"Ransom…"
"I mean it, Chief. I'll keep this quiet as long as I can. I'll support the operation, I'll watch Grant and Derrick, I'll do everything you're asking. But the second my family is at risk, I'm pulling the plug."
I understand where he's coming from. Family comes first. It always has, especially for men like Ransom who have built their lives around protecting the people they love. Same for me, too.
"We'll pull everybody out before it gets that bad," I assure him. "I'm not going to let this operation cost innocent lives. Yours or anyone else's."
"Good. Because Keegan doesn't know anything about what's really happening. He just works at the garage, helps out where he can. If the Rebels or the Clarks come after him because of this…" he trails off.
"They won't. I'll make sure of it."
Ransom stands up, tossing some bills on the table. "I hope you know what you're doing, Chief. Because if this goes wrong, it's not just careers on the line. It's lives."
"I know." And I do. I know exactly what's at stake, which is why I'm willing to lie to my own officers if it means keeping them safe.
After Ransom leaves, I sit in the booth for a few more minutes, nursing a second cup of coffee and thinking through my next moves. The sample is secure, already sent off to the lab with instructions to test it but hold the results. I'll get the confirmation I need that it's fentanyl-laced, but I won't share that information with Grant or Derrick.
Not yet.
I pull out my phone and compose a text message to both of them. My fingers hover over the send button for a moment, and I feel a pang of guilt. These are good men. Men who trust me, who have put their lives on the line because I asked them to.
And I'm about to lie to them.
But sometimes, the right thing to do isn't the honest thing. Sometimes you have to bend the rules to protect the people who matter most.
I hit send.
M: Sample came back. Not enough fentanyl to make a case. Need more evidence. Keep up the operation and stay close to the Rebels. Will advise when we have enough to move.
The message delivers, and I watch the read receipts pop up almost immediately. I can imagine their reactions. The frustration, the confusion, maybe even suspicion.
But they'll keep going. That's what good cops do. They trust their commanding officers, follow orders, and do the job even when it's hard.
Even when it costs them pieces of themselves they might never get back.
I finish my coffee and head out to my truck. There's still work to do. The Clarks need investigating, the Rebels need monitoring, and I need to build a case that doesn't rely solely on two undercover officers who might not survive if their cover gets blown.
As I drive back toward the station, I think about Grant's face when he told me he loved the outlaw life. The honesty in his voice, the conflict in his eyes. He's a good man caught between two worlds, and I'm asking him to stay in that limbo just a little bit longer.
I just hope he can hold on until we're ready to pull him out.
Because if he can't, if he crosses a line he can't come back from, I'll have to live with the fact that I'm the one who put him there.
And that's a weight I'm not sure I'm prepared to carry.
But it's the job. It's always been the job. And sometimes the job requires you to make impossible choices and live with the consequences.
So that's what I'll do.
I'll lie to my officers, protect my operation, and pray that when this is all over, everyone I care about is still alive to see the other side.
That's all I can do.
Nineteen
Dime
Devil and I are looking down at our phones at the same time. Both of us were getting ready to leave the garage for the day when the text came through from Chief Harrison.
