Chapter 44
Burke had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose near the radio as the road cut through the trees in long, familiar bends.
His phone lit up against the dash.
QUINN.
He answered without hesitation.
“Tell me you’ve got something.”
“It’s confirmed,” Tessa Quinn said. “High purity. Same composition we’ve been tracking out of Miami. You weren’t chasing ghosts, Burke.”
Burke had an uneasy feeling about all of it.
Didn’t matter. This wasn’t a missing person anymore.
This was something else.
The road curved ahead.
He didn’t slow down.
* * *
Jackson County Courthouse — Judge’s Chambers
Burke stood before the heavy desk, his hat gripped in his hand, watching Judge Harlan flip through the affidavit with deliberate, measured slowness.
“A confidential informant, Burke?” Harlan said finally, looking up over the rims of his glasses. “You’re asking me to sign a warrant for the Hollis estate based on ‘suspicions’ and ‘nighttime movement’?”
He tossed the folder onto the desk. It landed with a dull thud.
“Wade Hollis is the wealthiest man in Jackson County five times over. He is the backbone of this economy. If I authorize a raid and we come up empty, it’s not embarrassment—it’s a lawsuit that could gut your department.”
Burke didn’t flinch.
He leaned forward, placing both hands on the edge of the desk.
“It’s more than suspicion, Judge.”
Harlan said nothing.
“Our source observed a fixed pattern—same box truck, marked for restaurant supply, moving in and out of that property in the early morning hours. Not once. Repeatedly. Along with aircraft activity that doesn’t match any filed manifests.”
Harlan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You ran the tail number?”
“It doesn’t exist,” Burke said. “Not in any system that should be tracking it.”
That gave Harlan pause.
He picked up the photo of the truck, studying it longer this time.
“Restaurant supplies for a cattle operation,” he muttered. “Still thin.”
Burke didn’t move.
“It’s not the label,” he said quietly. “It’s the volume, the timing, and the fact that no one can account for where it’s coming from or where it’s going.”
Harlan set the photo down.
“And what exactly do you think is happening out there?”
Burke held his gaze.
“I think something is moving through this county that doesn’t belong here. And I think if we wait until it’s obvious, it’s already too late.”
A heavy quiet stretched across the room.
Harlan leaned back in his chair, studying him.
“You understand what you’re asking me to do.”
“I do.”
“You’re asking me to put my name on a warrant that opens the door to Wade Hollis’s property.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
Burke didn’t hesitate. “Then I answer for it.”
A long beat.
“And if you’re right?”
Burke didn’t blink.
“Then we stop it before it gets buried deep enough that nobody can touch it.”
“You’re asking me to take a swing at the most powerful man in this county, Sheriff. You better not miss.”
Harlan held his gaze another second—then reached for the pen.
Hollis Estate — Late Afternoon
The guard shack door opened before Burke’s cruiser came to a full stop.
Troy stepped out.
Ball cap low. Work jacket. Same as always.
He looked at Burke, then at the line of cruisers behind him.
“Sheriff,” Troy said. “I’m not supposed to let anyone through without Mr. Hollis being aware.”
Burke stepped out, warrant already in his hand. “That’s fine,” he said. “Make him aware. We’re coming in.”
Troy held his eyes.
Then he nodded once, turned, and reached for the chain.
The lock popped. The gate rolled open.
The cruisers moved through slow—four units rolling with no lights and no noise. Burke didn’t stop at the barn. He drove straight to the house.
Wade Hollis was already on the porch.
Cigar in hand. Jacket off. Like he’d been expecting company.
Burke stepped out, climbed the steps, and held out the paper.
“Search warrant.”
Wade took his time taking it.
Skimming over the top page.
Didn’t read it all.
“Well now,” he said, almost pleasant. “If you wanted a look around, Sheriff, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
He took a slow pull from the cigar, letting the smoke drift out between them. “Would hate for all this effort to come up… disappointing.”
Burke didn’t respond.
Wade folded the warrant once and handed it back.
“A moment,” he said.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a contact without looking.
“Miller,” he said, “Sheriff’s here with a warrant. Meet him out front. Take him anywhere on the property he wants to go. You heard me.”He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Wade looked at Burke again.
“Wouldn’t want you boys missing anything.”
Miller came around the side of the house at a jog, wiping his hands on a rag.
“You called, sir?”
Wade nodded toward Burke.
“Sheriff’s got business.”
Miller gave a quick nod.
“Yes, sir.”
Then to Burke—“Where you want to start?”
Burke didn’t look at Wade again.
“The airfield warehouse on the North Line,” he said.
They moved out, cruisers fanning and deputies spreading across the property while Miller walked with them like a tour guide.
Opening doors before they asked.
Stepping aside. Letting them see everything.
Feed.
Fertilizer.
Equipment.
Labels out. Nothing hidden.
Clean.
Burke walked the length of the building, slower now.
Looking for anything out of place.
The space was wrong.
Burke walked past the stacked fertilizer bags, scanning the floor, the walls, the seams where something should’ve been.
Nothing.
Behind him, Scout Wilson stood near the row of pallets.
“It was here,” Scout said.
Burke looked at him.
“Third row. Back corner. I cut into it myself.”
He pointed.
“They were stacked right there.”
Nothing but clean concrete.
“They moved it,” Burke said.
Scout didn’t argue.
“They had to,” he replied. “No aircraft activity since I pulled the sample.”
“They didn’t fly it out.” Burke’s eyes shifted.
“Truck,” he said.
Scout gave a slight nod. “Only way.”
A deputy stepped up behind them.
“Sheriff… we’re clear across the structure.”
Burke didn’t respond right away.
He kept looking at that empty space.
“They knew we were coming.”
Burke didn’t move.
“Or someone told them.”
The last cruiser rolled through the gate, the chain clanking back into place behind them. Burke didn’t pull away right away. His hands rested on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead on nothing. They’d walked every inch of that place and found nothing.
He shifted into gear.
The convoy rolled out slowly.
As they rounded the bend, the main house came into view up on the rise.
Wade Hollis stood on the porch.
Stetson on now.
Jacket back in place.
Like the whole thing had been nothing more than a brief interruption in his day.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t call out.
Didn’t wave.
As Burke’s cruiser passed, Wade tipped his hat.
A faint smile under the brim.
Burke’s grip tightened on the wheel.
For half a second, he thought about stopping.
Walking back up that drive.
Wiping that look clean off Wade Hollis’s face.
He didn’t. He kept driving.
He reached for his phone.
Dialed.
“Yeah?” Grant answered.
Burke didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“They moved it.”
A pause.
“Where?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
* * *
Jackson County Sheriff’s Office — Late Afternoon
Burke stood over his desk, one hand braced against the wood, the other flipping through a stack of printed records.
Property maps.
Tax parcels.
Shell LLC filings.
It spread out in front of him like a maze.
Grant leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Watching.
Scout sat in the chair by the window, one boot hooked over the other, quiet as always—but his eyes tracked everything.
Burke exhaled slowly and dropped another file onto the pile.
“Son of a—”
He stopped himself.
Grant pushed off the wall. “How many?”
Burke didn’t look up.
“Directly in his name? Twelve.”
He flipped another page.
“Through holding companies? Thirty-two so far.”
Grant let out a low whistle. “That’s what you’ve found.”
Burke nodded once.
“There’s more.”
Scout spoke from the window, calm and certain.
“There’s always more.”
Burke dragged a hand down his face, then pointed at the map spread across the desk.
Pins marked parcels across the county—some close, some miles out, some bordering forest land.
“He’s got land near the ridge… near the river… two tracts off 107…”
A beat.
“And three backed up to federal forest.”
Grant’s jaw set. “Perfect cover.”
“No oversight,” Scout added.
Burke straightened, staring at the map like he could force it to give him something.
“We start checking them,” Grant said. “One at a time.”
Burke let out a short breath.
“That could take weeks.”
No one argued that.
Scout shifted slightly in the chair.
“Not if we get lucky.”
Burke shook his head.
“I don’t believe in luck.”
His eyes went back to the map.
“Not anymore.”