"He's a complete ghost," Harlow says, reading over his other shoulder. "A professional contractor who works off the books."
"And Haywood hired him to abduct Sela. He had a grab kit in the van. Zip ties, duct tape, everything you'd need for a forced extraction."
"Haywood's escalating and getting desperate." Harlow crosses her arms.
The contractor arrives under state police escort. They transfer him to our secure holding area, and we give them time to clear out before moving him to the interview room.
Inside, Moore sits cuffed to the table, posture relaxed, expression neutral. He watches us like he's got all the time in the world. Patient, calculating.
Rhys doesn't take position by the door. He pulls out the third chair and sits, his presence filling the room. The man whose wife was murdered isn't standing on the sidelines.
I set a folder on the table and don't open it. Let him wonder what's inside.
"David Moore. Former Army Ranger. Honorable discharge. Now working private contracts." I pull out a chair and sit across from him. Harlow stands behind us, arms crossed. "Who hired you to grab Sela Mitchell?"
"Lawyer."
"You said that already. Let me tell you how this plays out. You keep saying 'lawyer,' and I charge you with attempted kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, and felony pursuit. You'll sit in county lockup for weeks waiting for arraignment. Your employer won't bail you out because that creates paper trails they don't want."
His expression doesn't change.
"Or you tell me who hired you and why. Might be able to work something out with the DA. Reduced charges. Maybe even walk on time served if you cooperate."
Moore holds my gaze with that same calculating look.
Rhys leans forward. "You know what the best part about small-town law enforcement is? We have time. We can sit here all night if that's what it takes. All week. Because I've gotnowhere more important to be than right here, finding out who sent you to grab a witness."
Moore glances at Rhys, weighing his options.
"Sheriff Blackwater," Harlow says. "The man whose wife died in what looked like an accident. Until we discovered it was murder. The man who's spent months tracking down everyone involved. You think he's going to get bored and walk away?"
Moore's mouth tightens but he stays silent.
I lean back and change tactics. "Fine. Let's talk about what I know instead of what you won't say. Lyle Haywood. FBI. Running protection for a trafficking network in Alaska for years. Emma Blackwater, a nurse, documented his involvement. Died in a suspicious car accident. Now Sela Mitchell has Emma's evidence, and suddenly contractors are trying to grab her in broad daylight."
Moore blinks once in recognition.
Rhys's voice goes cold. "You know the name. Haywood. The man who ordered my wife killed. The same man who hired you today." He pushes a photo across the table. Emma. Smiling. Alive. "This is Emma Blackwater. The nurse you just heard about. She treated trafficking victims at Palmer Hospital. Started asking questions. And a black truck forced her off Mountain Pass Road."
Moore goes pale.
"Did Haywood tell you about her?" Rhys asks. "Or did he just give you a target name and a paycheck?"
He doesn't respond.
"Maybe he told you Sela was a fugitive. Material witness, classified investigation, federal authorization—the whole nine yards. Made it sound legal."
Moore's breathing changes, gets shallow and faster.
"Here's the problem with that story," Harlow says. "Sela Mitchell isn't a fugitive. She's a nurse who reported evidence offederal corruption. And if Haywood told you she was a material witness requiring detention, he lied to you. Everything you did today was illegal. No federal authority. No legal protection. Just felony kidnapping."
His mouth tightens.
I open the folder and pull out a printed document. It's a federal warrant with Haywood's signature at the bottom.
"He did give you authorization, didn't he? Showed you this. Material witness warrant. Classified investigation. You believed him because why wouldn't you? He's FBI. The paperwork looks legitimate. You were just following orders."
I push the warrant across the table and let him study it.
