Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
An hour later, Ramos held his position by the garden arch as the three white FBI vans he’d called in rolled to a stop outside Mark’s cabin. Within seconds, agents poured out and stormed across the long yard. Some circled to the back of the cabin, while others went straight to the front door carrying a black metal battering ram.
The timber splintered and burst after just a few strikes. One agent called for any inhabitants to come out with their hands high and visible. For long seconds no one replied.
Guns drawn, the agent in command raised a hand, and some personnel behind him advanced into the building. Meanwhile, another agent stood yards away from Ramos, a crew of even more agents nearby like a second battalion ready to back up the first. Shouts came from inside the house, though no shots were fired. A suspenseful few seconds passed before an announcement cut through a radio that two people had surrendered and the investigative team could start rolling in.
The lead agent moved the remainder of his team in, but not before acknowledging Ramos with a nod to go in too. Even before Ramos got inside the cabin, a closer look through the front window showed the small space crammed with FBI. All areas of the property appeared swarmed with agents combing for evidence and information. Some cameras clicked, while others recorded video footage of the scene. Every drawer, every closet, every box had someone engaged in a search for further proof.
Occasionally, an agent filed out carrying a laptop or various piles of paper. Every so often, a bagged-up weapon would file past too. Handguns. Rifles. Knives. All brought here to protect Farro and his bodyguard, now just more things to incriminate him.
A solemn silence descended,and the sound of heavy footsteps had Ramos joining the vigil. The thunderous noise came from a short corridor adjoining the living room Ramos stood in. Farro’s guard from the window earlier came out surrounded by several agents, his hands cuffed behind his back. Ramos stood aside to make some room, but the man’s stare sought him as he called over the crush of people, “You’ll vouch for me, right?”
The crush hurtled past, not allowing Ramos time to answer, though the guard twisted his head long enough for Adrian to offer a deep nod that when it came to any criminal trials, he would speak on this man’s help in locating Farro.
After all, Adrian’s brief time parading as a syndicate member had gifted him chances to befriend enough people there. Some not totally disagreeing with the part he’d played in Luciano Conti’s arrest.
And yes, “befriend” was too strong a word. No one in the context of the syndicate were “friends.” Not in an organization built on greed and taking advantage. Most people there were muscle for hire, hanging on for no other reason than to keep that machine running because they liked the money or couldn’t escape. Chances were that Farro’s bodyguard was far from the only man who wanted out. But examples such as the violent manhunt that unfolded after Dean Holloway’s escape served as a cautionary tale of how little syndicate leaders cared about anyone’s freedom.
Though Ramos never got close enough to make direct contact with Mark Farro, he’d still gathered leads and favor with those on the inside. He’d funneled information and incentives through his syndicate connections. Drawn closer and closer to those protecting Mark, enough to home in on this cabin in rural North Dakota.
Tonight’s arrest was a major step forward, but still, Harlow couldn’t breathe easy. Not until he ascertained the syndicate’s next move. Whether they would finally back off now that Mark and his vendetta had nowhere to go.
The room’s concentrated silence lingered with the muffled stomp of new footsteps against the carpet. Another small entourage flanked a handcuffed Mark Farro, his icy gaze quick to find Ramos.
“What good is being clever, Mr. Ramos”—a small smirk pulled his lips higher, and his stare took on an even deeper chill—“when you’re in the wrong place?”
Not wanting to provide Farro the joy of any reaction, Ramos paused to process those words. What did he mean by ‘in the wrong place’ ?
None of today would have been possible without Adrian’s months of work. Without his syndicate connections. Without their help, Mark Farro would never have been arrested. He frowned at the apathy in Mark’s bold statement. At his lack of anger at his arrest. Like he’d wanted Ramos to be here.
Mark must have read the confusion in Adrian’s frozen response because his smirk turned to an outright sneer. Even as the agents pulled him past, he did not look away. Though he did call out in a roaring laugh.
“You’re too late. You’re all far, far too late.”
The early morning sky held a pale gray glow, the sun only just peeking over the mountainous horizon, as Laila steered her car closer to Harlow. Towering pine trees flicked past her window on the near-empty highway and provided space for her mind to wander. As tumultuous as things had been lately, she still had a lot to look forward to. Her summer classes would be finished soon, and she’d have some weeks off without study. She could have more time with Whitney, perhaps even Ramos would stick around. Because she did want him to stick around. But whether he could—or would—remained to be seen.
And on the topic of Ramos, she owed him a serious talk when she returned to town. She would lay out how she felt about her ex-husband’s secret life and secret family. She’d share all her emotions. The anger. The betrayal. The fear. Her devastation on Whitney’s behalf. That she’d have to one day sit her daughter down and tell her the horrid truth of Mike’s choices.
Expressing her insecurities to Ramos would not be easy, especially when she also wanted to talk about how the secrecy around his work tweaked her insecurities. That watching his cold change during the showdown with Gerry had shocked and unsettled her.
She guided her car left and off the highway, higher and higher up a hill where a view of Harlow would soon open at the peak. A good portion of the town nestled snug between the region’s rolling hills and she knew this path well. The lush golden wheat fields. The subdued light over the valley at this time of morning. She knew this place well enough that she could notice any differences immediately. Like now, as Harlow unfolded before her, and a litany of things appeared that shouldn’t have been there.
The muddy gray sky. The columns of smoke dotting the valley. Her gut jolted with a wave of nausea. An icy chill filled her veins.
Harlow was on fire.
All of Harlow was on fire.
Instinct had her foot clamping down on the accelerator, as did the ingrained knowledge that summer’s heat would make quelling the flames near impossible. And the worst of it… Somewhere amongst it all was Whitney.
Without her mother.
Scared.
And Laila still nowhere near enough to help.
Her throat swelled and formed a panicked sob, and she fought back tears, only for her thoughts to catch on Ramos. Just for this moment, she had to be more like him. Run toward the danger. Not from it. Her daughter needed her.
She swallowed at the tension in her throat and spoke out to her phone’s voice command, the phone itself clipped to her windshield. “Call Mom.”
The dial tone rang twice before her mother answered, her voice through the speaker a jumble of background noise and fraught words. “Laila, something terrible’s happened.”
“Is Whitney okay?” As much as a new sob worked up Laila’s throat, she had to know her daughter was okay.
“Yes. Yes, she’s fine, but the town’s on fire.” Her mom spoke quickly. “Where are you?”
“I know about the town, Mom, I’m on the mountain and can see it all.” She peered to her left, where an influx of outbound traffic strained to escape in the opposite direction. “There’s a lot of cars leaving, are you one of them?”
“No, Honey. There’s too many of people fleeing, and they don’t want a bottleneck of cars at every exit where people can get trapped in their cars. Our section of town isn’t so bad yet, we’ve been told to gather in the town hall, but I’m not sure how long even this plan will hold.”
Whitney’s little voice came through all the background noise and Laila fought with herself to not exceed the speed limit more than she already did. Drawing closer to town, the fires grew increasingly visible, the pristine landscape littered with beacons of destruction, the morning light now holding an orange glow.
“I gotta go, Mom.” The town’s roadblock sat up ahead and she’d need to speak with the people there. “I’ll see you soon.”
With all the fires, getting to town hall wouldn’t be straightforward, she hung up from her mother knowing she’d given a promise grounded in uncertainty.
Her stomach churned, as she pulled up to the line at the roadblock and tried to remain calm. The officer on duty leaned into the window of the car ahead, his finger pointed in the opposite direction to town. He stepped back, and the car proceeded to do as told and turned around.
She inched her car forward, knowing full-well that turning around would not be an option. Not for her.
The officer leaned in just as he had the car prior. “Morning, Miss.”
“Officer, I live in Harlow.” She attempted an affable smile, but the ache in her cheeks and the wobble of her lower lip said she failed. “My parents are down there with my daughter. I need to get through.”
“I’m sorry, Miss.” The man, perhaps somewhere in his early fifties, gave a sympathetic looking grimace that deepened the wrinkles over his cheekbones. “We can’t let anyone in.”
A sharp ache filled Laila’s chest while she shook her head furiously, pulling her attention from the man standing between her and her child, and onto the two others patrolling the roadblock. They held an air of palpable unease, their wide gazes darting about and their movements stiff.
“I’m not turning around.” Her voice rose a little and she turned back to the man peering through her window.
“Miss, I’m sorry.” He held a calm tone and shook his head, his stoicism in what was a major crisis for her only working to agitate the panic gripping her every thought and feeling.
“I have to get in.” She broke into an uncontrolled yell now and fresh tears burned down her cheeks. “Please. Just let me in.”
“Ma’am.” The officer’s firm tone held an unmistakably assertive edge. “I’m going to have to ask you to settle dow—”
“No!” She slammed her hands into her steering wheel and lurched her car forward, refusing to be sidelined while her child was surrounded in flames.
The men around her broke into a flurry of movement, yelling indiscernible orders to each other, before the one she’d yelled at caught up to her car and wrenched her door wide open.
Even without him there, the metal barriers blocking the road meant her car would get stuck, nor would these men be so accommodating as to move those barriers out of her way.
In her agitated state, she jerked the handbrake into place, but kept the engine running. She launched out of her car and charged ahead, her breaths exploding with every hurried step. She would move those damn barriers herself. Then get in her car. Then get Whitney.
But of course, she had three grown men to fight first. So, before she got that far, three torsos caged her in, multiple arms locking around her.
“Let me go!” Her voice tore from her in a ragged and pain-filled cry, and she fought with every bit of energy she could muster, pushing forward despite the odds against her.
Her worst nightmare had come true. Whitney needed her, but she wasn’t there, and these men weren’t letting her correct her mistake. She had to get to Whitney. She just had to.
“Let me through.” She kicked and shrieked but was being pushed in the opposite direction to where she sought to be. “Just let me through.” Her back hit the side of her car and exhaustion and despondency drew the last dregs of will from her body. “I can’t stay here while my daughter burns.”