Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The mill loomed against the night sky.
Wyatt crossed the overgrown lot slowly, gravel crunching under his boots, the evidence box tucked under his arm. Moonlight filtered through broken clouds, casting shifting shadows across the crumbling facade. Windows gaped like empty eye sockets. The main door hung crooked on rusted hinges.
He paused at the threshold, one hand pressed against his chest where the wire sat taped to his skin. They could hear him. Sam, Jo, Kevin—they were out there in the darkness, listening to every breath, every footstep.
He wasn’t alone.
It didn’t feel that way.
Wyatt pushed through the door and stepped inside.
The interior was vast and hollow, stripped of machinery decades ago. Concrete floors, steel beams, shadows pooling in corners where the moonlight couldn’t reach. The air smelled of rust and old oil and something else—something animal. Decay.
He stopped in the center of the floor, just like Sam had told him. Good acoustics here. The wire would pick up everything.
Wyatt set the evidence box on the floor in front of him and straightened.
Now he waited too.
In the tree line north of the mill, Jo crouched in the darkness, earpiece crackling softly with the sound of Wyatt’s breathing.
Sam was ten feet to her left, Lucy pressed against his leg, the dog’s ears pricked forward. They had a clear view of the mill’s main entrance and the access road beyond. If anyone approached from this direction, they’d see them coming.
Minutes crawled by. The woods were alive with small sounds—wind through branches, the rustle of nocturnal creatures, the distant call of an owl. Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds.
Jo didn’t trust any of them.
Lucy’s head came up suddenly, her body going rigid. A low growl built in her throat.
Sam’s hand dropped to her collar. “Easy, girl. What is it?”
The dog’s attention was fixed on something to the east—not the mill, not the road. The woods themselves.
Jo followed her gaze and saw it. Movement in the shadows. A figure, low and careful, working through the trees toward the mill.
Not approaching the front entrance. Circling. Watching.
“Sam,” Jo breathed.
“I see it.”
The figure paused at the edge of the tree line, and for a moment, moonlight caught the silhouette. Tall. Athletic build. A dog at their side.
Shaw.
Inside the mill, Wyatt heard footsteps.
His heart slammed against his ribs. He forced himself to stay still, to keep his hands visible, to look like a man who’d come to make a deal rather than spring a trap.
The footsteps were measured, deliberate. Coming from somewhere deeper in the building—a back entrance he hadn’t known about. Of course there was a back entrance. These people didn’t walk through front doors.
A shape emerged from the shadows.
Not Shaw.
Not his father.
A man Wyatt had never seen before. Big, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothes that blended with the darkness. His face was hard, expressionless—the face of someone who’d done this kind of thing before and would do it again without losing sleep.
Syndicate muscle. A soldier. Nobody important.
Which meant someone else was calling the shots.
“You the cop?” The man’s voice was flat. Bored, almost.
Wyatt nodded slowly. “I have what you asked for.” He gestured to the box on the floor between them.
The man didn’t move toward it. His eyes swept the mill instead, checking corners, exits, shadows. Professional. Careful.
“You alone?”
“Like you asked.”
“Anyone know you’re here?”
Wyatt’s throat tightened. The wire suddenly felt like a brand against his chest. “No. I’m not stupid.”
The man studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled—a cold, mirthless thing.
“Yeah,” he said. “You are.”
Jo and Sam moved through the trees like ghosts, Lucy padding silently between them.
Shaw was fifty yards ahead, still circling the mill, Shadow at her side. She hadn’t spotted them yet—her attention was fixed on the building, on whatever she thought was happening inside.
What was she doing here?
If she was the mole, if she was working with the syndicate, why wasn’t she inside with whoever Wyatt was meeting? Why lurk in the woods like a spectator?
The questions nagged at Jo, but she pushed them aside. Answers could wait. Right now, they had a target.
They closed the distance in silence. Thirty yards. Twenty.
Shadow’s head came up.
The dog turned, nose working, and Jo knew the exact moment he caught Lucy’s scent. His body went rigid, ears pricked forward, a soft whine building in his throat.
Shaw noticed immediately. She followed Shadow’s gaze, her hand dropping to her weapon—
And saw them.
“Now,” Sam said.
They rushed her.
Wyatt’s earpiece crackled with sudden noise—footsteps, rustling, what sounded like a scuffle. Something was happening out there. Something that wasn’t part of the plan.
He couldn’t focus on it. The man in front of him was moving now, circling slowly, keeping distance between them.
“The box,” the man said. “Open it.”
“I thought you wanted me to just hand it over.”
“Changed my mind. Open it.”
Wyatt’s mind raced. If he opened the box, the man would see the evidence bag inside—the box cutter, real and damning. And then what? He’d take it and leave? Or was this a test? A way to see if Wyatt was really willing to betray everything he stood for?
“I said open it.” The man’s voice hardened. His hand moved toward his waistband.
Wyatt’s pulse spiked. He knelt slowly, keeping his movements deliberate, and reached for the box.
Wyatt’s fingers had just touched the evidence box when the man moved.
Fast—faster than someone that big should be able to move. He closed the distance in two strides, his boot connecting with the box and sending it skittering across the concrete floor.
“Hey—“ Wyatt started.
A fist caught him in the jaw.
The world spun. Wyatt stumbled backward, tasting blood, his hand going instinctively for his weapon—but the man was already on him, grabbing his wrist, twisting hard.
Pain exploded up Wyatt’s arm. He went down, concrete slamming into his shoulder, the breath driven from his lungs.
The man’s weight settled on his chest, pinning him. A hand closed around his throat.
“The wire,” the man said, almost conversational. “Did you really think we wouldn’t know?”
Wyatt couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.
Where was Keller?
Where was anyone?
The pressure on his throat increased. The man’s face swam above him, cold and detached.
“Your father sends his regards,” the man said. “He’s disappointed. But he’ll get over it.”
Wyatt’s vision was going dark. His hands clawed uselessly at the arm crushing his windpipe.
Then—
A door slammed open somewhere behind them.
Footsteps. Fast.
“Federal agent! Let him go!”
Keller’s voice.
The weight lifted from Wyatt’s chest. He rolled onto his side, gasping, sucking air into burning lungs. Through watering eyes, he saw Keller advancing, weapon drawn, his face hard.
The syndicate man backed away, hands raised. “Easy, easy—“
“On your knees. Now.”
The man complied, lowering himself to the concrete, and Wyatt felt a surge of relief.
Keller had come. The plan had worked.
Shaw hit the ground hard, Jo’s weight driving her into the leaf litter. Shadow barked—sharp, alarmed—but Lucy was there, blocking him, the two dogs facing off in a tense standoff that stopped just short of violence.
“What the hell—“ Shaw twisted beneath Jo, trying to break free. She was strong, trained, but Jo had position and leverage.
Sam was there a second later, his weapon drawn, pointed at Shaw’s head. “Don’t move.”
“Are you insane?” Shaw’s voice was furious, breathless. “We’re on the same side!”
“No.” Sam’s voice was granite. “You work for the syndicate. We know about the Motel 8 searches. We know you’re on personal leave. We know you’ve been lying to us since the moment you arrived.”
Shaw went still beneath Jo. For a moment, the only sounds were heavy breathing and the soft growls of the dogs.
Then Shaw laughed.
It wasn’t a happy sound.
“You think I’m the mole?” She turned her head, meeting Sam’s eyes even with Jo’s knee in her back. “You’ve got it backwards, Chief. I’m not working with these people. I’m hunting them.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth.” Shaw’s voice dropped, urgent now.
“I’m here because of Keller. He killed my partner.
Fed his identity to the Binding Chain two years ago and watched them murder him.
The Bureau investigated, couldn’t prove anything, and Keller walked.
” Her jaw tightened. “So I took leave. Built my own case. Followed him here.”
Jo felt something cold settle in her stomach. “You’re saying Keller—”
“Is dirty. Has been for years. Cooper figured it out, same as Marcus did. That’s why Cooper’s dead.
” Shaw’s eyes burned with fury and grief and something that looked like desperation.
“I’ve been tracking Keller for months, waiting for him to slip up.
When he got assigned to the Cooper case, I knew this was my chance. ”
Sam’s weapon didn’t waver. “Why should we believe you?”
“Because I have proof. Files, recordings, financial trails—all of it pointing to Keller.” Shaw’s voice cracked. “Why do you think I’ve been running searches from my motel room? I’ve been building a case. Mapping every dirty thing he’s ever touched.”
Jo looked at Sam. His face was pale in the moonlight, his jaw tight.
“The meet tonight,” Sam said slowly. “Keller is supposed to be Wyatt’s backup.”
Shaw’s eyes widened. “Keller is inside?”
Through the earpiece, Jo heard Wyatt’s voice—strained, tense:
“I said open it.”
A pause. Then sounds of movement. A grunt. Something that might have been a struggle.
“Oh no,” Jo breathed.
Sam was already moving, hauling Shaw to her feet. “If you’re telling the truth, prove it. Help us save our man.”
Shaw didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”
They ran.