Chapter 9 #3
It would work. But…“The syndicate will be watching. They’ll have people on the roads. If they see the van—”
“Then we make sure they see it. Make sure they’re watching when it goes over the cliff.”
“You want them to follow?”
“I want them to witness. To see with their own eyes that Roger and Destiny died in that van.” Daphne paused. “You’ll need to contact your informant. Tell him where we’ll be. When. Give him enough information that he shows up to watch.”
Contact Dmitri. Lead him to the scene. Make him witness the deaths.
Except Dmitri wouldn’t trust him, would he? Unless Asher played it right. Played it desperate. Like someone scrambling to salvage a compromised operation.
“I can do that. But there’s risk. If they get too close—”
“That’s why the fire has to be convincing. That’s why the bodies have to be unidentifiable.” Daphne took another sip of coffee. Shook her head. “That’ll kill the dead.”
He wanted to smile. “Okay. We do this right, maybe they believe it. We do this wrong, we’re all dead.”
“So we do it right.” She cocked her head.
“We do it right.”
“Good. Except there’s another problem. Where do we go after? We can’t go back to the safe house. We can’t trust any FBI location if there’s a mole.”
“I know.”
“So where?”
Asher met her eyes. Held her gaze. “I have a place. Off-grid. Secure. No one knows about it.”
Daphne studied him, her eyes narrowing. A muscle worked in her jaw. “What place?”
“Somewhere safe. That’s all you need to know right now.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It has to be. If there’s a mole, the fewer people who know where we’re going, the better. Even you.”
Her brows arched. “You expect me to just trust you? After everything?”
A beat, then, “Yes.”
Daphne drew in a breath. Swallowed. “If this is a trap—”
“It’s not. I swear to you, it’s not.”
“Your word doesn’t mean much right now.”
“I know.” Asher’s voice went quiet. “But it’s all I’ve got.”
Silence. The creek rushed outside. The heater rattled. The shower hummed through the bedroom wall behind her. Water dripped from the faucet. Plink. Plink. Plink.
Daphne watched him. Her fingers tapped once against her thigh—the only tell that she was considering it.
Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But I set the security protocols when we get there. I verify it’s actually secure before we commit. And if anything feels wrong—anything at all—we’re gone. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“And Asher?” Her voice went harder. “If you’re lying to me. If this is a trap—I won’t hesitate—”
“I know.”
“Okay. I need to make calls. Set up the forensic pathologist. Coordinate the vans. Get supplies.” She moved toward the door. Her boots made soft thuds on the carpet. “How long until you can have the technical setup ready?”
“Six hours. Maybe eight if we need specific equipment. I need to scout Blackwater Pass.”
“Then we execute tonight.”
“I’ll be ready.”
She reached for the door handle. Stopped. Looked back. “This place you’re taking us. How far?”
“Far enough. That’s all you need to know.”
Daphne’s jaw clenched. But she didn’t push. Just nodded once and left through the connecting door. Closed it quietly behind her. The latch clicked.
Asher stood there, listening to her move around the other room. Low voices as she spoke to Destiny.
Through the door, he heard Destiny’s response. Thin. Fragile. Like old paper tearing. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I have the strength—”
“You do. You’re stronger than you think. Have a little faith. And I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Somehow, the words just pinged inside him and clung to his bones.
Found his soul. He didn’t exactly know why.
Roger emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and sticking up. Face scrubbed pink. He wore jeans and a rumpled button-down. Steam billowed out behind him, smelling of cheap motel soap and shampoo. “What plan? What’s happening tonight?”
Asher turned to face him. Assessed how much to say. “We’re staging your death. Making the syndicate think they won. Then we’re disappearing until the testimony.”
Roger stared at him. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“And Daphne’s okay with this?”
“It was her idea.”
Roger was quiet. Processing. His hand went to his collar, adjusting it even though it didn’t need adjusting. Nervous habit. Then, “Where are we going after?”
“Somewhere safe.”
Roger’s eyes narrowed. His hand dropped from his collar. “You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone right now. Someone leaked our location. Until I know who, I’m not sharing anything that could compromise us again.”
Roger studied him, something calculating in his expression. Something that made the hair on the back of Asher’s neck stand up. Like watching a snake decide whether to strike or retreat.
“You know they’ll come after us anyway,” Roger said. “Even if they think we’re dead. Even if we hide. They won’t stop until—” He paused. Shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Until what?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Listen. You testify, this is over.”
Roger laughed. Bitter. Harsh. Like glass breaking. “You really believe that? You think a testimony ends this?”
“It puts Draven Frost away. Dismantles the syndicate.”
“Does it?” Roger walked over to the coffee machine. “I need coffee. Real coffee. Not motel coffee.” His hands shook. Just slightly. But enough for Asher to notice. Then, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. None of you do.”
Asher watched him. The defensiveness. The way Roger wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Nothing.” Roger’s voice went sharp. “I’m not telling you nothing.
” He picked up the coffeepot and spun and threw it against the wall.
It crashed into shards and Asher jumped back.
“You want me to testify? Fine. I’ll testify.
But don’t pretend you know what happens after.
Don’t pretend any of us are safe just because I get on that witness stand. ”
He headed back to the bathroom, door slamming behind him. The thin walls shook.
Asher stood there, Roger’s words echoing.
They won’t stop until—
Until what?
The door banged open. “What was that?” Daphne charged in.
“Roger. Having a temper tantrum.”
She rolled her eyes.
He shrugged. She turned back to her room as Asher moved to his jacket, bloody and hanging on a chair.
Searched the pocket.
The burner phone was gone. He took a breath. Okay, so, probably he’d lost it in the fight at the house.
He did, however, have his cell velcroed in his leg pocket. He pulled it out, and the screen lit up when he touched it—harsh blue light in the gray morning. Pulled up encrypted messaging. Typed carefully, thumb moving over the screen.
Asher
It’s on. Tonight. 5pm. Blackwater Pass. Will send location details. Come watch the show.
He sent it to Dmitri’s number.
His phone buzzed. Response already. Less than ten seconds.
Dmitri
Received. Will be there.
Either Dmitri was playing along, or he was setting a trap.
Only one way to find out.
Asher deleted the messages. The screen asked: Are you sure? He tapped yes. The messages vanished.
Then he pulled up the contact of the only man he knew who could build explosives from scratch, and prepared to end this.