Shaw sits up, immediately alert. "Don't spook him. I'll contact Davis and get law enforcement rolling. Maintain observation until they arrive."
"Copy that," Tate confirms. "But Shaw? He's buying enough accelerant to burn down half the town. I count at least eight five-gallon jerrycans in his cart, plus he's got a flatbed dolly. Whatever he's planning, it's not a single building. This is big."
Shaw's hand tightens on the phone, knuckles going white. "Stay on him. If he moves before law enforcement arrives, follow at a distance and maintain contact. Do not engage unless he's an immediate threat to civilians."
"Understood."
Shaw ends the call and looks at me, his expression going hard and focused. "We've got him. Finally."
Relief washes through me, immediate and fierce. All the fires, the threatening messages, the businesses burned and people who lost everything.
Tonight it ends.
Shaw grabs his kutte and checks his weapon with practiced efficiency—a press check on the Glock, spare magazines in his pocket, his knife on his belt. I follow suit, gathering my tablet and camera, everything I'll need to document what comes next.
"Stay close to me," Shaw says. It's a command, not a request. "We're ending this, but I'm not losing you in the process."
"You won't."
Shaw's hand finds mine as we move toward the door. Outside, he swings onto the Harley. The engine roars to life,a deep rumble that vibrates through my bones as I climb on behind him.
Richard Sullivan burned innocent people's businesses. Destroyed their livelihoods. Murdered Jonathan Hartley. Went after people under Brotherhood protection.
Tonight the Brotherhood reminds him why that was a mistake.
15
SHAW
Metro Industrial Supply sits on the edge of the commercial district, a sprawling warehouse with loading docks and chain-link fencing.
Cole rides beside me, and Mira presses against my back on the bike with her arms wrapped tight around my waist. The weight of her feels right, grounding, even as adrenaline spikes through my system.
This ends now.
The ride takes fifteen minutes through town, past familiar streets and businesses we've protected for years. Mira's grip tightens around my waist as we get closer, and I cover her hands with one of mine for a moment before returning it to the handlebars.
Tate's already on site, maintaining surveillance from a position across the street where he can watch the main entrance and loading area. His text came through minutes ago with confirmation that a vehicle matching the description from Cascade Services is parked at the loading dock, and someone is actively loading containers into the bed.
Fire Marshal Davis's SUV pulls into the lot from the south entrance, patrol vehicles following with lights off but officersvisible through the windshields. Detective Perez's unmarked SUV pulls in behind them. Law enforcement moves into position with coordination and professionalism.
Richard Sullivan. The bastard who's been burning businesses associated with the Brotherhood for months is right there, loading accelerants into his truck like it's just another workday.
I cut the engine and help Mira off the bike. She's wearing her professional clothes again—pressed jeans and a sweater under her leather jacket. Her insurance investigator armor. Her hand finds mine for just a moment and squeezes once before she steps back.
Cole moves to flank my left side and positions himself where he has clear sightlines to the loading dock and warehouse entrance. Brotherhood kuttes make us visible and identifiable, exactly what we need to be when this goes down. We're not hiding who we are or why we're here.
Detective Perez approaches with Davis beside him, both keeping their voices low. Perez takes the lead. "We've got enough for the stop based on Sullivan's financial connection to Cascade and the accelerants visible in the truck bed. Once we secure him, we'll need your eyes on the fire evidence, Davis."
"Already catalogued the accelerant types from here," Davis says. "Same commercial grade used in at least three of the fires."
"Good." Perez signals to the patrol officers who begin moving into position around the perimeter. "We go in clean, by the book. You boys stay back and let us handle the arrest."
"Understood." I meet his eyes. "But if he runs, we're not letting him get away."
Perez's mouth tightens, but he doesn't argue. After months of burned businesses and one dead body, he's not about to tell us to stand down.
Mira stays close but not in the way with her phone out and recording. Documentation for her company, evidencefor the insurance fraud case that runs parallel to the arson investigation. All business now, the professional investigator who tracked financial records through shell companies and found the connection everyone else missed.
