes.
Finally, he says, "You need to be careful with this, Chief.
Grant and Derrick aren't stupid. If you tell them the sample didn't test positive, they're going to want to know why.
They're going to push for more details, more information. "
"I can handle that."
"Can you? Because from where I'm sitting, you're asking two highly trained officers to keep working a case that we both know could already be closed. They're going to figure out you're lying eventually."
"Then I'll deal with that when it happens." I drain my coffee. "Right now, my priority is keeping them alive and keeping their cover intact. Everything else is secondary."
Ransom nods slowly. "Just make sure you know what you're doing. I've got two family members involved in this."
My stomach drops. "I know. I'm answering to Holden about it, too," I mention Leigh's husband who is my best friend and the ex-chief-of-police.
"Just be sure that you're thinking about them too. I'll pull Keegan out of this faster than his head can turn to the side," he threatens.
"Ransom…"
"I mean it, Chief. I'll keep this quiet as long as I can. I'll support the operation, I'll watch Grant and Derrick, I'll do everything you're asking. But the second my family is at risk, I'm pulling the plug."
I understand where he's coming from. Family comes first. It always has, especially for men like Ransom who have built their lives around protecting the people they love. Same for me, too.
"We'll pull everybody out before it gets that bad," I assure him. "I'm not going to let this operation cost innocent lives. Yours or anyone else's."
"Good. Because Keegan doesn't know anything about what's really happening. He just works at the garage, helps out where he can. If the Rebels or the Clarks come after him because of this…" he trails off.
"They won't. I'll make sure of it."
Ransom stands up, tossing some bills on the table. "I hope you know what you're doing, Chief. Because if this goes wrong, it's not just careers on the line. It's lives."
"I know." And I do. I know exactly what's at stake, which is why I'm willing to lie to my own officers if it means keeping them safe.
After Ransom leaves, I sit in the booth for a few more minutes, nursing a second cup of coffee and thinking through my next moves.
The sample is secure, already sent off to the lab with instructions to test it but hold the results.
I'll get the confirmation I need that it's fentanyl-laced, but I won't share that information with Grant or Derrick.
Not yet.
I pull out my phone and compose a text message to both of them. My fingers hover over the send button for a moment, and I feel a pang of guilt. These are good men. Men who trust me, who have put their lives on the line because I asked them to.
And I'm about to lie to them.
But sometimes, the right thing to do isn't the honest thing. Sometimes you have to bend the rules to protect the people who matter most.
I hit send.
M: Sample came back. Not enough fentanyl to make a case. Need more evidence. Keep up the operation and stay close to the Rebels. Will advise when we have enough to move.
The message delivers, and I watch the read receipts pop up almost immediately. I can imagine their reactions. The frustration, the confusion, maybe even suspicion.
But they'll keep going. That's what good cops do. They trust their commanding officers, follow orders, and do the job even when it's hard.
Even when it costs them pieces of themselves they might never get back.
I finish my coffee and head out to my truck. There's still work to do. The Clarks need investigating, the Rebels need monitoring, and I need to build a case that doesn't rely solely on two undercover officers who might not survive if their cover gets blown.
As I drive back toward the station, I think about Grant's face when he told me he loved the outlaw life. The honesty in his voice, the conflict in his eyes. He's a good man caught between two worlds, and I'm asking him to stay in that limbo just a little bit longer.
I just hope he can hold on until we're ready to pull him out.
Because if he can't, if he crosses a line he can't come back from, I'll have to live with the fact that I'm the one who put him there.
And that's a weight I'm not sure I'm prepared to carry.
But it's the job. It's always been the job. And sometimes the job requires you to make impossible choices and live with the consequences.
So that's what I'll do.
I'll lie to my officers, protect my operation, and pray that when this is all over, everyone I care about is still alive to see the other side.
That's all I can do.