20. Dark Minded （Micah）

20

DARK MINDED (MICAH)

I 'm about to murder someone.

Surprisingly, I don't mean the Arrendells or one of the hillfolk.

I can't believe it. After everything I've done, after everything Talia did, everything she put on the line to get that damned evidence…

I'm sorry, Micah , Jane told me. This is still rather circumstantial. I might be able to get a judge to swing a warrant, yes, but it's far from guaranteed. I'll try, but… give me some time.

We don't have time , I'd snarled. Don't you understand? They're going to figure out they've been made, and you know what happens next. Everything goes underground. We might not get another lead for years. We have to move now , before it all goes to waste.

I'll try, Micah. That's all I can promise you. I'll make something happen if I can.

I almost wonder if Arrendell money hasn't bought off the DEA.

Just enough for them to throw the investigation and muddy the waters. It's entirely possible, but it's just as likely that this is how things are. All because some fucks behind a desk needed to cross their T 's.

Bureaucratic red tape. A criminal's best friend.

It's one of the frustrating things about working with the law.

You fucking know what someone's doing, but until you get ironclad proof that will hold up in court and also preserve the chain of evidence without a single flaw, everything you know is useless.

Anyone you arrest will wind up back on the street in under twenty-four hours, now well-informed on your efforts so they can just hide that much better.

Also, well aware of who they should target to keep their secrets.

Which is why I'm creeping through the woods in the middle of the night again—only this time I've got a backpack full of surveillance equipment. I had to drive to Raleigh to get a few missing pieces, partly because Redhaven's small shops don't stock that kind of thing, and partly because I didn't want it getting back to anyone in town.

I have to make this work.

I have to do this.

I have to make something happen, no matter how much the paper pushers at the DEA sleep.

Because if I don't get Xavier behind bars?

There's no telling what he'll do if he figures out Talia took that camera from his desk.

I have to protect her, even if I can't shield her heart.

They're still at the last site I staked out. I've settled into a small hunting blind I built earlier today, building up brush to mask the blinking lights from the camera and audio devices.

Right now, it's only the Jacobins, and nothing I'm capturing is any good.

They're eerily silent, the patriarch and matriarch absent, though their well-oiled machine needs no communication to swing into motion.

The DEA's not going to come down here for a thirty-second clip of some hillfolk making moonshine. They're going to tell me I'm crazy.

And maybe I am.

I'm doubting like I never have.

After screwing everything up with Talia, indulging my selfish whims and then breaking her just because I couldn't resist her, I don't know who the fuck I am anymore.

I don't know if this was worth it.

If this is even anything at all, when maybe I've been wrong this whole time, chasing down farmers in overalls for a few jars of two hundred proof rotgut that I'd swear is the cocaine that killed my brother.

No. I put the groundwork in.

Years of investigation, cornering every low-level drug mule I could find, pressing them for intel, cutting deals until someone finally pointed me to the tip of the spear and I convinced my department there was something worth pursuing.

Something that would justify a multi-year undercover surveillance op. The evidence is there.

I'm not psycho.

I'm just waiting for my moment.

And it comes when I catch the growl of a distant engine and faint glowing headlights on their lowest setting.

I know what I'm about to see even before the front fender breaches that break in the trees.

That town car with the valet Talia identified as Joseph Peters in the driver's seat.

I shift my weight, pointing both the camera and the listening device toward the car.

There's no doubt it's picking up audio clear as day when I can hear the engine in my earpiece, growling just like I'm standing on top of the hood.

I make sure to get a clear shot of Joseph Peters' tight face.

I don't want to pressure a man under duress, but he could be a valuable witness in exchange for immunity. I'll play any angle to end this.

My attention shifts as the back door of the town car opens.

But it's not just Xavier Arrendell who steps out.

Chief Bowden is with him.

He's looking worse for wear, probably from sleeping in his office. Unshaven, wearing dark cargo pants and a flannel shirt that both look like they've seen better days. There's a sour look on his face, something dark and cold and heavy.

If I hadn't seen his face every week for years, I wouldn't even recognize him. It's like there's someone else pushing through his skin. Something creepy and animalistic wearing the face of the happy-go-lucky aging police chief as a mask.

I make sure the listener is recording.

"…have time for this," Xavier says irritably. "Thanks to the container delay, we have trouble."

Bowden hitches his belt up with a grunt. "Window's closing, that's for sure. But with a little extra security and a few more hands on deck, we might pull off a miracle. Push the timeline up."

"We have a two-hour window. Two ," Xavier hisses. "Do you have any idea how much it costs to arrange a complete blackout on Customs and Border Protection for an entire day? A day . And thanks to these bloody idiots , we have two hours left to load up and make an entire ship disappear. A few hired mercenaries won't fix that."

Ship?

Wait.

Didn't Talia say she heard Xavier throwing a tantrum over something to do with a ship?

"So hire more than a few." That coldness is there in the chief's voice, too.

It's unnerving how much it reminds me of myself, whenever I shut down and focus on my obsession.

"Look," Bowden says. "Shit happens, man. We can't control the weather. Storm at sea means the boat's gonna be late. Load up as many of the hillfolk as you can, and I'll call in a few dozen guys. We'll make it work."

Xavier pins Bowden with a frosty look that's no doubt intimidated many—and if Bowden were the man he seems, he'd be wincing and wringing his hands. But he only meets Xavier's eyes, flat and unaffected.

For the first time, I think I'm seeing the real Chief Bowden.

"Be there by two a.m.," Xavier bites off, and turns back to the town car. "Take care of all of… all of this. " He flicks a hand at the Jacobins.

"Uh-huh. Sure thing, Your Highness," Bowden sneers.

The only answer is the town car's door slamming shut.

Snarling, I check my watch.

Nine p.m.

That gives me five hours to figure out where the hell they're going and call in the cavalry. I don't have time to wait for the DEA to get off their asses and do something like, you know, enforcing drug protection laws.

Whether I like it or not, I need help.

And I know exactly where to find it.

The lobby lights are still on at The Rookery when I pull up.

Janelle tends to keep it open late for the folks straggling in at all hours of the night. I think it also helps her feel a little less lonely when her husband clearly isn't home as often as he should be.

The white columns of the massive building are tinted gold by the light spilling through the front windows and glass doors, reflecting off the glossy wood paneling inside.

Gerald Grey's work, I think.

I can see his touch now.

So very similar to Talia's.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Old Gerald must have been the one to consult with Janelle when she first bought this place and had it converted into a B&B, long before I ever came to Redhaven.

I wonder if anyone ever thought we'd wind up here.

I step out of my patrol car and stand at the foot of the walkway.

Janelle is a distant, lonely figure behind the reception desk.

When I step up the walk and open the doors, a soft jingle mixes with the low, pleasant piano music playing in the lobby.

Janelle's shoulders stiffen, but she doesn't look up. Her hair falls down around her face as she writes something in front of her.

I step up and lean against the counter, folding my arms. "Evening, Janelle."

She looks up with a guilty smile.

"Oh, Officer Ainsley! Micah. How can I help you this evening?"

I think she knows.

Deep down, some part of her knows why I'm here.

Doesn't make it any easier to say.

I wonder when I started to care.

Maybe when I found out exactly how it feels when a woman realizes the man she trusted was the worst sort of asshole there is.

"I'm looking for the chief," I tell her. "He's not sleeping at the office tonight. I'm guessing he's not at home. Do you know where he is? Because we both know he's not here."

Her eyes close.

Her pen stills against the ledger, its soft scratch falling silent.

"I… I couldn't tell you," she whispers.

"That doesn't mean you don't know."

I hate pressing her.

It feels cruel, but fuck, I have to do this.

"I can't play around, Janelle. I have one chance to catch him," I tell her. "Him, and a lot of others. We've looked the other way for years. Pretended it was just moonshining up in those hills because we couldn't prove anything else. But you know it's not moonshine, don't you? And you know your husband is in deep."

Her hands tremble.

She swallows hard.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice shakes.

"To know where the hell he goes when he disappears." I hesitate before reaching across the counter to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I know whatever he's involved in, it's not your fault. But if you're willing to speak up, you could help a whole lot of folks tonight."

"I… I…"

"Janelle, what are you afraid of?"

" Him! " she flares, her open eyes brimming with tears as she looks up at me. "Clarence, he's… he's not the man I married. Or maybe the man I married was a lie, but it's like there's a stranger behind his eyes. God, I thought he was having an affair for years, but…"

Carefully, I squeeze her shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

"But what?" I prompt softly. My heart drums, and I don't want to make this harder for her by pressing her too cruelly. "Janelle, please. I won't let him hurt you. I just need to know where he goes, if you have any clue."

She presses her quivering lips together, just staring at me for a long time.

I can feel her pain hanging in the balance, this painful decision to betray the man she thought she loved. To admit he was never who she thought he was out loud.

If this were me and Talia, I'd want her to give me up in a heartbeat, as long as it meant doing what was right.

She'd have a better chance at happiness by moving on.

And I hope, when this is over, Janelle can find happiness, too.

After several rough breaths, she jerks her head away, lowering her eyes.

"Mariposa Cove," she whispers. "When I thought he was having an affair, I snuck a tracker app on his phone. He had no idea. About once a week, sometimes more, he goes to Mariposa Cove. I don't know what he does there, but I don't think he's meeting other women."

Mariposa Cove.

I know the name.

It's a tiny waterfront town about an hour and a half away from here on the Atlantic Coast. Hell, it's barely a town, just a dock and a terminal with a few buildings clustered around it.

A shipping dock favored by people running all sorts of clandestine operations.

If a ship's coming in tonight as part of the Arrendell/Jacobin drug ring, that's a mighty good place for it to land.

"Thank you," I say breathlessly. If there wasn't a counter between us, I'd hug her. " Thank you . You did the right thing, Janelle. Let me find out what's happening and end it."

She lifts her head, looking at me mournfully, hot tears gathered in her eyes.

"Go," she whispers. "Don't make me regret this. I'm so sick of living a lie. I'm tired of all the secrets in this town, all the heartbreak… and tired being part of them. Fix it, Micah. Please ."

"I will, ma'am," I promise.

I may not be able to fix breaking Talia's heart, but I can still manage this.

Not alone, though.

It's time to call in reinforcements.

I'm stunned at how fast the Redhaven PD assembles at the station when I call them for a late-night meeting, no questions asked.

I never thought of myself as someone who's built that kind of trust.

Aside from Mallory, there they are, all lined up in the back room with Henri still buttoning up his uniform shirt and Lucas bleary-eyed from being up with their baby and Grant still sporting bedhead from hell—and bed beard, which I didn't even know was possible.

"What's this about, Micah?" Grant folds his arms across his burly chest, hazel eyes watching me keenly.

"I don't have time to explain," I say. "And we have even less time to move. I need you guys to trust me and believe every word I'm about to say."

"Hell of an intro. Now I'm curious." Lucas rubs his thick black scruff, his green eyes sharpening.

"I'll answer questions later. For now, this is all you need to know." I glance around.

Though I've told myself many times that all the relationships I've built here are temporary and surface deep, something in me knots up at the thought of this team I've worked with for years hating me for the lie, rejecting me.

I draw a deep breath before I speak.

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm undercover DEA, and I was sent to Redhaven to root out a drug operation that's been poisoning the entire East Coast for years. That operation is the reason my brother died. Xavier Arrendell runs that op with the Jacobins, while Chief Bowden runs interference so no one ever thinks of them as anything more than harmless moonshiners." I look from one stunned face to the next. "I have evidence. Clearly. Wouldn't dream of standing here right now if I didn't. They killed that hiker, Brian Newcomb, and if we can get to Mariposa Cove in the next two hours, we might just get a hell of a lot more than that and take them all down."

I'm breathing hard when I finish.

My crew just stares at me.

Tension prickles up my spine.

Fuck, time is running thin.

I don't have time for a thousand questions and even less for disbelief.

If they won't trust me, I'll have to do this on my own. I can't let it slip through my fingers after laying the groundwork for years. It has to happen now , or—

Grant cuts off my rabbiting thoughts with a long, deep sigh.

"You albino dumbass," he growls before breaking into a smile, fierce and carnivorous. "Why the hell didn't you fess up sooner? We could've helped you, you stubborn goddamn mule."

I can't help a shaky smile of my own. "Better late than never. I'm telling you now and hoping you'll help me anyway."

Lucas answers with a dark smirk.

There's blood in that look.

Even after finally getting his answers, that need for revenge against the Arrendells still rides him so roughly I can practically see it clinging to his back.

"I'm game," he says. "Just let me call the wife and tell her it'll be a late night."

Henri hesitates, an odd look in his eyes, before he lets out an easygoing chuckle and rakes his brown hair back. "Who needs sleep when we have hunting?"

"Then it's settled," Grant says darkly.

My heart jumps with hope as I realize the guys are truly with me.

They're with me, they trust me, and we might just pull this off.

"Let's gear up and get moving," Grant rumbles again. "Time for a little late-night fishing."