Chapter 23
“That guy is like a cockroach. And I can’t wait for him to meet the bottom of my shoe.”
-Cam
There’s bad news, and then there’s shake the ground you walk on terrible news. But even that would be a walk in the fucking park compared to what the Boss Man told me this morning.
“We combed through the wreckage of the farmhouse,” Fairclough told me over the video conference.
“And you found the body of that shitstain Dakota Helfinger, right?”
He shook his head. “That’s just it. Found a body. Tested the DNA. Wasn’t him.”
I fell into a chair; the wind knocked out of me completely. “All that undercover work.”
Fairclough said nothing.
“How? How did he get out?” I shook my head. “The sheriff shot him in the fucking chest, for chrissakes!”
“Best we can figure, Helfinger was wearing a vest. A hidden fire door in the basement led to a tunnel. That opened to the nearby barn.”
“So, the sheriff is dirty?”
Roman Fairclough grunted but looked as perplexed as I was. “Not that we can tell. And we did an extensive deep dive of his shit, too. That’s why I wanted you to call in on a secure line.”
The unease in my stomach grew as I waited for the Boss Man to drop the hammer.
“We think there’s a mole.”
“Fuck. Me.”
“And if there’s a mole in our system, they’ll give you up in a heartbeat,” Fairclough continued. “Helfinger blames you for all of this. Watch your six.”
We signed off with me promising to be vigilant. Celia and Flint wanted to assign me a bodyguard, which I vetoed with extreme prejudice. They offered the help of their resident hacker, Tatiana Martel, which I accepted.
Then, I begged off of lunch, turned off my phone, and headed out to my special spot.
I had to lose Casper The Tatted Up Ghost first. He’s good, I’ll give him that, but I am better. He’s probably still wondering how I drove out of a dead-end road without him finding me first.
An engine roars down the fire access road.
Hells bells.
I lost Casper the tracker, but I failed to consider that my little sis would reach out for the big guns.
Aaron.
Once again, I’m reminded that I should have hit up a bar instead.
Tequila asks no questions. Tequila makes no judgments. Tequila is always there for you without a raised eyebrow or frowny face.
Although, Tequilacanbe a real bitch the morning after.
That’s the price you pay for Tequila’s company.
I turn to watch Aaron barrel into the clearing, slamming on the brakes and creating clouds of dust that roll toward me. I cough and shield my eyes as he jumps out of the truck, not even bothering to shut the door.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Aaron demands. “Do you know how much danger you’re in right now?”
