“Did they take anything?”
“One box.”
“What was in it?”
“Old photographs. Military papers. Some notebooks.”
“And you let them?”
“They told me if I didn’t cooperate, you could lose your clearance.”
That angered me more than anything else.
They had weaponized my career against my mother.
I pressed my palm to the wall.
“Mom, I need you and Naomi moved somewhere secure.”
“No.”
“This isn’t negotiable.”
“I spent seven years being afraid, Derek.”
“Then spend one more day being smart.”
She almost laughed through the tears.
“You sound exactly like him.”
The call ended.
Behind me, Sloan stood in the doorway.
She had heard enough to understand.
“Autumn comes early?”
“Yes.”
“You recognize it?”
“No.”
She handed me a tablet.
“You might recognize this.”
It showed a surveillance still from a gas station three miles from the traffic stop.
Timestamp: 10:39 p.m.
Bradley Mitchell stood beside his patrol cruiser.
Talking to another man.
The image quality was poor, but the second man wore a sheriff’s deputy uniform.
The face was visible.
Evan Cole.
The sheriff’s son.
“What are they doing?”
Sloan enlarged the image.
Evan was handing Mitchell something.
A folded sheet of paper.
“Traffic camera caught Evan’s truck heading north ten minutes later,” Sloan said. “Then he disappeared.”
“His phone?”
“Off.”
“Home?”
“Empty.”
“Bank activity?”
“Nothing.”
I studied the photograph.
“Why would the sheriff’s son help Mitchell target me?”
“We don’t know.”
“Has Cole seen this?”
“Yes.”
“How did he react?”
Sloan looked uncomfortable.
“He said there was something he should have told us last night.”
I hated that sentence.
“What?”
“Evan Cole’s mother died fourteen years ago.”
“And?”
“Before she married Nathan Cole, her last name was Hayes.”
I stared at Sloan.
“No.”
“Her full name was Lorraine Hayes.”
My mind raced.
Hayes was common.
It meant nothing.
It could mean nothing.
Then Sloan continued.
“Lorraine Hayes was your father’s younger sister.”
I sat down.
My father had a sister.
I vaguely remembered hearing about an Aunt Lorraine who had “left the family” before I was born.
My parents never discussed her.
“Evan is my cousin?”
“Yes.”
“Sheriff Cole is my uncle?”
“By marriage.”
I almost laughed again.
This time it hurt.
“So my father dies in Oak Haven, in the custody of a deputy working for his brother-in-law, and nobody tells me?”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“There’s always more.”
Sloan sat across from me.
“Lorraine didn’t die from cancer like the family apparently told relatives.”
“What happened?”
“Vehicle explosion.”
I looked up.
“Explosion?”
“Her SUV caught fire on Route 114.”
The same road.
“When?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
I whispered, “Jesus.”
“Investigators called it mechanical failure.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
“Does Sheriff Cole?”
“Not anymore.”
My phone buzzed.
Morales.
“Derek, we found Evan.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned ranger station in Pine Ridge State Forest.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Did he surrender?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He called us.”
That didn’t fit.
“Why?”
“He says he has evidence.”
“Against Mitchell?”
“Against everyone.”
“What does that mean?”
Morales’s voice dropped.
“He says the traffic stop last night was staged.”
I looked at Sloan.
“Staged by Mitchell?”
“No.”
Morales paused.
“By Evan.”
My throat tightened.
“He says he deliberately gave Mitchell your vehicle information.”
“Why?”
“He says he needed Mitchell to stop you.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“Because according to Evan, the only way to expose what happened to your father was to make Bradley Mitchell repeat it while federal witnesses were watching.”
For a second, I couldn’t speak.
Sloan took the phone from my hand and put it on speaker.
Morales continued.
“Evan claims he manipulated Mitchell. Told him an armed man impersonating a federal agent would be on Route 114. Told him the department wanted the suspect intercepted quietly.”
I stared at nothing.
“Did Evan know the President would be on that road?”
“Yes.”
That was horrifying.
“He risked the motorcade?”
“He claims he believed Mitchell would back down once you showed credentials.”
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
“He fired a weapon.”
“Yes.”
“Evan could have gotten the President killed.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he do this?”
Morales exhaled.
“Because he says the conspiracy that killed your father is still operating.”
“Who?”
“He refuses to say over the phone.”
“Why?”
“He believes county communications are compromised.”
I looked at Sloan.
“Where is he?”
“FBI tactical team has the ranger station surrounded.”
“Then bring him in.”
Morales was silent.
“Lena?”
“He won’t come out unless you go in.”
Sloan immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Morales continued.
“He says there’s one thing he needs to show Derek first.”
“What?”
“A video.”
My skin prickled.
“What video?”
“Your father’s final traffic stop.”
Chapter 4
The ranger station sat at the end of an unmarked gravel road surrounded by nearly three thousand acres of forest.
By the time we arrived, federal vehicles were hidden among the trees.
No lights.
No sirens.
The kind of operation designed to disappear.
Sloan argued with me for the entire drive.
“You are emotionally involved.”
“Yes.”
“You are a potential target.”
“Yes.”
“This could be a trap.”
“Yes.”
“And you still want to walk into a building occupied by a missing deputy who admits engineering last night’s confrontation.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“You’re exhausting.”
“I’ve been told.”
Agents searched me for trackers.
Then I entered alone.
The ranger station smelled of dust, old wood, and cold coffee.
Evan Cole sat behind a table.
Thirty-two years old.
Thin.
Unshaven.
His uniform shirt was open at the collar.
His service weapon lay unloaded on the floor ten feet away.
He looked like a man who had not slept in days.
I shut the door.
He stared at me.
I stared back.