Chapter 48
The cruiser’s tires screamed as Burke threw the truck into a blind curve, the speedometer needle shaking past eighty-five. Dust and dead hemlock needles exploded behind them in a blinding wall, but inside the cab, the silence was suffocating.
Grant sat rigid in the passenger seat, one hand braced against the dashboard, his knuckles white. He wasn’t watching the road anymore.
He was watching his brother.
Burke’s hands were locked at ten and two on the wheel, the muscles in his forearms trembling beneath his uniform sleeves.
“Burke,” Grant growled, his voice rough. “Slow down before you put us in the damn creek.”
Burke didn’t answer.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t ease off the gas.
Then suddenly—
A sharp metallic crack split through the cab.
Burke’s fist slammed into the center console hard enough to shatter the plastic radio bracket clean in two.
“Dammit!”
He hit it again.
The sound that tore out of him barely sounded human.
“Dammit, Grant!”
The truck swerved hard across the center line before Burke jerked it back, breathing ragged and uneven.
For four terrifying seconds, the Sheriff mask vanished completely.
“I reopened the file,” Burke rasped. “I did this.”
Grant said nothing.
Burke’s jaw worked violently as panic bled straight through his control.
“I put her in the crosshairs because I couldn’t leave the old man’s secrets buried.” His voice cracked hard. “If Varga gets to her because of this—if he does to her what they did to Clara—”
He dragged a shaking hand across his mouth.
“I can’t do this, Grant.”
The confession shattered straight through the cab.
“I can’t protect this county if I can’t even protect our own house.”
Grant felt the fear hit him too—hot and vicious—but the panic inside him suddenly hardened into something steady.
Controlled.
He reached across the console and locked a hard hand onto Burke’s shoulder.
“Look at me.”
Burke’s eyes flicked toward him—bloodshot, wild, terrified.
“You didn’t do this,” Grant said, his voice low and absolute. “Wade Hollis did this twenty-seven years ago. We’re the ones left to finish it.”
Burke swallowed hard.
Grant squeezed his shoulder harder.
“So drive the damn truck. We’ve got a girl to bring home.”
For one long second, Burke stared at him.
Then slowly, piece by piece, the steel slid back into his spine.
His shoulders squared.
His breathing steadied.
The Sheriff of Jackson County locked himself back behind the walls of duty.
When he spoke again, his voice was flat enough to cut glass.
“Radio Scout.”
Grant released his shoulder and grabbed the mic from the shattered bracket.
Burke never took his eyes off the mountain road.
“Tell him,” Burke said coldly, “we hit the Hollis gate in three minutes.”
* * *
Hollis Estate Gates
The gates of Hollis Ridge appeared around the bend, iron and stone rising from the mountain like the entrance to a private kingdom.
Burke’s truck barely slowed until he slammed on the brakes, tires hissing over smooth black asphalt as they skidded to a halt beside the guard shack tucked near the second gate.
No gravel.
No dust.
Everything here was polished. Controlled. Expensive enough to feel unreal against the surrounding mountains.
Troy stepped out immediately.
The guard took one look at Burke’s face and lost his casual posture.
“Sheriff.”
Burke shoved open the truck door hard enough it nearly bounced back.
“Where’s Cal?”
Troy frowned instantly.
“Haven’t seen him since earlier this morning.”
Grant came around the front of the truck fast.
“His SUV’s sitting wide open at Bridlepath and Izzy Moreno’s missing.”
Troy’s expression changed completely.
“What?”
Burke stepped closer.
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Couple hours ago maybe.” Troy glanced toward the estate now, uneasy. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
Grant was already moving toward the gate.
“Open it.”
Troy hesitated only long enough to grab the radio clipped to his vest.
“Main house,” he said. “Sheriff Scott’s here.”
Static crackled.
Then Wade Hollis’s voice came smooth through the speaker.
“Let them through.”
The gate rolled open silently.
Burke got back behind the wheel and accelerated immediately.
The truck wound through the estate past white fencing, massive horse barns, and rolling green pasture glowing beneath landscape lighting.
Luxury mountain empire.
Grant hated every inch of it.
The main house rose ahead, all stone and timber and glass overlooking the ridge like it owned the sky itself.
Wade Hollis was already standing beneath the covered entrance when they pulled up.
Stetson low.
Pressed jeans.
Cigar in hand.
Like this was another business meeting.
Burke got out first.
“Cal’s missing.”
The words hit Wade visibly.
His cigar lowered slightly.
“What?”
Grant saw it instantly.
Fear.
Real fear.
“We found his SUV abandoned at Bridlepath,” Burke continued. “Izzy Moreno’s gone too.”
Wade stared at them both for a long second.
The mask slipped.
Then came right back.
“Well now,” Wade said calmly, smoke drifting from the cigar. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”
Grant started up the porch steps.
Wade continued like he hadn’t moved at all.
“You’re talking about two attractive young people.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “Wouldn’t be the first time a boy disappeared with a pretty girl for a few hours.”
Grant snapped.
He crossed the porch in two strides and got directly in Wade Hollis’s face.
“You let anything happen to her—”
“Grant,” Burke warned sharply.
—but Grant barely heard him now.
“You hear me?” Grant growled. “Anything happens to Izzy because of whatever the hell you’re mixed up in and I swear to God you’ll answer to me.”
Wade didn’t back up an inch.
But Burke stepped between them anyway, shoving Grant backward.
“This isn’t helping.”
Grant looked ready to kill somebody.
Burke turned back toward Wade.
“Where’s your son?”
Wade flicked ash from the cigar slowly.
“If I knew that, Sheriff, don’t you think I’d tell you?”
“Miller!” Wade barked suddenly.
The stable manager appeared from around the side of the house at a jog, barn gloves still on.
His face tightened immediately when he saw Grant.
“What’s happened?”
“Have you seen Cal?” Burke asked.
Miller shook his head instantly.
“No, sir. Been trying to reach him for almost an hour.” He looked genuinely worried now. “One of the mares is in foal tonight. Prize mare. Cal’s been anxious about it all week.”
Grant and Burke exchanged a look.
Because that tracked.
Cal would never ignore that call.
Not tonight.
“Phone?” Burke asked.
“Straight to voicemail.”
Even Wade wasn’t pretending anymore now.
Burke nodded once.
“Let’s go.”
Grant stared at Wade one last hard second before turning away.
The truck peeled down the winding estate road fast.
Neither brother spoke until they cleared the gates and hit the main road again.
Then Burke finally exhaled.
“They moved the shipment,” he said grimly. “Now Izzy’s gone.”
“And Cal,” Grant added.
Burke nodded once.
“Maybe.”
A beat.
“Or maybe Cal got caught in the middle. I don’t know yet.”
Grant stared ahead through the windshield, jaw tight.
Then Burke’s expression shifted suddenly.
There it is.
Grant looked over at him.
Both thinking the same thing.
Only one man in Jackson County knew more about Wade Hollis than anybody alive.
Burke hit the gas.
The truck surged onto the highway toward Scott Valley Road.
* * *
Back at Hollis Ridge, Wade stood motionless beneath the porch lights, watching the taillights disappear beyond the gates.
Then he pulled his phone from his pocket.
For the first time all night, his hand wasn’t steady.
He hit the number from memory.
The line clicked once.
“Yeah.”
Wade’s jaw flexed hard.
“Where’s my boy?”
Silence.
Then Varga answered calmly.
“Your son is alive.”
Wade looked out across the darkening ridge.
“You had no authorization to touch him.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Varga replied. “The boy showed up during extraction.”
Extraction.
Jesus Christ.
“If anything happens to Cal—”
“Careful,” Varga interrupted softly.
The quietness in his voice was worse than shouting.
“You seem confused about who’s giving orders here.”
Wade’s grip tightened around the phone.
“That’s my son.”
“And now he’s insurance.”
A cold sickness rolled through Wade’s gut.
“You follow through with the shipment,” Varga continued, “you keep your sheriff under control, and your boy goes home.”
Wade swallowed hard.
“And the girl?”
A pause.
Then—“She’s our problem now.”
Wade went still.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means she’s leaving North Carolina.”
Fear crept deeper into him now.
“Miami?”
“Maybe.”
A beat.
“Maybe halfway there.”
Wade stared out over the estate, but for the first time in years it didn’t feel like his land anymore.
“This is unnecessary.”
“No,” Varga said calmly. “What’s unnecessary is the mess you created.”
Wade said nothing.
“You let local law enforcement get too close. You let that girl start asking questions.” Varga paused. “This is on you, Hollis.”
The line went dead.
Wade slowly lowered the phone.
And for the first time in a very long time—
Wade Hollis felt afraid.