Consuming Shadow

Candle Sutton

Text copyright © 2024 Candle Sutton

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, incidents, business names, and locations are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to events, places, corporations, or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or other – without written permission from the author.

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Cover art by Hannah Linder Designs. https://hannahlinderdesigns.com/

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Prologue

The not too distant future…

Life looked different through the eyes of a scarecrow.

Ramon adjusted the night-vision camera, hidden in the scarecrow’s hollow eyes, so he could see more of the moon-drenched corn field. The motion-activated camera had turned on. There must be something out there.

He hoped it wasn’t simply a raccoon, deer, or coyote.

Something was happening to his crop. He’d bet the farm that it was not natural.

He leaned toward the laptop, his attention focused on the image on the screen. A shadow moved between the cornstalks.

He zoomed in. A person, likely a man by the size of him, moved along the row of corn. Something was in his hands. He aimed it up, sweeping back and forth methodically.

Seconds ticked by.

Was that man spraying something on his crops?

That would sure explain a lot. Probably some kind of non-selective herbicide.

He adjusted the camera, panning away from the man until a dark-colored truck came into view. The tank in the truck’s bed, not to mention the hose trailing over the tailgate, confirmed his suspicions.

This guy was killing his crops. Destroying the farm that had been in his family for three generations.

Not on his watch.

He jumped to his feet, his knees hitting the kitchen table and jostling the laptop. That guy thought he could sabotage his crops? He’d teach the jerk a lesson.

Snagging his shotgun, he stomped to the back door and slid his feet into his dirt-encrusted sneakers. He’d move faster in these than the work boots and if this guy tried to make a break for it, he needed to be able to chase him down.

Being an independent farmer was hard enough. No one destroyed his crops and got away with it.

“Ramon?” Maria’s voice came from behind him.

He glanced back to find her standing in the mouth of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. She clutched the front of her lightweight cotton robe. As much as he didn’t want to worry her, if this was what he thought it was, he’d need her to call the authorities.

With a nod at the still-open laptop, he directed his wife’s attention to the screen. “I’m going to confront him. Be ready to call the sheriff.”

He didn’t wait for a response, but yanked open the door and stepped into the mild August evening.

The full moon overhead cast the back yard in an ethereal glow. It also provided enough light that he didn’t need to announce his presence with a flashlight.

He jogged across the freshly cut grass, feeling the jostling in his joints. At almost sixty, he was getting too old for this, but if he didn’t hurry, the saboteur might get away.

At the edge of the cornfield, he paused.

No sign of the figure he’d seen on the camera, but the scarecrow was more toward the center of the patch. He headed for the tractor-width lane and raced toward the scarecrow, keeping to the edge of the tracks as much as possible.

His pulse pounded inside his head, nearly drowning out the crickets’ song.

The scarecrow rose out of the stalks, its gangly form beckoning him forward. He slowed, lifting his shotgun as he drew closer.

A mechanical whir reached his ears, growing louder with each step. The pump was fairly quiet, all things considered. No doubt chosen intentionally for its low noise.

A shape moved beside the corn stalks across the lane.

Ramon lifted his shotgun. “Got a shotgun pointed at you. Turn off the sprayer.”

The man, who was larger than he’d looked on camera, froze.

The pump continued to chug, poison spraying from the nozzle of the hose in the man’s hands.

“I’m within my rights to shoot you where you stand. Turn. It. Off.” This would be the last warning. If the man didn’t comply, he’d do what he needed to do.

The man whipped toward him, a spray of liquid arcing through the night.

Ramon squeezed the trigger, then dove to his right. Hopefully out of the path of the chemical spray. As he fell, a man’s cry echoed through the darkness.

Sounded like some of his buckshot had found its mark. Good.

He scrambled to his feet and assessed the scene. The man writhed on the ground, the hose stretched out beside him.

At least it no longer spewed toxins onto his plants and into his soil.

Ramon pointed the barrel down and broke the shotgun’s action. The spent shells ejected out, hitting the ground beside his shoes. He popped in new shells and lifted the barrel, noting the click as the shotgun’s action locked in.

A low moan filtered on the night air.

Ramon edged closer, his gaze darting around.

So far, there’d been no sign of anyone with the man, but he’d be a fool to let down his guard.

The truck roared to life. A light mounted above the truck’s rear window bathed him in a blinding LED luminance.

He held up a hand and blinked in the sudden brightness.

Reverse lights glowed and the truck surged backward. The distance between him and the truck’s lowered tailgate rapidly diminished.

He raised the shotgun and squeezed off a shot, then turned and bolted into the cornfield.

A glance over his shoulder found that the truck had stopped.

Had he hit the driver? It seemed impossible, given that he hadn’t had time to properly aim and the tight pattern of his buckshot required some degree of accuracy.

The truck’s engine gunned and it jolted forward, cutting a tight left into the cornstalks. The headlights swept over him, the high beams making him an easy target.

He ran. Zigging left, then right, trying to dodge the lights from the encroaching truck. The cracking of cornstalks as the truck barreled through his crop signaled the death of his hopes for a profit this year.

The engine growled closer.

His foot dropped into a hole and he plunged forward, crushing several stalks as he slammed to the hard ground. Throbbing pulsed through his ankle, but he pushed to his feet, risking a glance over his shoulder.

The truck bore down on him.

Pain crashed through his ribcage as the vehicle slammed into him, sending him flying through the air.

As he fell, he caught sight of the scarecrow.

The engine revved. Headlights blinded him and his final thoughts were on the hidden camera.

It was too late for him, but he hoped the scarecrow captured his death. He hoped Maria had called the sheriff. Most of all, he hoped Maria wasn’t watching him die.

One

The explosion lifted him off his feet.

As Jordan DuBois hurtled backward, he prayed the fire didn’t make it to the propane tank he’d passed on his way in.

He slammed into the sunbaked ground, the breath whooshing from his lungs.

A wall of heat roared by overhead, then receded as abruptly as it came. Ringing echoed in his ears, as an unnatural silence descended all around him. It seemed even the birds had ceased chirping in the face of the violent blast.

His glasses sat askew on his face and he lifted a shaky hand to right them. The cloud-riddled sky came into focus, as did his thoughts.

Someone had rigged the building to blow, mere minutes before they’d planned to execute a search warrant.

He launched to his feet. The world tilted, forcing him to still until his vision settled.

The six other members of the multi-agency task force all appeared to be in similar states of shock. Two struggled to their feet, the rest were still on the ground. Of those, only three were moving.

He took one step toward the prone body, then forced his feet to stop.

While he cared about the fate of that deputy from the local sheriff’s office, right now he needed to focus on the fire. If it grew, they all could be in extreme danger.

He turned his attention back to the smoldering remains of a meat-packing plant. Had there been any employees inside?

At a little before eight a.m. on a Wednesday morning, it wouldn’t be surprising.

At least the parking lot was mostly empty. Hopefully that meant casualties would be minimal.

He spun toward the man from the local USDA office, who swayed unsteadily but looked physically okay. “Call 911.”

As the agent dug his phone out of his pocket, Jordan edged toward the engulfed building.

He didn’t see any way someone could have survived that blast, but he had to check. If there was any chance someone was alive in there and he did nothing, the deaths would be on him.

Ash filtered on the air like black snow.

The closer he got, the more the heat pressed against him.

The early morning Missouri sun already beat down on his head. It’d been unseasonably hot, even for July, and he wasn’t sure that the sweat trickling down his back was entirely from the heat of the flames in front of him.

He pulled back as something within the structure exploded. A thick black cloud of smoke billowed into the clear blue sky.

Maybe if he went around the structure, he’d find a place where the heat wasn’t so intense. He headed toward the building’s right side, where more of the framework remained intact.

Even there, flames shot through gaps in the wall.

No one had survived this blast.

Movement off to his right drew his attention. A scrawny man, with a baseball cap smashed down over bushy shoulder-length hair, raced across the parking lot.

Oh no he didn’t.

Jordan broke into a run. The distance between him and the fleeing man dwindled. People made fun of the hours he put in at the gym, but it paid off.

The man reached a shiny black truck that looked new. Jordan plowed into his back and forced him against the flawless paint, which reflected the orange glow of the fire at their backs.

“Get off me, man!” The guy struggled, but Jordan had no trouble keeping his hold.

“Federal agent.” He paused to let that statement settle before pushing forward. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

The man arched his back, trying in vain to break free. “I don’t gotta tell you nothin’.”

“You can talk here or at our offices. Your choice.”

Pain erupted across Jordan’s jaw as the man slammed his head back. His grip on the man weakened, and the man twisted away. Something swung toward Jordan’s face.

He jerked back as a fist sailed by.

Another fist flew, but he caught it in midair.

He wrenched the man’s arm down, twisting it behind his back, then grabbed the other wrist before the man could recover. A string of choice words punctuated the air.

“You’re under arrest for assault on a federal officer.” Whipping out his handcuffs, Jordan secured the bracelets and read the man his rights.

A growl responded, but the man said nothing further.

Fine by him. Their next conversation could be an official one in an interrogation room.

The metallic taste in his mouth told him the man’s head-butt had been solid. Based upon his throbbing lip, he’d guess it was split.

Well, at least the man hadn’t knocked off his glasses. He’d have a heck of a time driving home if those had been broken.

Sirens wailed, the cries drifting across the open fields. Smoke hung in the air, almost overriding the stench of cow manure from the surrounding stockyards.

Almost, but not quite.

He marched the cuffed man toward his team, his gaze traveling across the faces. The guy from the local USDA office, who had initiated this investigation, had a thin trail of blood on one cheek, but his gaze looked sharp.

The two DEA agents conversed quietly. The man seemed to be favoring his left arm, although it didn’t look broken as far as Jordan could tell, while the female agent’s ponytail sagged. 

The deputy who hadn’t been moving earlier now sat up, knees bent and head cradled in his hands. The other sheriff’s deputy knelt beside him, saying something into the radio clipped to his shoulder.

Sean Carlson, his closest friend and right-hand man, approached. Grass and debris dotted the mop of red curls covering his head. Keen hazel eyes raked over the handcuffed suspect, then landed on Jordan. “You good?”

In spite of the blood he could feel dripping down his chin, he nodded. “Yep. Let me get him settled in the back of one of the cruisers.”

While he and Sean had a lot they needed to discuss about the events of the past few minutes, he wouldn’t say any of it in front of the man he’d arrested.

Steering the man toward the sheriff’s cruiser, which was parked under a large maple tree, he kept an eye out for trouble. So far, he’d witnessed no evidence that this guy had any accomplices, but that wasn’t a surprise he wanted to have sprung on him.

He opened the back door and forced the man’s head down.

“Hey, man! You can’t leave me in here. I’ll suffocate in this heat.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before blowing up the building.”

The man’s face paled a shade. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Right. Because the innocent always run.”

“Hey, the building I work in blew up right in front of me. I freaked, okay?” His Adam’s apple jumped. “I’ll roast to death if you shut me in this car. I got rights, you know.”

Jordan ground his teeth as the man’s voice took on a whiny quality. “It’s not even seventy degrees and you’re in the shade. You’ll be fine.”

In another few hours, the man might have had a valid claim, but right now? Nope. The cruiser’s front windows were halfway down, allowing fresh air to filter into the vehicle so it shouldn’t even be stuffy inside.

Aside from that, this guy wouldn’t be here too long. The number of sirens he heard coming their way assured that many emergency personnel were about to converge upon this place. One of them would be able to escort their new friend to a holding cell until he finished up here.

Sean hadn’t moved from where Jordan had left him. “You think he set the explosion?”

“I’m not sure what to think.” Jordan rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as his fingers traced a small cut that hadn’t been there before the explosion. “I saw him running away from the scene.”

“Then let him get the drop on you.” Sean’s lips quirked into a small smirk.

Jordan lightly punched Sean’s bicep, which was almost as big as his own. “Oh yeah? Well, I sure didn’t see you going after him. Whatsa matter? Get the wind knocked out of you?”

“That was a pretty big blast.”

It had been.

They both turned and looked at the flaming remains of the processing plant. If drugs had been moving through there, as the intel the local USDA received had indicated, they probably would never be able to prove it now.

The two DEA agents and the USDA agent joined them. He let his attention move across each face.

Aside from some scrapes and scratches, they all looked intact. There’d be some soreness in the morning, no question, but it could’ve been worse.

Behind them, he saw the parking lot filling with vehicles, people of both genders and all ages stepping out of their cars and staring at the building. Thank God none of them had made it to work early today.

Even though they hadn’t been here at the time of the blast, they might have knowledge that could prove useful to the investigation. Nice of them to come to him for once, even if they hadn’t known that’s what they were doing.

He nodded at the growing crowd. “We need to make sure no one leaves until we’ve had a chance to talk to them. Sean, howsabout you take the entrance? People can come in, but no one leaves.”

Sean offered a mock salute. “You got it.”

As the group scattered to tackle the arduous task of interviewing dozens of people, Jordan gingerly touched his lip.

Yeah, it was split all right. At least the cut didn’t feel too big and seemed to be scabbing over. He’d have to be careful not to stress it.

A firetruck screamed into the parking lot, an ambulance and several sheriff cruisers close behind. He headed that direction. He’d check in with the other first responders and get more deputies interviewing the crowd before making the rounds himself.

A dull ache settled at the base of his skull. It was going to be a long day.

₪   ₪   ₪

Brick splintered inches from his cheek.

Dalton Fowler jerked back, fingers tightening on the Glock in his hands. How had a simple reconnaissance mission turned into a fight for his life?

At least two shooters had him in their sights.

To make matters worse, he was pinned down between a brick farmhouse that had stood for at least the last two centuries and a shiny blue electric vehicle that probably wouldn’t last five years.

This was not how he wanted to meet Jesus.

Another bullet lodged in the driver’s side of the electric vehicle beside him. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about a bullet igniting the gas tank. The battery, maybe, but that was a smaller concern than a tank full of fuel.

He crouched and risked a peek around the corner. The late morning sun glinted off metal on the far side of the car he’d parked at the end of the driveway and he jerked back as another gunshot punctured the morning quiet.

He flicked his eyes skyward as a prayer ricocheted through his mind. You see what I’m up against here, right? Can You do something?

Help wasn’t likely to come in the form of a swarm of law enforcement officers. This old farm was fairly remote. Any neighbors might be too far away to hear the racket or, if they did hear it, might think someone was simply getting in a little target practice.

He looked down at his phone again. Still no bars, not that he’d expected that to magically change.

No, he was on his own. He edged away from the corner, keeping his head lower than the roof of the compact car beside him.

Never mind that he was moving further away from his own vehicle, and the main road. The bulk of the gunshots had been coming from that direction, so he had little other choice.

One of the shooters had line of sight on the other end of this car, but maybe that guy had changed position.

Unlikely, but he had to try. He couldn’t sit here all day and hope these guys eventually ran out of ammo.

He reached the end of the car and waited for the retort of another gunshot.

The silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the ferocious pounding of his own heart, felt ominous. A crow cawed and he jerked, bumping his shoulder against the warm aluminum of the car at his right.

Dalton inched forward.

Still no sign that the shooters had him in their sights.

They might be waiting for him to come out in the open. Or maybe they were on the move, coming to take a more offensive approach to their attack. They had the home court advantage, after all.

He skimmed the landscape.

About fifty yards ahead of him stood a large barn that looked like it’d survived for at least a century. Fresh, brick-colored paint and gleaming white trim evidenced that it’d been well-maintained over the years. Instead of a pair of large swinging doors, a single standard door made him think the building had likely been modified at some point.

Whinnying and bleating echoed from inside, so there was at least one horse and some goats housed there. A few stray feathers littering the ground outside also led him to believe chickens called the barn home.

Surely these guys would be less likely to shoot if it might hit their livestock.

But the biggest advantage was the large opening on the barn’s upper level. If he could get up there, he’d have a good vantage point to see trouble coming.

The downside? There was no cover between the car beside him and the barn. He’d be fully exposed for the ten seconds or so it’d take him to sprint that distance.

He also had no way of knowing if anyone was inside the barn. For all he knew, one of the guys shooting at him had the same thought he did.

God? Help?

The brief prayer shot through his mind, followed almost instantly by an urgency to move. Now.

He didn’t question it. Bolting to his feet, he raced forward, running erratically to the left, then the right. It added a few extra steps, but would make it harder for anyone to hit him.

A gunshot resounded and the dust exploded to the right of his feet.

He pushed himself to go faster.

Two more gunshots sent dust into the air. It filtered into his lungs and made him cough. A haze settled in the air around him, obscuring his vision.

Good. That’d make it harder for them to see him, too.

He cleared the threshold.

A bullet thudded into the open barn door, sending it swinging wildly. As it swung toward him, he snagged the edge of the door and jerked it closed.

He crouched low. If they continued shooting at the door, the last thing he wanted was to be at head-level.

Wood splintered above him, near where his chest had been a second before.

Those guys wouldn’t be content to stay outside and waste bullets firing blind. No, they’d be coming his way, sooner rather than later.

Could he lock the door? Most barns would be secured with a padlock outside, wouldn’t they?

A quick examination of the door found that the doorknob had a lock. He quickly engaged the lock, then noticed a deadbolt above it.

Was this normal? He’d never spent time on a farm, so he didn’t know, but he would guess not.

He twisted the deadbolt, then retreated further into the barn.

Light streamed in through an open door at the rear of the structure.

He raced toward it, passing half a dozen stalls. Several horses peered out as he tore by, and the goats protested.

Reaching the door, he jerked it closed and found a similar knob lock and deadbolt combination.

He secured the door, then stepped back to catch his breath.

Chickens squawked from a row of nests to his left and a few flapped their wings. Smells of dust, animals, and hay mingled with manure and he wrinkled his nose.

Okay, he’d secured the doors, but had also trapped himself inside.

Now to get to the loft area so he could have the birds-eye view he needed to bring this to a swift resolution.

He glanced around him, locating a set of stairs nestled against the back wall. He jogged toward it.

What if someone was in here with him? Maybe up in the loft. They’d shoot him the second he reached the top of the stairs.

He paused with his foot on the bottom step and peered up the dim, wooden staircase.

There couldn’t be anyone up there. He’d surely already be dead if someone was up here. They would have had clear line of sight to him when he’d been hunkered down between the car and farmhouse.

He put his back to the wall and side-stepped up the stairs, weapon ready.

His head cleared the landing. He paused, his gaze darting around the space, looking for any sign of movement.

Shadows cloaked the loft. In the darkness, he made out a light switch on the wall beside him, but he wouldn’t turn it on. If the guys outside looked up at the opening, they might see the light spilling out. Then they’d know he was up here.

Boxes filled the space. Stacked several rows high, they towered above his head.

He inched up the remaining stairs. Still no sign of anything living up here. His steps stilled as he took in the dozens of boxes around him. What was all this?

A problem for another time. Right now, he needed to make sure he got out of this building alive.

While he didn’t want to shoot the men after him, he didn’t see that he had much choice. They weren’t likely to back down, not after taking such a violent approach to his arrival. He’d have a lot of explaining to do, especially since they could argue that he’d been the one trespassing on their land, but his bodycam footage should show that they’d started the altercation.

Thank God he had taken to wearing a bodycam whenever he pursued one of Tari’s or Lincoln’s leads. It would validate his version of events.

He approached the opening from the side. While it seemed unlikely they’d be able to see him up here, he’d do everything he could to make it harder.

Once he stood adjacent to the opening, he lowered himself to his stomach, then army-crawled toward the gaping hole.

At one time, this opening had likely been used to haul hay bales up here for the animals. The boxes around him told him those days were long gone now, but the fact that the door stood open said it was still being used. Possibly had been earlier today, as he doubted they left it open all the time.

The gunfire had stopped, but that didn’t mean the guys chasing him had given up. Far from it. They knew he was trapped in here. Most likely, they were biding their time.

Or calling for backup.

He dug his phone from his pocket and held it up.

One bar. Might be enough to send a text. He tapped out a quick message to Lincoln.

Send police.

The little wheel spun as he watched to see if the text would go through, then a checkmark appeared.

He released a breath. Okay. Now to hold these guys off until the police arrived.

He cautiously inched his head toward the opening and peeked outside. No gunfire sounded, nor did any bullets strike the area beside him.

Looked like he’d escaped their notice. So far, anyway.

He edged closer, then peered out the opening. Below him, nothing moved. It seemed even the breeze held its breath, leaving the trees stagnant and the grass still.

Yet he knew they were out there. Maybe even sighting on him right now.

He fought the urge to pull back. Even the slightest movement could draw attention. Instead, he traced his gaze across the old farmhouse, with what looked like a new roof topping the brick two-story rectangle. If they’d gone inside, they didn’t appear to be watching from one of the windows.

Next, he dropped his attention to the vehicles parked beside the house. No sign of anyone there either.

The trees, ancient behemoths that stood as sentinels around the house, also didn’t appear to hide gunmen.

A rattle came from below him. They were at the door.

He leaned forward a little further and glanced down. Two heads, one with shaggy brown hair poking out from under a baseball cap, the other buzz-cut blond, conferred, then split up. One jogged toward the corner while the other messed with the lock.

No doubt these guys had keys. It was only a matter of time before they made it inside.

He eased back.

What would they do once they made it inside? Clear the first floor, most likely. When they didn’t locate him there, then they’d come up here.

He looked around the space. With all the boxes piled around, it was the perfect place to set up an ambush. He could maim them, maybe take out each man’s gun arm, then contain them until the police showed up.

Assuming Lincoln had gotten his text.

He pulled his phone out and checked it again.

A little icon beside the text indicated it had been read. Good. Help should be on the way, then. He only had to survive long enough for it to arrive.

He slipped away from the window, moving as silently as possible to the closest stack of boxes. Where was the most strategic vantage point?

Behind the stairs. He’d see anyone coming up, but they’d have to turn to see him.

It’d buy him a few seconds, and in a situation like this one, that was all he needed.

He skirted past the stairs, keeping a close eye out for any sign of approaching trouble, then ducked behind a stack of boxes.

Below, a long creak echoed, setting off a cacophony of outrage from the chickens.

They were in.

He assessed his view, then set his weapon on top of the closest box. He carefully slid the top box on the adjacent stack, giving him a narrow slit through which he could watch the stairs but remain out of view himself.

Picking up his gun, he crouched behind the stack, the barrel of his Glock nestled in the gap between the two boxes.

Seconds dragged. A minute may have gone by, he wasn’t sure, but it felt like an hour.

A thud, barely audible but definitely there, echoed up the stairway.

He flexed his fingers on the gun’s grip and steadied his breathing.

A rounded blue shape appeared, the bill sticking out in front clearly identifying it as a baseball hat. Frizzy curls fluffed out underneath the cap, but it was the gun extended in front of the solid man ascending the stairs that commanded Dalton’s attention.

He sighted on the man, but remained silent. First, he needed to know if both men were coming up.

The man cleared the landing, slowly sweeping his gun over the stacks of boxes.

In the shadows of the back corner, Dalton knew the man wouldn’t see him, but he still fought the urge to pull back.

No sign of the second man. Smart on their part, but bad news for him.

Looked like he’d have to take them one by one.

The man moved forward, toward Dalton. Likely figured that Dalton would choose the darkest recesses of the storage space to hide. Too bad he wasn’t wrong.

As the man drew closer, Dalton’s muscles tensed.

He’d have one shot at ending this without bloodshed. A prayer flashed through his mind, little more than a cry for help, as the man took another step toward his location.

At least he hadn’t gone all the way to the back of the loft. With any luck, this guy would start the search there.

The man crossed in front of the gap through which Dalton watched.

Keep moving. His silent urging sounded loud inside his own head.

The man moved past the gap.

A few more steps, then Dalton would move. He counted to three, then pulled his gun out of the gap and slowly rose.

The man’s back was to him, his attention fixed on a cluster of boxes along the back wall.

“You move, you die.” Dalton kept his voice low in a vain attempt to prevent the second man from hearing.

Not that he really wanted to kill this guy. If for no reason other than to interrogate him and find out what he knew, Dalton would do everything he could to keep this man alive.

The man froze. Tension rippled across his tight shoulders and rigid back. Even from behind, he sensed the man weighing the decision.

“Set your weapon on the floor and kick it away or I’ll put a slug in you right now.” Dalton flicked a glance at the stairs, but there wasn’t any sign of the man’s partner in crime.

“You’re never gonna make it outta here alive.” The man made no move to comply, but angled his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Dalton.

“Sounds like my problem, not yours.” Dalton forced a casual tone. “Now put it down. Slowly.”

The man hesitated only a second longer, then bent toward the rough wooden boards. Suddenly, he twisted around, aiming his weapon at Dalton.

Dalton fired.

The man collapsed.

Dalton kept his weapon fixed on the man, but his gaze darted between the man and stairs. Surely this guy’s buddy would come running now.

Although a smart man would plan a strategic approach rather than running into gunfire.

He edged toward the prone figure.

In spite of wanting to take the man alive, his training had kicked in and he’d instinctively gone for a neutralizing shot. The center mass hit ensured that this guy was no longer a threat.

Still, Dalton kicked the gun away.

A flicker of movement at the stairs caught his attention, a second before a gunshot boomed. He ducked, even as he heard the bullet embed in the wall behind him.

“Put yer gun down, man.” A whiny voice came from the direction of the stairs. “And I’ll letcha walk away.”

Sure he would. And Dalton could call down lightning from heaven to burn this place to the ground.

He didn’t bother with a reply, but eased down the row of boxes. While he didn’t know what was in the boxes, he couldn’t take the chance that these guys would view shooting him as higher priority than protecting the contents.

He headed toward the front of the barn. This guy might logically assume that he would head deeper into the barn, where the darkness would make it harder to see him.

When he reached the end of the row of boxes, he settled in to wait. Something told him that patience wasn’t high on this guy’s list. If Dalton waited him out, the guy would give up his position.

Time froze, broken only by the thundering of his own heart.

A shuffling came from the direction of the stairs, then a shadow dropped across the floor, stretching toward the dimly lit depths as if beckoned.

He held his gun at high-ready.

The shadow shrunk as the man moved further into the darkness. Dalton inched forward and risked a peek around the edge of the boxes.

No sign of the man.

Dalton slid along the boxes, pausing after a few steps when he reached the next corner.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his eyes heavenward. Okay, God. You got this, right?

A glance around the corner found the man nearing the last box in the row.

Dalton launched off the balls of his feet and assumed a shooter’s stance. “Don’t move.”

The man dove behind the boxes, a thud vibrating the floor as his body hit. Dalton darted to the stairway and descended a few steps.

He peered over the landing.

No sign of the target. If he shot through the boxes, he might get lucky and hit the guy, but he was also shooting blind. He could waste all his bullets and hit nothing.

And his spare magazines were in the car.

Besides, he didn’t know what was in those boxes. The fact that the men hadn’t shot through them to get to him told him something.

Likely, the contents were valuable. Or combustible. He didn’t feel like testing the theory to see which one was true.

Instead, he settled in to wait. If there was one thing his military and law enforcement training had taught him, it was how to wait for the enemy to expose his weakness.

Movement flashed at the far end of the boxes.

Take him alive. The thought screamed through his mind. Adjusting his aim, Dalton squeezed the trigger.

The man dropped with a cry. The gun clattered across the floor from his limp fingers. Blood trickled from the man’s thigh.

Dalton cleared the stairs in seconds and kicked the gun away, then positioned himself so he could train his weapon on the injured man. The other man had yet to even twitch, but the vacant eyes assured a zero threat level.

Sirens echoed in the distance. Lots of them.

Thank God for Lincoln and the pull his name had. Dalton wished he could have heard how that conversation went, when Lincoln called local dispatch, identified himself as Lincoln Kingsley, presidential candidate, and asked them to send officers to this remote farm.

Eyes black with hatred locked on Dalton as the man glared at him. “You’re the one who don’t belong here. You shot us on our own land. The cops are gonna take you in.”

“Don’t think so.” He’d have some explaining to do, to be sure, but he wasn’t worried about being arrested. He dipped his chin at the leather band with a cross pendant draped around his neck. Intentionally designed to look like man-jewelry – not that he’d ever really been one for jewelry – he wasn’t surprised that these guys hadn’t given it a second glance. “Got a body-cam right here. This whole thing, it’s hanging out in the cloud for the police to view. You shot first, for no reason other than…”

Come to think of it, what had started this whole thing?

He’d gone to the door and asked to speak to James Hill. The man had been friendly enough until Dalton had introduced himself.

In fact, the man’s entire demeanor had shifted at his name. The man had even repeated it as if to be certain, then had pulled his gun and started shooting.

“Why did you want to kill me?” This no longer felt like some weird redneck thing. No, it felt much more like a targeted attack on him personally.

“You got the nerve to come to my door and ask me that? You was trespassin’, simple as that.”

“You didn’t pull your gun until I gave you my name.”

The man grimaced and clutched his thigh. “You don’t mean nothin’ to me.”

The sirens grew louder. It sounded like they were pulling up outside now.

“I know we’ve never met, but you’ve heard of me.” Dalton stared the man down. “I want to know how. And why.”

The man averted his eyes. “I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

He’d known it was a long shot, but once the police had this guy in custody, he’d likely lose any chance to interrogate him.

Well, he clearly wasn’t going to get anything from him. At least not right now.

He edged to the opening at the front of the barn, keeping his attention on the injured man, and looked out to see three sheriff department vehicles parked in the driveway. Four deputies, weapons ready, scanned the terrain.

Dalton set his gun on the ground by his feet and held his empty hands in the air. “Dalton Fowler. I reported this. Got two suspects up here. One dead, one injured. We need EMS.”

One of the deputies aimed a gun at him while the other three cautiously approached.

Footsteps thundered below, rapidly approaching.

He forced back a sigh. Not even noon and it already felt like he’d lived a whole day in the span of a few hours.

At least he was still alive to deal with the frustrating aftermath. Because if these two had gotten their way, he’d be the one bleeding on the floor.

Two

A groan slid out as Jordan stood and stretched. Pain shot down his spine and his shoulders ached.

A smarter man wouldn’t have refused medical attention after being thrown in that explosion earlier. At least he’d never claimed to be a genius.

What a day. Now, at ten minutes after six, it was time to call it a night.

His cell phone chirped. Probably Alison wondering what time he’d be home. Usually, they arrived home about the same time, but the mountain of work following the morning’s raid and subsequent explosion had really imploded his day.

He plucked his phone from the desktop charging station and frowned at the unknown number.

Could he get away with not answering?

He accepted the call.

“Jordan DuBois.” The words came out with a sharp edge that he hadn’t quite intended.

“Jordan, it’s Estevan Garcia. We played hockey together. You remember?”

Estevan? Man, he hadn’t thought about this guy since college. The third generation Latino had been a menace on the ice. “Yeah, man. How’s life?”

“It’s been better.” Estevan cleared his throat. “I saw your name in the news recently about that big food safety scandal.”

No question which scandal Estevan referenced. When Jordan and his team had exposed a massive operation in which the nation’s leading pork distributer was knowingly selling contaminated product, they’d all made front page news.

Although why that prompted Estevan to reach out now, nearly two months after the fact, he had no idea.

“Listen, I’m hoping you can look into something for me.” Estevan’s gusty sigh carried a palpable weight. “My uncle and aunt were murdered a week ago. Police are calling it a home invasion, but it’s not adding up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. As much as I wish we could help, that’s not the kind of investigating we do.”

“I get that, but here’s the thing.” Estevan’s voice dropped. “My cousin thinks there’s a cover-up and I’m inclined to believe her.”

Great. Another one of those. He’d lost count of the number of crackpot calls his office received from people who were sure they’d stumbled across a massive conspiracy.

Occasionally, they were right.

Most of the time, they’d watched one too many movies.

He eased back down in his chair and tried to come up with the best way to end this call and get on with his evening. “There are official channels for reporting this. Why call me?”

“I didn’t know who I could trust.” A hint of accent, which normally wasn’t evident in Estevan’s voice, crept across the line. “My uncle was a farmer. The land had been in his family for generations and, while Sustaining Life Farms was trying to push him out of business, he was holding on.”

Unfortunately, it was a story he heard all too often. Over the last few decades, Sustaining Life Farms had been slowly buying up the majority of the farmland across the United States, forcing smaller farms into bankruptcy. “Sustaining Life appears to operate within legal guidelines.”

“I’m sure they do.” Sarcasm dripped off the words. “But here’s the thing. They’d been after my uncle to sell his land. Hounded him for years, but he refused. Then this happens?”

Jordan muffled a sigh. “I need more than suspicions to launch an investigation.”

“We found evidence that someone had sprayed the crops with a highly potent herbicide.”

Jordan sat up a little straighter. While it wasn’t likely to be hard and fast proof that Sustaining Life had a hand in it, it could lend credence to Estevan’s claims that there was more to his relatives’ deaths than originally thought. “Have you taken it to the local authorities?”

“She’s afraid to.” Estevan’s pause felt weighted with steel. “She said that there had been threats made lately. Threats that scared her mom. It was disguised as racially motivated, but the goal was the same. To get them to sell the land and scare them off.”

It would be hard to prove that Sustaining Life was behind such a move. “And the police ignored the threats in their investigation?”

“Not ignored, but they don’t seem to think it’s connected,” Estevan growled. “They even shrugged off the herbicide when we took that to them. Claimed that Tio Ramon might have sprayed it himself.”

Well, that was absurd. No farmer trying to hang onto his farm would knowingly spray poison on his crops. “Are they saying robbery was the motive?”

“You got it. Never mind that all that was missing was a laptop, TV, and mi tia’s purse. Tio Ramon bought a heavy-duty truck, new, just two years ago. They didn’t touch it.”

Jordan let that roll around in his mind. The thieves, if that was indeed what they were, broke into the house, killed its occupants, and only left with a single laptop, TV, and Estevan’s aunt’s purse?

Small farmers weren’t generally super wealthy, especially with Sustaining Life pushing them to the point of extinction, but there were surely other valuables around that place. Expensive farm equipment or vehicles at the very least. The fact that they hadn’t stolen the truck, when they would have had easy access to the keys, made him question the theft motive.

Could be that the thieves were sloppy or lazy. Or maybe they thought someone had reported them and the sheriff’s department was on its way.

None of those options sat well with him.

In fact, the more he heard, the more he sensed that things weren’t adding up.

But this wasn’t a job for the Office of the Inspector General. Local or maybe federal authorities, sure, but not him. “I’d like to help, really, but we investigate complaints against the USDA. This is so far outside my jurisdiction–”

“I’m not sure it is.” Estevan cleared his throat. “There are some other things… Look, would you do me a favor? Search for a fine levied against Zapato Family Farms last year and the pending lawsuit. Take a look at that and call me after you review it, okay?”

Well, that should be quick and easy enough. And if it would get him off the phone and provide a way for him to shut this nonsense down… “I’ll do that. It may take me a day or two. There’ve been some crazy things going on here.”

“Yeah, sure. But you’ll look into it?”

Jordan jotted the information down on the blue sticky notepad he kept next to his docking station. “As soon as I can. This the best number to reach you?”

“It is. Thanks, amigo. I knew I could count on you.”

Ugh. He felt a little like a heel for agreeing just so he could get off the phone, but he’d follow through. “We’ll talk soon.”

The call ended and he pushed up from his desk, slipping the phone into his laptop bag next to his computer. As he turned off the lights and walked from his office past the now-empty cubicles of his team, the conversation replayed through his mind.

Tough break for Estevan and his family.

While Jordan had no particular fondness for the corporate farm that was monopolizing the food production industry in the United States, the idea they ordered a rural farmer’s death seemed asinine.

So why couldn’t he shake the gut feeling that there was more to this than he thought?

₪   ₪   ₪

“What do you mean they had him?” Arthur Topheth gripped the phone as Niles Wilson gave him the news. With his connection in law enforcement, Niles nearly always heard the good things before any of the other tier ones in The Shadows.

“He knocked on their door, said he wanted to talk to them about their crops or some nonsense. Once they heard his name, they engaged, but he took them down.”

Arthur ground his molars. How was it that Dalton Fowler always seemed to come out on top?

Obviously, these two country bumpkins hadn’t been worthy adversaries, but they’d had the home advantage for crying out loud. How hard was it to kill one man?

Evidently harder than he’d anticipated. That bounty he’d put out on Fowler’s head five months ago had yet to yield results. In fact, this was the first he’d heard of anyone even trying to kill the man.

Admittedly, Fowler had spent most of the past five months with Lincoln Kingsley, who was under a heavy layer of protection himself due to his status as a presidential frontrunner, but still. Surely one of the snipers The Shadows had in their ranks could take out one man.

He’d deal with that in a moment. For now, he needed to focus on the venture they had running out of that location.

“And the operation?”

The pause told him all he needed to know.

“It’s crawling with law enforcement. If they haven’t already found it, they will.”

Arthur cursed. That farm had been one of their key drop-points for moving chemical supplies across the country. “How much did we have there?”

“A shipment was delivered yesterday.”

Arthur swore again, punctuating it with a sweep of his arm, which sent papers flying from his polished mahogany desk. “This will set us back weeks.”

“I’ve already alerted our suppliers. They’re scrambling to replace the lost items.”

Even if they could replace the supplies quickly, it would still take time to get them moved. “How did this happen?”

Dalton Fowler was the obvious answer, yet he wanted to know how the former special agent, who was supposed to be guarding Kingsley instead of poking his nose into The Shadows’ business, had found his way to their doorstep.

“Fowler claims he was following up on an anonymous tip.” Niles sounded skeptical.

Anonymous? Yeah, right. Supplied to him by Tari Salah, no doubt. “Why? He’s not law enforcement.”

Niles grunted. “That’s always the question with him, isn’t it?”

It shouldn’t be. No other person alive, not even Tari Salah, had done this much damage to The Shadows’ operations.

Clearly, he hadn’t made the bounty on Fowler’s head high enough. He needed their assets to be beating down the door to eliminate Dalton Fowler.

“Up the bounty. To one million. And an automatic promotion to tier two. I want Fowler out of the way.”

₪   ₪   ₪

“You really should have let a doctor examine you.”

Jordan cringed at the censure in his wife’s voice. Or maybe it was the antiseptic Allison used on his cuts. “I am. Right now.”

“Jordan.” Exasperation lined the single word. “I swear. You are so stubborn sometimes. I don’t deal with head wounds and concussions, which is what you may have.”

Yeah, yeah. As an ophthalmologist, Allison was best able to help him if he had gotten something in his eye…

A shudder rocked down his spine and his stomach lurched. The chicken stir fry he’d eaten for dinner threatened an encore.

He knew better than to think about eye trauma.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and focused on Allison’s serious eyes in the mirror behind him. “It didn’t seem that bad at the time.”

Setting the cotton aside, she pushed her light blonde hair away from her face with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe you worked the whole day like this. Did no one tell you that you were bleeding?”

“Sean did.”

Her plump lips, still stained a strawberry color by whatever lipstick she’d worn earlier in the day, turned into a slight frown. “Let me guess. You told him to get back to work.”

When had he become so predictable? “You know he has a flair for the dramatic.”

“Well, unless all the mirrors in the bathroom at your office building suddenly disappeared, surely you could see that he wasn’t being dramatic this time.”

“You know, funny thing about that–”

She held up a hand to stop him. “It’s getting late. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As she worked, he assessed his face. She wasn’t wrong. The split lip, swollen to twice its usual size, crusted dark with dried blood. He’d tried to clean it, but the pain had stopped him from doing more than gentle blotting. A bruise darkened his jawline, visible even through the intentional stubble he maintained. His short, light brown hair looked a little dusty, but he didn’t see any evidence of matting from blood.

He’d shed his shirt so she could examine the damage. A few scratches glared red on his chest and a long scrape marred his left bicep, but from the front he didn’t look too awful.

While he couldn’t see the back of his scalp, or his back and shoulders, Allison’s frown indicated that they didn’t look much better than his face.

Evidently the human body didn’t like being thrown backward by an explosion.

“Were there many casualties?” Her question softened the stiff tone she’d used only moments before.

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. The rubble was still being sifted through, but preliminary reports weren’t promising. “Ten confirmed dead. Another six still missing.”

And presumed dead. The cars were in the parking lot and the families hadn’t heard from them.

“How tragic.” Moisture gleamed in her eyes, which looked like the clear summer sky.

She wrapped her arms gently around his shoulders and gave a soft hug. “Thank you for coming home to me.”

The gravity of the day slammed him.

He’d been mere feet from not coming home ever again. A minute later and he’d probably be one of the confirmed dead.

Bad timing on the bomber’s part? Or had the bomber intentionally blown the place before his team gained entry?

He squeezed her arms, but couldn’t seem to make his voice work.

Not that there was much to say. He’d come home. Many others hadn’t.

For that, someone needed to answer. He would see that this investigation did not close out until the victims and their families had justice.

₪   ₪   ₪

Black thunderheads loomed above as Jordan parked in the garage in downtown Kansas City, Missouri Thursday morning. He armed the alarm, then took the elevator up to his team’s offices on the third floor.

The pounding in his head reminded him of yesterday’s ordeal, not that he stood the slightest chance of forgetting any time soon. Two painkillers had taken the edge off, but the headache lingered.

His back protested the abuse, too, but at least it didn’t throb like his face.

Yesterday had put him through the wringer more than an intense day at the gym.

He deposited his laptop on his desk and hooked it up to the docking station, then waited for it to boot.

“Flaked on the gym today, eh?” Sean’s voice drew his attention to the doorway.

Yeah, and it grated something fierce. He and Sean went every weekday morning before coming in to the office and tried to outdo each other on how much they lifted.

He usually won at everything but the leg press.

“Allison convinced me to take it easy.” Honestly, given the headache he’d woken up with, it hadn’t taken much convincing. “She thinks that blast yesterday left me concussed.”

“Really? You think?” Sean shook his head in mock disbelief. “Uffda.”

The midwestern expression of surprise carried a heavy note of sarcasm.

“I know. You told me.”

“That I did.”

The note on his desk from Estevan’s call the night before caught his attention. Ugh. He’d promised Estevan he’d look into that. That’d be a good one for Sean to tackle today, while he continued to mop up the mess of paperwork from yesterday’s escapade.

“Hey, man. I got an interesting call last night. Would you check out a lawsuit involving Zapato Family Farms and the USDA? They’ve got a farm in Atchison County.”

Sean sobered. “You looking for anything specific?”

That was the problem. The complaint was vague, from a third party. “Just details, I guess. I don’t know if there’s anything there, but it’s a consumer complaint, so we have a duty to check it out.”

“Ya, I gotcha.” Sean crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “By the way, I benched three-ten today. Beat that.”

Oh, he would. Maybe not this week, but next week it was on.

As Sean headed back to his desk, Jordan logged into the system and pulled up the individual reports from those who had been present at yesterday’s catastrophe. Today, he had the intense pleasure of reviewing them all and compiling an interim report.

Why had he thought being an Assistant Special Agent in Charge, ASAC for short, was a good idea?

The pay was nice, sure, but these reports? Mind-numbing.

The morning passed in a blur of reports, each one recapping the event he remembered only too well. At least the interviews conducted with the employees who showed up in the aftermath provided new information on the plant’s day-to-day operations, although they all claimed no knowledge of anything illegal. According to them, it was simply a meat processing and packing plant.

He paused as he read the statement provided by one Beatrice Gunkel.

A ten-year veteran, she’d recently been passed over for a promotion. They’d brought in someone from a competitor instead, a man who, in her words, was a weasel she wouldn’t trust to water her garden.

Was she simply jaded? Possibly. But the interesting thing was that the weaselly shift lead was none other than the man he’d tackled in the parking lot immediately following the explosion.

Coincidence? Not likely.

He jotted the woman’s name on a fresh blue sticky note. It was certainly worth a follow-up conversation. Especially since the woman had been there longer than most. If anyone had any ideas of a dark underbelly, it’d likely be someone like her.

She’d said she didn’t know of anything strange, but it might be something subtle.

No one else stood out as being worthy of a second interview. At least not at this stage of the investigation.

Next, he turned his attention to the interrogation of the man he’d tackled.

The shift lead claimed he’d stepped outside for a smoke and personal phone call when the whole building went up. Claimed he’d panicked and could only think about getting out of there. He also said he hadn’t realized Jordan was law enforcement, but thought maybe he’d been the one who caused the explosion.

Same song and dance he’d tried to spin yesterday when Jordan had detained him.

He hadn’t bought it then and he didn’t buy it now.

Definitely worth a visit to the jail to talk to this clown himself. He would’ve done it yesterday, but he’d been too focused on the scene to make it to the interrogation.

Maybe a night in jail would have convinced the man that talking was in his best interest.

As for the reported drug operation, they likely wouldn’t have any answers on that until the crime scene techs finished processing the scene. They’d brought in federal help, but it would still be a time-consuming and arduous process. They wouldn’t know anything for weeks.

A new email popped in his inbox.

He opened it, his jaw tightening as he read the directive. The DEA had taken over the investigation, so he was expected to pass everything he knew over to them for follow-through.

While the news was expected, his team had spent the last week investigating the complaint. Handing over all their hard work was never fun.

The grittiness in his eyes told him he’d spent too much time reading reports without a break.

He pulled off his glasses and grabbed his eyedrops from the top drawer, squeezing a few drops in each eye. He snagged a tissue, mopped up the residue, then replaced his glasses.

Maybe he’d check out the murder of Estevan’s uncle and aunt. It’d give him at least a change of pace from the grind of reviewing reports.

He typed Zapato Family Farm murder into the search engine. Several news articles popped up. He clicked the first one on the list and skimmed it.

According to the article, Ramon Zapato had been found in his cornfield, run over by what authorities believed to be a large truck. His wife, Maria, had been found inside the house. Cause of death was blunt-force trauma.

They couldn’t say who was killed first, but the official investigation assumed that the killers had broken in, killed Maria, and chased Ramon down when he tried to run.

After reading the article, he had more questions than answers.

Clicking the back arrow, he went to the next article on the list, but the report contained nothing new. Neither did the third article.

No other articles populated in his search.

Sad. A double homicide and it warranted no more than three articles.

He jotted a few notes, including the name of the sheriff’s department that had investigated. It was worth a phone call to see if he couldn’t get his hands on the official case report and crime scene photos.

His stomach gurgled loudly in the silent office. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was time for lunch. That spinach, onion, and artichoke omelet he’d had for breakfast was long gone.

He pushed up from his chair and took a few stiff steps forward. As his muscles limbered, each step became easier and by the time he reached the doorway, he was walking normally.

Sean almost always grabbed lunch with him. Today, he’d have Sean fill him in over a good taco salad at the fresh Mex place down the block.

It was too soon to say if there was a case here or not, but he’d promised Estevan he’d look into it and he would keep that promise.

₪   ₪   ₪

Dalton pushed open the door to Lincoln’s private therapy room and watched as the physical trainer finished Lincoln’s workout.

While Lincoln’s physical therapy had concluded over a month ago, he’d employed a private trainer to ensure he kept up his strength. The man came to Lincoln’s house twice a week and worked him hard, but Lincoln never complained.

As the trainer packed up his things and passed Dalton with a small nod, Lincoln mopped his brow. Sweat glistened on his chocolate skin and his short silver hair looked plastered against his scalp.

That mess in Nebraska yesterday had detained him longer than expected, but he’d finally made it back to Lincoln’s home in Kansas City.

“How in the world do you go on a simple recon mission for Tari and end up busting a pharmaceutical smuggling operation?” The amusement tinging Lincoln’s tone told him that his boss wasn’t upset.

If anything, he should be pleased that Dalton had broken up the criminal ring. Based upon the amount of medications and manufacturing supplies the DEA had seized, the group had been large and thriving.

“A bit of luck and a lot of divine timing?” Dalton shook his head slowly. “I plan to ask her about that myself, actually. She never mentioned a potential pharmaceutical connection, so I’m not sure she even knew.”

In fact, all she’d said was that her inside guy – who’d gone dark for a few months because he felt like The Shadows were onto him – had told her that one of the tier twos was rumored to be at that location.

Whether or not those clowns he’d taken down were tier two remained to be seen. He suspected not, as tier two was fairly high in the organization and neither of those guys had screamed leadership material.

If they were tier two, it didn’t speak well of the guys in The Shadows’ upper hierarchy.

Most likely, they were nothing more than low-level lackeys. Either way, the takedown was a win.

He watched as Lincoln expertly maneuvered his wheelchair around the equipment set up in what used to be Lincoln’s formal living room. “You’re sure about hitting the campaign trail again Monday?”

The answer was certain, even before Lincoln’s decisive nod. “It’s time.”

While Lincoln had managed a very successful online campaign, with frequent live feeds and a podcast that drew hundreds of thousands with each episode, it wasn’t the same as getting in front of the people in person.

He got it, but it created a whole plethora of safety concerns.

“We have two of the guys scheduled to arrive Sunday to see to security.”

“Good.” Lincoln’s deep sigh deflated him in his chair. “I have to admit, I’m not looking forward to debating Arthur Topheth again Wednesday.”

Dalton couldn’t say he blamed Lincoln for that one. There was something about Topheth that exuded evil, like it seeped from his pores.

No matter how much they tried, so far they’d been unsuccessful in proving that Topheth had anything to do with The Shadows. The man had practically flaunted it on national television in a statement back in February, but even now, five months later, they couldn’t prove that the words he’d said had any special meaning.

Just like he and Tari hadn’t been able to come up with evidence against Niles Wilson. Sure, he’d seen the tattoo and Niles had all but admitted it, but Tari wanted more before she took the information public.

Frankly, with Niles’ power in law enforcement, he didn’t blame her. The acting head of the Special Assignments Bureau was not a man to be trifled with.

Still, he and Tari kept digging. The evidence had to be there, against both Topheth and Niles. It was a matter of time before they found it.

“God will fortify you to face him.” Dalton didn’t have to work up confidence in that fact. Every time Lincoln had come up against Topheth for a debate or a rebuttal to something Topheth claimed as true, Lincoln walked away the victor. Even the media, many of which praised Topheth, had admitted as much. “You know you’ll be covered in prayer.”

“I’m going to need it.” Lincoln pushed his chair through the doorway and Dalton fell into step beside him as they navigated the hallway to the kitchen, where Lincoln grabbed a banana and an orange off the counter.

Those therapy sessions always took a lot out of him.

Lincoln had barely peeled the banana when his cell phone, tucked into a pouch on the inside of his chair, rang.

Setting the banana on the counter, Lincoln reached for the phone with his other hand.

His furrowed brow eased as he glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Cliff.”

Cliff DeLozier, Lincoln’s running mate, had flown home to Baton Rouge only three days ago for a brief respite before they regrouped in Portland, Oregon for Tuesday’s debate.

“Cliff. How’re things on the home front?” Lincoln’s jovial expression fell as he listened silently for several seconds. “Whoa, whoa. Cliff. Slow down.”

Tension tightened Dalton’s back and crept into his shoulders.

Whatever this was, it sure didn’t sound good.

“Let’s talk this through. Maybe if Dalton–”

Lincoln clamped his lips together as he listened to the other end, his jaw twitching as if holding back his words took extreme efforts.

“We can get you more security. Extend it to your family–”

Lincoln fell silent. His eyes drooped and his lips curled down. Fingers gripped the cell phone and his shoulders hunched forward.

“I understand.” A heavy exhalation escaped. “No, no. You need to protect your family. Have you prayed about this?”

The silence felt like it lasted an hour. Finally, Lincoln nodded. “We’ll take care of it. Cite personal family reasons, if that works for you?”

Another moment of silence. “You take care of yourself, Cliff.”

That sure sounded like a good-bye.

But that made no sense. Cliff had stood by Lincoln through the attack that had left Lincoln confined to a wheelchair. He’d taken to the campaign trail alone to keep the momentum going.

Pulling out now was illogical.

The call ended and Lincoln slowly slipped the phone back into the pouch.

“What was that?” While Dalton was sure Lincoln would tell him, he couldn’t hold back the question.

“Cliff’s out.”

The words, while they confirmed what Dalton had suspected, felt crazy. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“There have been threats against his family. A few incidents that have convinced him that no matter the security we provide, it won’t be enough to keep them safe.” Lincoln rapped his hand against the wheel of his chair. “I get it. I really do.”

“I could investigate. See if we can figure out who’s behind the threats.” He suspected that Lincoln had tried to offer that option and Cliff had refused, but there had to be something they could do to keep Cliff in the running.

“Cliff didn’t think that would stop The Shadows.”

“What makes him think The Shadows are behind this?” Sure, Cliff had heard them talk about The Shadows, but it seemed like a leap to assume The Shadows were behind every threat.

“They all but said as much in one of the threats.”

“What?” Never had they been that bold before. Maybe this was precisely what they needed to nail The Shadows. Dalton pushed off the counter. “I need to see that note.”

“He said he’d send me pictures. The FBI have taken the originals and are investigating, but we both know that won’t go anywhere.” Lincoln rubbed his brow. “I need to call my publicist and have him start working on a statement. Cliff said he’d publicly continue to support me.”

“Might not be bad to have him prepare his own statement, one saying that this withdrawal is purely for personal reasons and has nothing to do with you. You saying it is one thing, but him saying it will carry a lot more weight.”

“Good call. I’ll ask him to do that and offer our publicist’s assistance if needed.”

Lincoln hung his head and closed his eyes.

The silence lingered. Lines deepened on Lincoln’s face and he seemed to age right in front of Dalton’s eyes. “You okay?”

A humorless laugh burst out. “I’m trying to keep the faith, but I’m struggling to understand what God’s doing here. I mean, Cliff and I make a good team. Why is this happening?”

At least Lincoln was being honest with him about his struggles. “I have no idea, but I think you’re in good company. I mean, how many people in the Bible might have said the same thing?”

Honestly, he didn’t know the Bible well enough yet to know the answer to that question, but he knew there were people in the Bible who’d struggled with the issue. He’d read a few accounts of difficulties and it would be hard to believe that the people involved never questioned why.

Lincoln rubbed his knee and Dalton wondered if he was experiencing more phantom pains.

“You’re right. I know. God’s ways don’t look like ours and sometimes seem crazy.” Lincoln’s hand stilled, his dark eyes locking on Dalton. “Sometimes it feels like all this is more than I can bear.”

“Alone, sure. But you’ve got a lot of people around you. More than that, you’ve got God.”

The troubled look eased from Lincoln’s eyes. It was still there, but peace now mingled with the stress. “I think I need to take this to Him now. I’ll be in my study.”

The peeled banana sat discarded on the counter, the orange sitting next to it equally forgotten, as Lincoln propelled himself out of the kitchen.

Dalton didn’t move, the truth of the last few minutes weighing heavily.

The loss hit him in the gut.

Even though he’d been suspicious of Cliff a few months ago, Cliff had since earned his trust and proven to be exactly who Lincoln and the rest of the guys believed him to be. His faith in Jesus was almost as strong as Lincoln’s and he’d been a great source of wisdom as Dalton grew in his own faith journey.

It would also be a crippling blow to Lincoln’s campaign.

With the dissolution of the two-party system several elections ago, running mates were now chosen at least a year in advance. They played a key role in growing a candidate’s platform and pulling in additional campaign contributions. Cliff had helped capture much of the military and veteran support Lincoln’s campaign had garnered. Could they keep those votes without Cliff’s presence?

With the election less than four months away, Lincoln would need to choose a new running mate immediately.

Who would he choose? And would it be someone Dalton could trust?

Three

The Fresh-Mex place bustled, but Jordan found a table with three chairs tucked in the far corner. He dug into the chicken fiesta salad, a massive mound of fresh leafy greens, house-made pico-de-gallo, shredded cheese, guacamole, and chipotle chicken.

Sean dropped onto the chair opposite him and plopped a mammoth foil-wrapped burrito on the table.

They ate in silence for a moment, before Sean set his partially eaten burrito down and lasered in on him. “So that lawsuit. It’s an interesting one.”

Jordan crunched his salad and waited. If there was one thing Sean liked, it was the build-up.

“Multi-generational farm who fought adoption of the USDA approved seeds.”

That wasn’t so uncommon. Many farms, especially ones that that had been in the family for generations, had their own seed supplies and resisted using the seeds required to sell food for public consumption.

As if reading his thoughts, Sean continued, “What’s different here is they claim that they’ve conducted independent testing and found harmful chemicals in the seeds. They say their seeds are healthier and chemical free.”

He swallowed his bite. “Any proof to substantiate the claim?”

“Not in the initial report, but it hasn’t gone to court yet. This was the preliminary filing.”

Jordan mulled it over as he forked another mouthful of salad onto his tongue. It wasn’t the first time a farmer had made claims that the required seeds were inferior. The claim of independent testing and finding of harmful chemicals wasn’t as common, though. Sure, he’d heard a few such claims, but none had ever been proven as far as he knew.

“When is this on the docket?”

“It’s still under review,” Sean said around a large bite of spicy beef.

So the suit was new. “How long ago did they file it?”

“‘Bout a month. They were fined for using the wrong seeds last year. It looks like that’s what started this whole thing.”

Made sense. If the Zapato family had been told to use other seeds, he wasn’t surprised that they’d done their research on it. The big question was if their findings had any validity.

He looked down at the fresh produce in his salad, all of which had no doubt been grown using the very seeds the Zapato family had opposed.

Surely there was nothing to this.

His stomach did a queasy flip and he reached for his water glass. A long drink of water did little to ease the disquiet.

“I also found that Sustaining Life Farms has been trying to purchase the Zapato land for the last two years. They’ve made multiple cash offers of increasing value. Ramon Zapato, who was the current owner of the farm before his murder a week ago Tuesday, doesn’t appear to have even considered the offers, in spite of the USDA fines and legal expenses from the pending litigation.”

He wasn’t surprised. Family roots and pride ran deep, especially for farms that had survived over a century. “Do you know how large his farm is? And if any of it has been sold over the years?”

It was quite possible that land had been slowly parceled out and Ramon Zapato had been holding onto the remaining fifty or hundred acres.

Sean crumpled up his garbage. “Don’t know, but I can find out. What’s the complaint here?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure if his connection to Estevan had clouded his judgment or not, but he felt like there was something shady here. “The family doesn’t think it was a home-invasion. They think it had to do with the lawsuit.”

Sean arched an unruly red eyebrow. “And you believe it?”

“I believe we need to do our due diligence.” That was the nature of their job, after all. “The seed complaint alone concerns me. If harmful chemicals have crept into the seeds, then the whole food supply could be contaminated.”

Depending on the chemicals, the United States could be poisoning not only their own population, but much of the world through crop exportation.

Sean leaned back in his chair. “I’m hard-pressed to believe that a small-town farmer uncovered a major contamination issue that the USDA and its scientists all failed to catch.”

“Unless it’s a recent contamination at the seed manufacturing facility. I know they do regular quality checks, but all it would take is one bad batch of seeds to cause catastrophic issues.” He leaned forward, dropping his voice so other patrons wouldn’t overhear. Not that anyone was particularly close or paying attention, but this was the kind of thing that fueled tabloids and armchair reporters. “I’m not sure about the murder angle, but I think the contamination complaint is worth a little digging.”

“Right-o.” Sean threw back the last of his soft drink and rose, empty cup in hand. “I’m gonna get a refill on my pop before we go.”

“Pop is a verb.” Jordan grinned as Sean just waved his hand as if to say “whatever” and continued toward the soda fountain machine.

Even though he’d spent plenty of time in the Midwest visiting his grandparents and had grown up hearing the word pop, it was way too much fun to razz Sean.

Collecting his trash, Jordan deposited it in the waste receptacle before joining Sean by the glass-plated storefront. They stepped outside into the blazing July heat. The morning’s thunderheads had moved on and now humidity blanketed them in moisture, coating his skin in stickiness.

At the office building, they rode the elevator in silence then headed their separate ways – him to his office and Sean to his cubicle.

As much as the Zapato case had piqued his curiosity, the meat packing warehouse case was still at the top of his to-do list. Once he wrapped that mess up, then he’d be free to do some more digging into Estevan’s uncle’s case.

Sean would do a good job following the contamination complaint, but he still wanted to look into the murders, even though it wasn’t his jurisdiction. His instinct told him there was more to the murders than the official investigation had turned up. If so, those threads could definitely tie to things under his team’s umbrella.

If seeds were contaminated, it was possible someone at the USDA was covering it up. It was his job to find out who, and to ensure they faced justice.

₪   ₪   ₪

“Come in.” Gretchen Pierce looked up as Chase, her twenty-something executive assistant, pushed open the frosted glass door and stepped inside.

His tailored button-down shirt and gray slacks did nothing to hide his lean musculature. Well-styled short brown hair and piercing blue eyes made for a handsome package overall.

Chase had been her assistant for over a year now and had proven his worth. The fact that he was office eye-candy was an added bonus.

He knew it, too.

Now, however, his killer smile was noticeably absent. He glanced over his shoulder to the closed door, then approached her desk and leaned in. His spicy cologne wafted across the open space.

“Mr. Hartwell is on his way.”

Her eyebrows lifted. Well. That was most unusual. CEO Hank Hartwell rarely came to the research division. On the rare occasions when he sought her out for an update or counsel on the latest research trends, he usually summoned her to his office in the executive building on the other side of Vida Immortal’s vast campus.

Gretchen rose smoothly. “Thank you, Chase. Please prepare a tray of coffee.”

“Of course.” He didn’t move. “This was not on your calendar. Is everything okay?”

A flutter danced through her core. “I’m sure things are fine. The CEO can do what he wants, can he not?”

Chase shifted his weight and rubbed the back of his neck below his short-cropped chestnut hair. “Well, yeah. Sure. However, you normally go there. I don’t remember the last time he came here.”

She waved her freshly manicured red nails in the air as if shooing away a fly. “Perhaps he felt the need to stretch his legs. Now, the coffee. I will straighten up in here.”

As Chase scurried to carry out her bidding, she quickly organized the lab reports she’d been studying and slid them back into the file folder, then stacked it on the other three identical looking folders that waited on the corner of her desk.

The rest of her office was immaculate, as always. If there was one thing her organized mind couldn’t tolerate, it was clutter.

As she retook her seat, she thought through the possible reasons for the impromptu visit.

In spite of what she’d told Chase, an unscheduled, in-person visit from Hartwell wasn’t likely to be a social call.

They had a problem.

Could he know about the Zapato murders? She didn’t see how. The death of a small-town farmer and his wife were hardly the type of news that would catch the attention of the CEO of the world’s leading seed and fertilizer supplier.

They’d passed the latest USDA inspection as well, so there should be no issues there.

Her door opened a moment later and Hartwell stood in the doorway, face flushed and breathing heavily. The squat, hefty man waddled into the room, pushing the door closed behind him.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and ringed the collar of his light blue dress shirt.

No, this man definitely had not felt the need to stretch his legs, especially not in this heat.

“Hank. Always a pleasure.” She gestured to the chairs opposite her leather executive chair, and waited until he collapsed into the plush gray fabric to reclaim her own seat.

Chase slipped in with all the noise of a phantom, deposited the tray with coffee, cups, sugar, and a variety of creamers on the corner of her desk, then slipped back out as unobtrusively as he’d entered.

Once the door latched behind him, she folded her hands on the desk in front of her and focused on Hank. “What can I do for you?”

Hank leaned forward and poured himself a cup of coffee, dumped in three sugars and a hazelnut creamer, then settled back in the chair. He slowly stirred the concoction, but focused his small muddy eyes on her. “Our friends have concerns.”

The soft tone, if not the carefully chosen words, left little doubt as to whom he referred.

The Shadows.

What he didn’t know, nor did he need to, was that she was tier one. He was merely tier three. While she answered to him in this office, in The Shadows, where it mattered most, he was far beneath her.

Still, it was better to keep up the charade.

She leaned in, dropping her voice to match his. “I can assure you they have no reason to worry. What, specifically, is the issue?”

“Ramon Zapato.”

The words were an icepick to her heart. “What about him?”

He sipped his coffee, his gaze never leaving her face. “So, you know who he is.”

“Naturally.” Her voice held a practiced nonchalance. “He is challenging the integrity of our seeds. I make it my business to be aware of such matters so I can best protect our interests.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow. “Then you also know he’s dead. Murdered.”

“Such a tragedy. I hear home invasions are on the rise. I guess no place is immune, not even a small farming community.”

“Yes, home invasion.” His tone clearly said he didn’t buy that story.

Of course, the order for the deaths had come from her own lips, but Hank’s level was too low for such sensitive information.

“The investigation into our seeds. They’ll find nothing?” Hank’s voice pulled her mind from thoughts of the single call she’d made to end two lives.. 

“They’ll find only what I want them to find. If they even investigate.” With Ramon Zapato dead, the chances of anyone caring about his claims diminished greatly.

Especially since she had it on good authority that the Zapatos’ sole heir lived the city life in Lincoln, Nebraska and had zero interest in the family farm.

“But if they do?” Hank pressed, his eyes wide and jowls quivering. “You’re sure we’re protected?”

“Hank.” She bestowed on him a tolerant smile that she was confident betrayed none of the irritation bubbling inside. “You pay me to oversee all the details pertaining to research and development. Trust me to handle this. We both have skin in the game, if you will.”

The little dig at Hank’s gambling problem didn’t go unnoticed. He narrowed his eyes on her. “I like to know the odds when I play.”

“And you do. They are solidly in our favor. No small-potatoes farmer is going to take us down.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “I could walk you through everything, if you’d like, but I figured you would embrace plausible deniability.”

Hank blinked rapidly. “Yes, of course. You are correct.”

As expected. Now for the distraction. “We actually harvested our first batch of the new potatoes in the lab today. Would you like to see them?”

The new hybrid seed was drought resistant and heat tolerant, and was expected to produce twice the amount of potatoes as their previous seed.

His eyes brightened and he struggled to his feet. “That would be good, yes.”

As they passed Chase’s desk, she gave him a reassuring smile. Yes, all was well in their world. Hartwell was satisfied, The Shadows were happy, and their enemies had been silenced.

₪   ₪   ₪

Jordan’s vision blurred for the third time in the last ten minutes. Clearly, it was time to call it a day.

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then squeezed a few lubricating drops in each eye. It had taken most of the day, but he’d finally wrapped up their portion of the reporting on yesterday’s explosion.

Now that the DEA had officially taken over, that agency would have the privilege of seeing this investigation through.

As much as he’d wanted to go down and question his assailant, he’d forced himself to stay at the office. It was no longer his case. He’d have to leave the interrogating up to the DEA and sheriff’s office.

He powered down his laptop and slid it into the messenger bag. At a little after four p.m., it was somewhat early to pack it in, but the long hours he’d put in both Tuesday and yesterday made it acceptable.

Not to mention he was still recovering from an on-the-job injury.

His phone rang and he groaned.

Seriously? Must someone always call when he was trying to get away from the office?

He looked at the caller ID. Hmmm. That might be the sheriff’s office that was working the Zapato murders. He’d called earlier and left a message, but it was likely a small office, with deputies in short supply. He wasn’t surprised that it’d taken a while for them to respond.

He accepted the call.

“Sheriff Justin Maples here. You had some questions about the Zapato double homicide?” The gruff voiced man sounded like a grizzled long-timer.

“Yes, thanks for getting back to me. I was hoping you could answer a few questions.”

A grunt responded. “What’s the Inspector General’s interest in this? We’re still lookin’ for the culprits, but it looks pretty open-and-shut. Home invasion gone wrong.”

“You’re probably right, but I’ve spoken to the victim’s family and they claim that the only things missing were a purse, TV, and laptop, the latter being an older model at that. Hardly worth killing two people over.”

“The killers probably didn’t know that was all they’d make off with.” A hint of defensiveness lined the sheriff’s words.

“But would a remote farmhouse look like a key target to thieves wanting high value items?” He hadn’t seen the house, but if it was anything like most of the centuries-old family farms he’d grown up around, the house would be modest. “I heard they didn’t even steal the vehicles.”

“Never claimed these guys were master criminals. Probably on something, not thinking clearly.”

“A definite possibility.” Except that people who were high would have been more likely to make mistakes and leave behind evidence.

Then again, he had no idea what evidence had or had not been left behind.

“I’m confused why Ramon Zapato was killed way out in the cornfield. Run over, right? While his wife died by blunt force trauma inside the house.”

“Yeah, well, that’s one thing that doesn’t sit well with me either.” The sheriff sighed deeply, evidence of an overworked public servant if Jordan had ever heard one. “Don’t know about you, but if someone broke into my house and went after my wife, they’d have to go through me first. Ramon was found in the field with a shotgun. So why don’t we got another body to contend with, huh?”

“Sounds like a good question to me. Any thoughts?”

“Plenty, but none that can be proven. There’re tire tracks in the cornfield that don’t match any vehicles on the Zapato farm. Some blood spatter with no body. Still waiting on forensics, but the blood type wasn’t a match to the Zapatos.”

And they were still going with the home invasion theory? Jordan tried to keep the judgmental attitude locked in his mind, but it sounded like a rushed investigation to him. “I know the Zapatos were suing the USDA. Have you found anything linking the murders to that?”

Not that he thought the UDSA had sent hitmen to take out the Zapatos, but the timing of the deaths warranted investigation.

“Nope. Frankly, don’t see how those two things would tie together.” The sheriff sounded as skeptical as Jordan felt about that angle.

“All it would take is one unethical person with something to hide. If the secret is big enough, it might be worth killing for.” Although how a small-town farmer would stumble across such a big secret was a bit of a mystery. “What about the attorney representing the Zapatos family? Have you spoken with them?”

“Didn’t have a reason to. ‘Til now.” The sheriff sounded like he was coming around. “But you’ve got yourself a good point there. Someone being sued might have a reason to kill.”

“I’ll do some digging on my end, too. How about we share information?” Not that Jordan intended to do a lot of digging, but if the sheriff felt like the sharing was mutual, he’d be more likely to keep Jordan in the loop.

“Suppose it can’t hurt. Case is dryin’ up faster than dirt in a drought.” The sheriff’s rural roots came through in the words.

“What leads do you have so far?”

“Lots of fingerprints, but there was a large family gathering there the weekend before the murders. Zapato’s three sisters and two brothers were there, with their spouses and kids and grandkids. We’re talkin’ at least seventy-five people. Still working on matching prints, but none of them popped in the system and every one that we’ve checked so far has tied back to someone in the family.”

“That sounds like a chore.”

“You got no idea.” Papers shuffled in the background, as though the sheriff was looking through files. “As I said, there’s evidence in the cornfield that Ramon Zapato fired his shotgun. Twice. Found some buckshot in the area with the blood spatter. Found more about fifty yards to the left. A casing on the ground gives us Zapato’s location for at least one of the shots.”

Yeah, that made sense, since Zapato would have manually ejected the casing himself when reloading. “Don’t suppose there were doorbell cams or security feeds anywhere around there?”

A snort answered his question. “On a family farm in the middle of nowhere? Nope.”

Not a surprise, but it’d been worth the ask. “What about those mystery tire tracks? Any hits on matching the tread?”

“Look. I have five deputies on staff, two of them only part-time. We cover over five hundred square miles.” He swore. “This isn’t some big federal agency with lots of resources. So no, we haven’t matched the tread.”

Hit a sore spot with that one. “Maybe I can help. If you can send me what you’ve got, I’ll see if we can’t match it to a specific type of tire.”

A moment of silence followed Jordan’s suggestion.

Maybe the sheriff was mulling it over. Maybe he was silently fuming at the government watchdog poking into his investigation.

Either option was possible, but only one would result in the cooperation Jordan hoped to secure.

Finally, the man exhaled. “Might help us narrow down the type of vehicle, I suppose. I’ll have my assistant add you to the file when she gets in tomorrow morning.”

After passing along his email address and securing a promise that he’d be granted access to the sheriff’s office secure portal the following day, Jordan ended the call.

While the conversation had created more questions than it had answered, he felt like they’d made progress. He doubted he’d see anything in the files that the sheriff had overlooked, but another set of eyes never hurt. Aside from that, the resources available to him exceeded that of the county sheriff’s office.

Tomorrow, he’d dig into that and follow up with the lawyer. If nothing popped, he’d have to let the whole thing go.

He had his own job to do, one that didn’t involve chasing down a rural double homicide.

₪   ₪   ₪

This was a logistical nightmare.

Dalton massaged his temples and closed his eyes against the laptop screen in front of him. How had he never realized the myriad challenges people in wheelchairs faced before now?

Managing Lincoln’s security detail was complex enough. Adding in concerns about wheelchair accessibility took things to a whole new level. Now, he not only had to make sure that Lincoln’s venues could be secure, but he had to make sure those secure routes could accommodate Lincoln’s wheelchair. Often, they did not.

He returned to the floor plan for the historic downtown theatre where Lincoln was scheduled to hold a public rally next week.

Beautiful building. With lots of stairs and narrow passageways. Probably uneven floors, too, if he had to guess.

They couldn’t move the rally. Lincoln’s high-strung little publicist would throw a royal fit if he tried.

No, they had to find a way to make this work.

He reviewed all the back-of-house access points. Maybe the loading bay was equipped with a liftgate. If so, they could load Lincoln’s chair onto that and let the machine hoist him up to the landing.

He jotted a note to reach out to the theatre manager and arrange a time for one of the guys on the team to come by and check things out.

The other two backstage entrances involved a flight of stairs, either outside or inside, to get anywhere.

Short of a few of the guys carrying Lincoln up the stairs – which wouldn’t make anyone happy, especially not Lincoln – those wouldn’t be an option. If the loading bay didn’t have a lift gate, they’d have to arrive nice and early and bring him through the main entrance.

Sitting around in the theatre would frustrate Lincoln, but maybe he could do another live feed from there. Backstage at the rally, or some other such thing. It could be a hit with the viewers.

A small smile quirked his lips and he shook his head. Look at him, thinking like a marketer.

He’d been spending way too much time around the publicist lately.

At least he didn’t have to worry about protecting Cliff, too. Not necessarily a good thing, but it was one less target to factor into his calculations.

Until Lincoln picked a new running mate. Once that happened, he’d have his work cut out for him. He’d have to research the running mate’s background, identify any personal enemies he or she might have, and add those into the mix of security concerns. At least Cliff had been a known variable.

The dissolution of the two-party system meant that there was no one pressuring Lincoln to make a specific choice. The decision was solely Lincoln’s with no worries about ripple effects in the party’s ranks.

Good news for him. He trusted Lincoln’s judgment, so whoever Lincoln chose would likely be solid.

The tantalizing smell of the roast marinating in the slow cooker in Lincoln’s kitchen drifted into the room. Something about that conjured comfort. It harkened memories of his youth, simpler days when he’d been a teenager with no greater worries than winning the upcoming baseball game or whether the hot girl he’d been admiring liked him.

Now, he sat here not caring about baseball games or pretty women. These days his thoughts were consumed with matters of life and death.

The familiar sound of Lincoln’s wheelchair rolling across the house’s hardwood floors drew his attention to the doorway of Lincoln’s study, which had become his own personal workspace when Lincoln didn’t need it. Lincoln’s legs, followed by the rest of him, rolled into view.

“The announcement is about to air.” A slightly hollow sound echoed in Lincoln’s words. His eyes seemed sunken and his downcast face drawn.

Cliff’s withdrawal had hit him hard.

In a few minutes, at the top of the hour, the whole country would hear it. It would, no doubt, lead the six o’clock news, which was likely precisely what Lincoln’s crafty little publicist had intended.

Dalton closed the laptop lid and rose.

Not only could he not miss the official announcement – and the ensuing fallout – but he needed to support his friend.

Aside from that, maybe stepping back from the security planning for the day would help give him perspective. He could attack it fresh in the morning, after a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was only Friday, after all. The Atlanta rally wasn’t until next Friday, which gave him a full week to plan.

He’d already worked out the details for the arena where Lincoln would debate Topheth next week.

He followed Lincoln into the living room and lowered himself onto the firm leather sofa. Vanessa, Lincoln’s wife, already had the television on and was perched on the edge of a recliner. As a car dealership commercial promised the best deals in Kansas, Vanessa shot Lincoln an encouraging smile. While it earned a small smile in return, he could tell that Lincoln felt like doing anything but smiling.

The evening news’ dramatic music aired, followed by a smiling blonde anchor wearing too much makeup to try to hide the fact that she was over forty.

“Tonight, we begin with a major announcement from the Lincoln Kingsley campaign. Let’s take a look.”

The image cut from the anchor’s face to a live press conference, held in front of Lincoln’s campaign headquarters in Overland Park.

Standing behind a podium emblazoned with Kingsley in red, white, and blue, Lincoln’s publicist adjusted his black thick-rimmed glasses. His artificially sun-kissed hair barely moved in the light breeze. He offered a white smile, then sobered and let his gaze intentionally wander the crowd.

“Thank you all for coming.” His clear voice carried above the noise and silenced the murmur of the reporters’ voices. “Today, Cliff DeLozier made the difficult decision to withdraw from the presidential race to focus on his family. Lincoln and the rest of our team fully support Cliff in this decision, as family is more important than career or politics. As I’m sure you all can imagine, campaigning is incredibly demanding and requires many hours away from home. His children are young and he felt like he was missing too much.”

Pandemonium erupted as the publicist paused.

Questions ran over each other, none discernable on the feed they watched. The publicist waved his hands down, effectively silencing the group.

“Lincoln is weighing his choices for a new running mate and hopes to make an announcement at his upcoming rally in Atlanta next week. On behalf of Cliff and his family, we would ask for respect for his privacy as he refocuses on his family in the upcoming days and weeks. I’ll now take a few questions.”

The image cut from the live feed back to the anchor, who quickly collected her slack jaw. “You can find the full story, including the question and answers portion, on our website. In other news–”

Vanessa muted the television as it cut to a story about a crime wave rocking the downtown area.

Lincoln leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Hearing the official statement made this feel a whole lot more real.”

It always was real, but pointing that out wouldn’t do any good. “So, you’re planning to name a running mate in a week?”

Lincoln lowered his eyes and zeroed in on Dalton. “I hope to. There are a few ideas floating around my brain that I’m praying through.”

While he understood that Lincoln needed to name someone right away, the pressure to vet that candidate weighed heavy. They wouldn’t have much time to do a thorough investigation. While he trusted Lincoln, quick decisions could lead to mistakes. “Well, let us know once you narrow it down so we can dig into them.”

Intensity lingered in the dark depths of Lincoln’s eyes. “The people I’m considering won’t need to be investigated.”

That was cryptic. “Care to elaborate?”

Lincoln pressed his lips together and gave his head a small shake. “We’ll wait for God.”

Okay, he wanted to be all mysterious about this, fine. Dalton only hoped it didn’t spell disaster for all of them.

Four

Jordan closed the driver’s door on his two-year-old royal blue Corvette – his gift to himself after his promotion last year – and armed the alarm. The short chirp of the horn echoed through the parking structure.

He crossed the garage and headed for the elevator, hoping this trip wasn’t in vain.

When he’d gotten into the office that morning, he’d immediately looked up the information on the law firm representing Ramon Zapato in the case against the USDA. Surprisingly, the firm was headquartered in downtown Kansas City, a short drive from his office.

While calling was an option, sometimes an in-person surprise visit yielded better results, especially with lawyers.

Now, as long as the lawyer representing the case wasn’t out of office, in court, or seeing another client, maybe he could learn some interesting details about the case.

The law firm, a monstrosity with four partners and six junior lawyers, took up the entire fourth floor of the historic building overlooking the Missouri River. No doubt the lease was a small fortune, the firm’s hourly rates likely inflated to cover costs.

How had Zapato afforded the services of a group like this?

He stepped off the elevator at the fourth floor, where he was greeted by a plush carpeted waiting room and a trim receptionist with model perfect hair.

Though her smile never faltered, he sensed her appraising his khaki pants and green polo shirt with the top two buttons open.

“May I help you?” Her high, nasally voice made her sound congested, which wasn’t totally out of the question with summer allergies in full gear.

He pulled out his badge. “Assistant Special Agent in Charge Jordan Dubois. I’d like to speak with the lawyer working the Ramon Zapato vs. USDA case.”

Her thin, dark eyebrows jumped, whether at his badge or because of the case, he wasn’t sure. “Do you have an appointment?”

He’d bet that she already knew the answer to that question. “No, but I’m hoping someone might have time to speak with me nonetheless.” He kept his tone polite, but firm.

“I see. Please have a seat and I’ll see what I can do.”

He nodded his thanks and wandered the spacious waiting area, bypassing the gray padded chairs in favor of the expanse of windows on the far wall. The lightly tinted glass cut down the glare of the early morning sun but did nothing to diminish the sparkling waters of the river winding through the city.

Behind him, he heard the receptionist’s low voice speaking to someone. Some of her words were indistinguishable, but he heard her mention Agent and Zapato.

In spite of that, he didn’t turn. Nor did he take a seat or pace. Instead, he remained at the window, assessing the city in front of him. He’d long ago learned the value in stillness. It set people at ease, which was what he wanted.

For this moment, at the very least. Once he was speaking with the attorney – if he got to speak to someone today – that might change, but stressing out the receptionist would do him no good.

A door clicked and a cross female voice carried over the open space. “So someone finally cares?”

He blinked at the hostility in the voice and worked to school his features before turning. A tall, stocky woman who carried herself with the authority of one used to commanding a jury strode toward him. A dark pink silk blouse, which matched her lipstick and shoes, exuded confidence, but it was her sharp brown eyes, set deep in a face topped with short and spiky brown hair, that said she was not someone to be trifled with.

He extended his hand and offered a smile. “ASAC Jordan Dubois, OIG. I’d like to discuss the Zapato case with you.”

“The Office of the Inspector General?” A hint of surprise lingered in the question, as well as in her raised eyebrows. “Ellen Morse. I was lead on Mr. Zapato’s case.”

While her voice wasn’t exactly friendly, at least the antagonism had diminished. Even better, the lead lawyer had seen fit to come speak with him herself rather than sending a paralegal. That was a good sign.

She turned and waved her hand for him to follow. “I can give you a few minutes.”

He lengthened his stride to catch up to her, falling in step beside her as she approached a door to the left of the receptionist’s desk.

“Teresa, hold my calls.” Ellen shot the words at the young receptionist as she pushed open the door and stepped through.

As the door clicked closed behind him, Jordan immediately noticed the hush of the hallway. Offices lined either side, some with lights on, some darkened, and he heard the clacking of fingers on keyboards, but no voices.

Evidently Fridays were either slow or no appointments had shown up yet.

Ellen entered the second to the last office on the right, watched him cross the threshold, then closed the door behind him. “Please have a seat.”

He settled in one of the geometric blue and gray printed chairs that sat opposite a large cherrywood desk and waited for Ellen to claim her seat. She struck him as someone who didn’t tolerate small talk, so there was no point in wasting time. “I received a call from Ramon Zapato’s nephew two days ago. He believes that Ramon’s death is connected to the lawsuit your firm is handling on Ramon’s behalf.”

She pressed those dark lips together and nodded slowly. “I am inclined to agree. In your line of work, I’m sure you don’t believe in coincidences any more than I do.”

“Nope.” He leaned against the back of his chair and stretched his fingers across his thighs, waiting for her to continue.

“What is the OIG’s interest in this case?” Serious eyes assessed him, no doubt weighing him for authenticity.

“The complaint involves the USDA. We take all complaints very seriously and if there is something to it, we want to bring it to light.” He held her gaze, hoping that he conveyed the proper concern and honesty to gain her cooperation, if not her trust.

“Why now? Why not last year, when the USDA chose to persecute and fine a small family farm that simply wanted to survive against the corporate conglomerates that are taking over our food supply?”

“Mr. Zapato didn’t contact our office with his complaint. I can’t address what I don’t know about.” He paused for a brief moment, then leaned in slightly. “Did he take this complaint to anyone else? Someone at the USDA? Or another OIG office?”

“He spoke repeatedly with the USDA, elevating his complaint to management, but didn’t get anywhere. Naturally.” The last word dripped with disdain. “That’s when he contacted our office.”

“I am curious how a small-town farmer could afford your services.” Jordan gestured to the extravagant view and posh surroundings. “I’m sure they don’t come cheap.”

She sniffed. “Absolutely not, but we believe in this case. Zapato agreed to a sixty-forty settlement split when we win his case.”

Interesting that she still spoke of the case in the present tense. Perhaps they intended to pursue the case on behalf of Zapato’s daughter. “The case is still moving forward?”

“At this point, yes. Mr. Zapato has a daughter. We plan to reach out to her after the funeral to discuss the matter further.”

At least the law firm was waiting until after the funeral to bring up the lawsuit with the heir. If he continued on this case, talking to the daughter would be high priority, and he may not be able to wait until the dust settled on top of the Zapatos’ caskets.

The case grew colder every day.

“I understand that Zapato had evidence of harmful chemicals in the seeds he was instructed to use.”

She dipped her head slightly. “Correct. As you are aware, with the Safe and Beneficial Food Act mandate Congress passed two years ago, all farmers are now required to use seeds and fertilizer from USDA approved sources.”

Oh yeah. He was very aware of the SABFA mandate. It had been a controversial and polarizing decision, one that had sparked thousands of complaints and resulted in a large-scale OIG investigation out of their D.C. headquarters. While the investigation had concluded with no evidence of wrongdoing or corruption, he had no doubt that money had changed hands, especially within Congress, to move the mandate through.

The lawyer seemed to be awaiting his response, so he nodded. “Of course. There are currently only two companies in the country with USDA certification for seed and fertilizer production for growth of food for human consumption.”

And now he sounded like a pamphlet. He was pretty sure he’d quoted that word-for-word.

“Yes. The Zapato farm specializes in sweet corn. They have been using family seeds for over a century. In spite of the requirement, he refused to compromise the family legacy. When the USDA came down on him, he ordered samples from both companies and had them independently tested. The results returned high levels of several harmful chemicals, things that are not present in Zapato’s seeds.” She spread her hands in front of her. “Being a man of integrity, Zapato refused to produce food that could harm his customers and his family.”

No doubt that line was well-penned for her opening or closing statement if this lawsuit went to court. “I’d be interested in reviewing those reports.”

She smiled condescendingly, as if expecting his response. “I’m sure you would, but you’ll need to obtain a court order. At this time, this is still a pending case and I must protect the interests of my client.”

“Your client is dead.” The words sounded harsh in the open air, but they were true.

“But his daughter, who inherits his estate and will settle all his affairs, including this one, is very much alive. Until she states that this case is no longer moving forward, I will consider her to be acting as her late father’s proxy.”

“You do recognize that Sustaining Life Farms is likely to make a generous offer to purchase the land, now that her father is gone. She might simply sell the property and be done with the whole thing.” He’d seen it countless times over the past decade as interest in farming waned among the younger generation, who loathed the long hours and hard work in favor of air-conditioned offices and eight-hour workdays.

“And that is certainly her right to do so, but until she makes that decision…” She lifted her hands in a wide shrug. “Now, if you have no other questions, I do have a busy schedule today.”

He recognized a swift kick to the butt when he heard one. Rising, he speared her with his gaze, not that it was likely to faze this court-hardened attorney. “I’ll be back with a court order.”

“You do that.” She rose, but made no move to come out from behind her highly polished desk. “As I told you before: I believe in this case. Contamination in our food supply affects us all and I would like nothing more than for your office to investigate this, see the evidence for yourself, and make something happen. But I must also consider the impact to the case.”

Yes, he understood all right. As frustrating as it was, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

She didn’t know him. Didn’t know that he wasn’t dirty, that he would pursue the truth no matter what.

Aside from that, there was likely a lot of money on the line. While she hadn’t told him the amount they were seeking as a settlement, he would bet that the starting figure was in the millions. Forty percent of that equaled hundreds of thousands of dollars for her and her firm.

The unease he’d felt yesterday at lunch with Sean crashed over him.

What if there was truth to these claims? What if the food supply, consumed not only nationally, but globally, contained potentially deadly ingredients?

₪   ₪   ₪

“Suspect is dead.”

The words dropped in Dalton’s head like a grenade. His fingers tightened around the cell phone pressed against his ear as he processed the words spoken by the detective.

He’d called the detective investigating the incident at that farm, hoping for a simple update. Now, he learned that the second man was dead? “How?”

“Happened in jail. General population. Someone sliced his neck. Guards responded immediately, but couldn’t save him.”

A chill shot down Dalton’s spine, one that had nothing to do with the air conditioning pumping through the ceiling vent above his head.

The Shadows had wanted that guy taken out.

Whether due to being captured and the seizure of all the chemicals and pharmaceutical supplies or to keep him from talking, he’d likely never know. The cold and calculating manner of death convinced him that someone high up in The Shadows had ordered the hit.

Possibly The Shadow Master himself, whom he suspected was Arthur Topheth.

“Did he ever reveal anything important? Like why he opened fire on me?” Even as he asked the question, Dalton knew what the response would be.

“Nope. Stuck with the story that he thought you were there to rob him and he was defending his property.”

That story, which the man had claimed from the moment he was arrested, stunk as much as the manure in the barn. “Even after you showed him my bodycam footage?”

“Yep. The guy was a veteran. Did some active duty in the Middle East. He claimed that he saw your gun, it triggered his PTSD, and he thought you were out to get him.”

He blew out a breath and ran his free hand through his hair. While it might be true, he’d not seen any evidence of PTSD in either of those men.

No, both had seemed calm and intentional when they’d pulled out guns and started shooting.

Now that they were dead, he’d never know for sure.

While he wasn’t surprised The Shadows had taken the man out – heck, they’d taken out Kris Vicks in prison less than a month after Dalton had captured him – he found the audacity of the dead man’s continued lies unbelievable.

He’d had video. Showing that they didn’t start shooting until he identified himself. How could he think that anyone with half a brain would believe the lie?

He forced the frustration aside. “Who owns that farm?”

“The guy you killed. According to property records, he purchased it four years ago.”

He’d have to look into that guy. See if he could find anything that linked him to The Shadows before purchasing the land, or if The Shadows had recruited him after the purchase.

That detail may not matter, but it could also provide valuable intel on how The Shadows operated. Had they set up one of their guys with a house in a strategic location? Or had they found a guy with questionable morals in a prime location and recruited him at that point?

While the first option seemed more likely, the situation with Jade’s co-worker in Vegas, where they’d exploited the man’s weakness and bribed him to do their bidding, still lingered fresh in his mind.

“And the killer?”

“Being charged with murder, but he’s pretty cool about the whole thing. In fact, he seems proud of the kill. Probably banking on it earning him some street cred in prison.”

Yeah, until The Shadows took him out, too. A little poison in his food, or an orchestrated prison brawl in which he was shanked, there were many ways The Shadows could get to him behind prison walls.

“Since both guys are dead, we’ll be closing out this case. DEA and FBI are investigating the stolen goods.”

Dalton acknowledged the detective’s words and ended the call.

At least they’d stopped The Shadows from moving the medications and supplies around the country. While he wasn’t naïve enough to think it had dealt a serious blow to The Shadows’ operations, he hoped it’d hurt them a little. The fact that they likely had other such storehouses left a hollowness inside.

The feeling of Deja vu sent a tingle through his nerves. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d placed a similar call, with similar results. That call had confirmed the death of Kris Vicks, a man he’d faced down both in the foothills of the Tennessee Smokies and again at the WADR treatment facility in Las Vegas.

Officially, Vicks had died of natural causes. Massive heart attack.

Dalton, however, knew better. The Shadows had taken Vicks out. Twice he’d failed them. They hadn’t let him live to tack on a third time. Instead, they’d had someone slip Vicks something to either mimic or stimulate a heart attack.

Not that he’d ever be able to prove that. Just like he’d never be able to prove that these two guys had been murdered by The Shadows.

He’d already done some research on the two men who’d accosted him at the farmhouse. Come up with a list of family, friends, and known associates.

Now that they were dead, that list would become his primary focus in hopes that one of the names on it would lead him to The Shadows.

A ding on his phone drew his attention. The text message, sent by Lincoln to him and the whole security team, indicated that the statement Cliff had promised to make was officially out. Dalton opened a new window on his laptop and typed Cliff’s name into the search bar.

As expected, the recently released statement was the first to pop up. He clicked the link.

Cliff’s face filled the screen. A blank gray wall, which Dalton recognized as the color in Cliff’s home office, provided a neutral backdrop.

Serious eyes locked on the camera, Cliff’s smile-prone lips uncharacteristically flat. “By now, I’m sure you all have heard that I’ve withdrawn my bid for vice-presidency.”

Cliff wasted no time with greetings or preamble, but cut straight to the point.

He’d spent enough time around Cliff to recognize the new stress lines marring the man’s forehead. Dark rings beneath his eyes gave him an aged and sunken countenance.

“I wish to assure the public that this is not because of Lincoln. I am still behind him fully and hope to see him running this fine country starting next year. He is the most ethical and capable man I’ve ever had the privilege of calling friend and I am grieved to leave him in the lurch like this.

“My decision came after much consideration and many sleepless nights. My family was paying a very high price due to the demanding schedule of the political campaign. My children were bullied at school. My wife’s business was threatened and vandalized.

“I tell you this not to garner your sympathy, but to convince you that my reasons for withdrawal had nothing to do with Lincoln. He remains a friend and is one of the best men that I know. He’s always had and always will have my full support. I will vote for him, and whoever he chooses as my successor, come November. He is the right man, the only man, for the presidency. I hope you’ll all join me in voting for him. Thank you.”

The clip ended with Lincoln’s campaign logo.

Dalton leaned back in his chair. That’d been a good statement. Written mostly by Lincoln’s publicist, no doubt.

And the mentioned threats and troubles his family had faced barely scratched the surface.

Since Cliff had notified them of his choice to withdraw, Dalton had learned that both Cliff’s and his wife’s cars had been vandalized. Rocks thrown at their house. Masked men with guns spotted on their street. Increasingly violent threats, written, emailed, and via phone, made to them on a regular basis.

He couldn’t blame Cliff for pulling out. Family came first.

Hopefully this statement would serve two purposes: remove Cliff and his family from the crosshairs and help Lincoln retain the voters that Cliff had initially drawn.

The future of the country could very well depend on it.

₪   ₪   ₪

He needed to see the scene.

Jordan pulled off his glasses and massaged the area behind his ears, where the glasses that desperately needed adjusting had been pushing against his skull.

The more he dug into the Zapato case, the more convinced he became that there was something here, something big. While he couldn’t work the murder case, at least not actively, he could sure look into the claims that the USDA was turning a blind eye to contamination in the seed supply.

The evidence, which he had yet to see himself, had been compelling enough for a large and powerful law firm to take on the case with no guarantee of payment. That alone told him something.

With a sigh, he put his glasses back on and pulled out Estevan’s phone number.

“Jordan? How’s it going?” Estevan’s voice contained a hint of anxiety. He was likely itching to ask about the case, but social graces required at least a preamble of pleasantries.

Personally, he had no interest in such facades. “I’m coming up with more questions than answers where your uncle is concerned.”

A beat passed. “That’s a good thing, right? It means there’s something to it.”

“Maybe. To be clear, I can’t investigate the murders.” It was always best to set expectations up front. “It’s outside my jurisdiction. But, if my investigation turns up evidence that will help the sheriff close out the murders, you can bet I’ll be passing that along.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Jordan stared out the window of his office at the frenetic pace of the city surrounding him. While he wasn’t eager to make the roughly hour and a half drive to the farm, getting out of the city would do him some good. “I’d like to see the farm for myself. You think your cousin would be up to meeting me out there?”

“To get answers? I’m sure of it.” Estevan paused. “The funeral is tomorrow. My aunt and uncle will be celebrated and buried together.”

The words thickened, no doubt from grief clogging his throat.

Jordan swallowed hard, memories of his grandparents’ funerals, the closest relatives he had lost to date, stampeding through his mind. They’d both lived to a good old age, dying of natural causes. He couldn’t imagine burying a family member who’d been murdered. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Gracias, mi amigo.” Estevan cleared his throat. “I’m sticking around for a few days to help my cousin go through the house. Would you be available to come down on Monday? We should both be there.”

“That’ll work.” He hated to ask the next question on his mind, but it had to be done. “Do you know if your cousin has heard from Sustaining Life Farms? It’s come to light that they’ve been trying to buy your uncle’s farm for years.”

Estevan uttered a guttural growl. “Those bottom-feeders are nothing but scavengers. Did you know that they sent an offer to my cousin two days after the bodies were found? Two days!”

No surprise there. They’d probably hoped to catch her when she was so overwhelmed with grief that she would want nothing more than to be rid of the place where her parents had died. “How did their offer stack up against previous offers made to her parents?”

“She didn’t say, but she did tell me that she’d never sell to them. Honestly, though,” his fury seemed to deflate on those words, “I don’t know that she’ll have a choice. She has a life in Lincoln. A career working at the corporate office of a major insurance provider. Her husband’s work is there. Their kids are settled in a good school. There’s no way she’ll leave all that to struggle to scrape out a living on a farm.”

The distance from Lincoln, Nebraska to Rock Port wasn’t that great, but it might as well have been thousands of miles. The lifestyle and cultural differences made them like two different countries.

“I’ve wondered if there’s anyone in the family, maybe some of my other cousins, who might want to buy the farm from her, or run it on her behalf, but I don’t know that there is.” A hint of wistfulness touched Estevan’s voice, although he doubted Estevan himself was itching to run the place. The Estevan he’d gone to college with had enjoyed the city, and its associated nightlife, far too much to be happy in a quiet country town.

“Did she officially decline the offer?” A rock formed in Jordan’s gut. If Sustaining Life Farms had anything to do with the murders, declining the offer could paint a target on her back.

“I don’t think she’s responded at all. Too many other things on her mind.”

If the offer had come through a realtor, there would have been a deadline for the response. A non-response would be deemed the same as a refusal.

Realistically, they’d be stupid to go after her so soon after her parents were killed. It’d make them prime suspects.

The contaminated seeds still felt like a better lead than this one.

“Do you know anything about the lawsuit your uncle filed? The contaminated seeds?”

“Not much.” Estevan’s voice stabilized, the earlier emotion draining away. “I know he found contaminants, swore on his life he’d never use such inferior seeds, and vowed to fight it. My cousin might know more.”

He’d be sure to broach the subject with her on Monday. “Has she received any threats?”

“Threats?” Shock dripped from the word, although Jordan couldn’t understand why Estevan wouldn’t have at least entertained the idea that whoever killed his uncle and aunt might also go after their sole surviving daughter. “Why would someone threaten her?”

“If the murders weren’t a random home-invasion, as you believe, then they were likely far more targeted. That target might extend to her as well.”

“No, no threats.” The words spilled out, but were quickly silenced.

Jordan let the silence hang. He wanted Estevan to really think it through.

“I mean, she hasn’t mentioned anything.” Doubt now coated Estevan’s words. “I think she would have told me. You really believe the killers will target her?”

“It depends on the motive for the killings.” As much as he wanted to reassure Estevan, he wouldn’t provide false comfort. Doing so could prove fatal. “I’m not trying to scare you, but be vigilant. Until we know why your aunt and uncle were killed, and by whom, there’s a chance that this isn’t over.”

“Yeah, sure.” Estevan’s voice weakened.

“If you get a chance, ask her to bring any documentation she might have on the lawsuit, the independent testing, and the purchase offers from Sustaining Life. I’d like to review all that.” Jordan tried to think of anything else he might need when he made the drive north Monday. “Oh, if she happens to have any of those sample seeds left, I would like to take those with me.”

“I’ll ask her.” Estevan still sounded a little shaky. “Do we need to hire security for the funeral? Come armed?”

Jordan chuckled in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. “I doubt that’s necessary. Obviously, it’s always good to be vigilant, but I think you all will be safe enough there.”

Afterwards, he wasn’t so sure, but it seemed unlikely that cowardly killers who attacked a middle-aged couple in their home under the cover of darkness would try to take out a whole group of people at a funeral.

After arranging to arrive by nine a.m. on Monday, Jordan ended the call and set his phone aside.

What he hoped the visit would reveal, he wasn’t sure, however being on-site had turned up valuable evidence in the past.

He trusted that would be the case here as well.

The day was winding down, but he still had a little time to dig into the seed companies. If they were selling contaminated products, surely others had noticed and complained.

What had been the fate of those people?

₪   ₪   ₪

Gretchen’s heels tapped a beat that matched her impatience as she crossed campus toward the Executive and Administrative building. On paper, half the building was in use by the Executive team, accounting, human resources, and IT, while the other half was being held unused for future growth.

Few people realized that the future was now.

That space had been in use since the facility opened a few years ago, producing special seeds that would only be sold to a select clientele.

Clientele like the recently departed Ramon Zapato.

They kept this lab far from the main lab for the sole reason of avoiding any kind of mix-up or cross-contamination. Nothing would derail their plans faster than some rube sending these special seeds to one of Sustaining Life’s farms.

She entered the glass double doors, nodded at the receptionist, then proceeded through the security door to the back areas. Once in the back hallway, instead of heading right to where the CEO, CFO, and all the other COs had their offices, she veered left. She passed a bank of restrooms, then rounded a corner.

Her shoes ricocheted like gunfire in the still corridor, emphasizing the feeling of barrenness.

Ahead, a steel door, painted a muted gray like most of the facility, barred access to the regions beyond.

Except to a select few, like her.

She punched in a ten-digit code – never could be too careful, after all – then flashed her badge in front of the scanner.

The door clicked.

She opened it and stepped through, pulling it firmly closed behind her. She navigated the short hallway, passing two doors that led to storage areas, before going through the last door at the very end of the hall.

A shipping and receiving dock stretched in front of her. Two pallets, stacked high with boxes, stood as lonely monuments in the middle of the dock. Straight ahead, a brightly-lit lab drew her.

The lead scientist, a man who directed a two-person team of people carefully selected for their lack of scruples and their loyalty to The Shadows, nodded at her.

She watched as he scooped some seeds out of a liquid-filled container, then spread them on a grate to dry.

After taking off his gloves and hanging up his lab coat, he joined her in the loading dock area. “Yes, ma’am.”

Always so respectful. She appreciated that about him. “I understand we have a large order going out today.”

“We do. And another scheduled for next Friday.” His smile contained a hint of the devious nature she’d learned lurked beneath his pudgy, mild-mannered appearance. “Miller Farms in California has ordered a large batch of fall vegetable seeds.”

Ah, Miller Farms. The largest privately owned farm left in the United States. Sustaining Life had been trying to buy them out for years, to no avail. “And you’ve increased the potency, as discussed?”

“Yes. The farm workers will probably even feel some flu-like symptoms if they handle the seeds without gloves.”

Excellent. That, combined with the people they’d turned, would make Miller Farms an undesirable place to work. A bad crop, combined with a hard-to-hire workforce, should ensure that the owners of Miller Farms had to make some tough choices about next year.

“Are all those boxes going to Miller?” She eyed the partial pallet that was currently being filled. Miller Farms was a large farm, but that looked like a lot of product.

“Oh no. About half of that is for Miller. The rest is going to a variety of smaller farms spread throughout California and the Midwest.”

She assessed the shipment. “How many farms in total?”

“Nine.”

That was a start. Nine was roughly a third of the remaining private farms nationwide. “And all the crops have been modified?”

“Yes. The team is, shall we say, improving the beet seeds right now, then we will have impacted all varieties of crops. The seeds will definitely taint the soil, and the crops will be small and flavorless.” The scientist turned toward the warehouse, where two workers were boxing up cases of seeds. “They’ll be lucky if they break even this year.”

She wasn’t content for the floundering farms to break even. They needed to take a loss.

One step at a time. First, bad seed. Then, bad employees. Finally, bad harvest.

Those three things would ensure failure. If not this year, then soon.

Their person inside the USDA would ensure that these indie farmers would never obtain a loan to keep them afloat. If their crops failed, so would they.

At the end of the day, they would have no choice but to sell.

When that day came, The Shadows would control the food supply. Control the food, control the public.

The country would be theirs for the picking.

Five

“We’re taking the boat out later today. You want to join us?” Jordan stood over Sean, spotting his friend as he bench-pressed two hundred ninety pounds.

Sean’s face, red with exertion, intensified as he pushed the bar up. A shaky breath exhaled and a bead of sweat raced down his temple, disappearing into his damp red hair. “Sure.” The word puffed out on a breath.

Weekend boat trips were common since Jordan had purchased a small speedboat the previous year. While his house wasn’t waterfront, their development was and it had a marina with boat slips available for rent. Having their boat docked only a block away was convenient enough that it made the expense well worth it.

As Sean slowly lowered the bar, Jordan glanced up at the television on the wall, where the news played silently. Closed captioning at the bottom provided commentary on what the young, somber-faced newscaster said, but it was too far away for him to read.

An image flashed on the screen of a car wrapped around a tree. Flames shot out of the hood and windows.

He cringed. No one walked away from that wreck.

The fiery car crash was replaced by a photograph, a professional headshot of a middle-aged woman with short, spiky brown hair.

His throat sanded and his mind blanked.

He’d spoken with that woman yesterday. She was the lawyer representing the Zapato case.

Surely there was some mistake. He strode closer to the television so he could read the words in the oh-so-small text at the bottom of the screen.

“Dude.” Sean’s voice came from behind him but sounded distant as his mind processed the words.

Certain words jumped out at him.

Ellen Morse. Lost control. Speed and alcohol suspected factors. No survivors.

An image of a man, who was identified as one of the partners at the law firm, came on, his lips moving soundlessly.

“Jordan. Man. I need.. a spotter.” Sean’s words huffed distantly, but Jordan couldn’t tear his gaze from the screen.

The partner’s face, resolutely adamant, showed that he firmly believed every word he spoke. Jordan transferred his attention to the closed-caption text on the screen.

“She wasn’t drunk. Or speeding. No chance. She was one of the most cautious and astute women I know. She never drank to the point of losing control and was much too careful to get behind the wheel after drinking. She lost a friend to a drunk driver. She would never do this.”

A slug to the back of his left shoulder, firm, but not harsh, sent him stumbling slightly. “Thanks for spotting me, man. Appreciate it.”

Sean’s words registered, but he couldn’t form a response.

What were the chances that the lawyer’s death was unconnected to the Zapato case? It was possible, he supposed, but was it likely?

Not in his mind.

“You knew her?” Sean’s tone had sobered, all evidence of teasing gone.

“She was the lawyer on that Ramon Zapato lawsuit.”

A low whistle came from Sean. “And you’re thinking there’s a connection.”

He slid a glance at his friend. “Don’t you? I mean, come on. Zapato claims that the seeds are contaminated, then both he and his wife are murdered. Now, the lawyer who was representing them, who had all the evidence they did, dies in a car accident?”

“Does sound pretty suspicious, I’ll give you that.”

The anchor moved on to another story and Jordan blinked, then forced his gaze from the screen. He looked over at Sean, who assessed him with a knowing look. “The boat trip is off, eh?”

Everything in him said he needed to follow-up on this. Now, while the case was still hot.

But Allison wouldn’t be happy. She’d planned to pick up some fresh fruit and snacks for their outing, as well as some cookies from their favorite bakery. Going out on their boat was her favorite weekend activity.

And, if he was being honest, he’d been looking forward to it, too.

He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, we’re still going. But I need to bag this workout and make some calls.”

Sean nodded. “Sure, man. What time should I head to your place?”

“Let’s shoot for eleven. Allison was picking up things for a picnic on the water.”

“She knows I’m coming, right?” Sean’s unkempt red eyebrows drew together, shooting creases across his forehead.

“She told me to invite you. Trust me, she’s picking up enough food for an army.” If he knew his wife at all, they’d be eating leftovers for several days.

“Right-o. See you then.” Sean turned to continue his workout, although he headed toward some of the machines rather than continuing with the bench work, and Jordan set a course for the locker room to collect his stuff.

He’d call the detective in charge of the case, maybe also the fire chief and coroner, but he doubted he’d learn anything today. Since the accident had occurred last night, it was likely too soon for them to have much information. A collection of evidence, sure, but the autopsy wouldn’t be completed already, nor would they have processed all the evidence to be able to draw any solid conclusions.

Approaching his locker, he input his combination into the lock and swung the door open. He stuffed his wallet and keys into the damp pockets on his shorts, palmed his phone and lock, and swung the door closed.

He hoped he was wrong. That Ellen Morse’s death was a tragic accident and not a premeditated murder, but his instincts screamed that it was wishful thinking.

No, he’d bet money that this had nothing to do with bad choices and everything to do with the Zapato case.

₪   ₪   ₪

Dalton grunted as he shoved his legs out, the leg press machine in Lincoln’s workout room stressing his muscles. The workout room had been set up a year ago, well before Lincoln’s accident but after the threats to Lincoln’s safety had become too great for him to use a public gym. Now, Lincoln couldn’t use all the equipment. Only those that worked the upper body.

Dalton and the other security guys put the three lower body machines to good use, though.

The ringing of his cell phone drew his attention.

He lowered the weight stack, his hand moving toward the phone even as the weights clanged into place.

Tari’s name flashed on the screen.

He mopped his face with a towel, then swiped to accept the call. “Hey there.”

“Dalton.”

Alarm laced the word, tensing his muscles. He straightened, his free hand curling around the towel.

“I’m glad I caught you.” She pulled in a ragged breath. “The Shadows have put a bounty on your head.”

That was it? He relaxed against the seat. “I’d be surprised if they hadn’t.”

“No, you don’t understand.” She dropped her voice as if afraid someone might overhear, which was ridiculous because he suspected she was alone at her home. “They’re offering a million dollars to anyone who takes you out.”

The words stole the air from his lungs.

A million. That was a big deal. It was big enough to draw out a whole bunch of greedy mercenaries.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard.” He forced a light tone. No point in letting her know how much this concerned him. “And here I thought I’d be worth at least two.”

“This is serious.” The somber tone supported that assertion. “My source says there’s a lot of chatter about it. They’re also promising promotion to tier two. A lot of people are boasting they’ll be the one to claim that prize.”

“I hear you. But, really, is there anything we can do about it? Except pray and trust God?”

“You can take precautions. Stick closer to Lincoln, since he’s always surrounded by security.”

“And put him at increased risk?” Dalton rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the ceiling. “We don’t know how many of these would-be assassins are good shots. He could be collateral damage.”

A moment of silence met his announcement. “I hadn’t thought about that. But still, you need to be careful.”

“Seems like I’ve told you the same thing a time or two.” Funny how speeches he’d given her had now come full circle.

“Well, I guess you know I’ve been listening.”

“Guess so.” He paused, then shifted the conversation. “How are things with you? Nothing of concern?”

“I’m not the one with a bounty on my head, but no. Things are quiet here.”

The call wrapped up a few minutes later and he set the phone aside.

With his line of work, he’d always suspected he wouldn’t die of old age, but never had he thought there’d be a million dollar bounty on his head.

Maybe he should be flattered.

Mostly, he was concerned. This could bring a lot of homicidal wackos out of the woodwork.

Lincoln was his biggest concern. The man had enough people gunning for him. This bounty added a whole new threat to the mix.

He pushed up from the bench and headed for the door. This required an immediate conversation with Lincoln.

It might also result in Dalton needing to find a new job and a different place to live.

He stepped into the hallway. The skin on his neck tingled and he looked behind him, not that he really expected to find a gunman there. Lincoln’s estate was well-secured. No one would make it past the perimeter security, much less the alarm system and into the house.

This bounty proved one thing. He was making progress. Someone at The Shadows, probably Arthur Topheth himself, saw him as an extreme threat.

The silence in the house felt ominous, like an invisible presence lingered, waiting to devour him.

It was ridiculous. Nothing had changed, except his own heightened sense of danger. He prayed for peace, and wisdom, as he navigated the generous hallway toward Lincoln’s study at the end of the hall.

The door, cracked open about six inches, invited him to knock. If Lincoln had wished to not be disturbed, the door would be firmly closed.

Although right now, not even that would have stopped him.

This was important and required an immediate audience.

He rapped on the white wood surface, then pushed the door open without waiting for a response.

Lincoln glanced up from his computer, where he was no doubt reviewing the latest global news or working on his speech for the upcoming rally next week. The smile on his face, reflected in his eyes, sagged at the grave air Dalton carried in with him.

“What’s wrong?” Lincoln’s tone carried a gravity that Dalton felt in his chest.

Dalton lowered himself into one of the chairs across from Lincoln. “Tari called. Her source says there’s a million dollar bounty on my head.”

The words resonated in the silence of the office.

Lincoln made no reply, not that there was much to say except what Dalton knew needed to come next.

Dalton pulled in a long breath. “I think the best thing is for me to resign and disappear until I can bring down The Shadows for good. None of us will be safe until that day.”

“Nonsense.” Lincoln leaned forward, intensity shining in his eyes. “You can’t go this alone. Here, you’re surrounded by a trained team of operatives, under some of the tightest security in the nation.”

While he appreciated the thought, the risk was too high. “You have enough people gunning for you. I won’t risk having you end up as collateral damage in The Shadows’ vendetta against me.”

“You could’ve ended up as collateral damage yourself, but you stuck with me through all of this.” Lincoln smacked the wheel of his wheelchair, which wasn’t visible underneath his special handicap accessible desk.

“And I was happy to do it, but it was also my job.” The words sounded a bit harsh. He would’ve stuck with Lincoln either way, but the fact that Lincoln had hired him to do a job made it completely different than Lincoln standing by him during this crisis.

“True, but you could have quit.” Lincoln leaned back in his chair, inscrutable eyes locked on Dalton. “Hear my counter offer. Stay here. Join me. As my new running mate.”

The words shattered the tension in Dalton’s core, even if only temporarily. A laugh bubbled up, spilling out of him in a relieving wave.

“I can see it now. I’ll have my own wing in the White House.” He chuckled at the image of himself on a campaign poster. “Thanks, man. I needed a good laugh.”

Lincoln made no response, but simply stared at him in utter sincerity.

The humor died in Dalton’s brain. Why wasn’t Lincoln laughing? Hadn’t that joke been intended to break the severity of the mood?

The truth crashed into Dalton’s mind like a tsunami. “You’re not joking.”

“No, I’m not. Remember how I said that the person I was considering wouldn’t need to be vetted?” Lincoln interlaced his fingers on the desk in front of him. “I’ve spent many hours praying about this and only one name keeps coming to mind. Yours.”

It was absolutely insane. Him, a politician? “No offense, but I think your spiritual ears may need a hearing aid.”

“The call has been very clear. This, to me, confirms it.” Lincoln’s fingers tapped slowly. “We’d get you your own security detail. Men and women carefully vetted and committed to helping keep you safe.”

Lightness made his head spin and his vision narrow. “Trust me, I am the last man to enter politics. I’ve never had the slightest interest in it. Frankly, I’m probably the least diplomatic person you’ll ever meet.”

“Which makes you perfect for this. Don’t you see?” Lincoln swept his hand toward the massive window on their left. “People are sick of politicians. They’re sick of diplomats who say what they think people want to hear. People are desperate for leaders who are real and honest and wise. You’re all those things, and much more.”

Who was Lincoln talking about? From where he sat, Dalton was pretty sure it wasn’t him. “I have no support. No following. You need someone who the public already knows. Someone they like and will back. That’s not me.”

“Let them see who you are. Hear about your service record. People love a hero and from your days in the military to now, that’s exactly what you are.”

“I think our friendship is clouding your vision.” Dalton sank back against the chair, his mind in a tailspin. “I’m a background guy. Always have been. It’s how I’ve managed to succeed in law enforcement, because people don’t know me. The limelight? It’s not for me.”

“Maybe it should be.” Lincoln’s dark eyes never left his face. “We need people with integrity stepping up to lead.”

“What about Tari? She already has a large following. And she’s smart. She’d be a great choice.”

“She’s not an American-born citizen.”

Ugh. He forgot that not-so-little detail. “Fine. Then Britt. He’ll pull in the younger voters. He knows how to work a crowd and schmooze the public.”

“And can sing the national anthem with the best of them.” Lincoln smirked. “But his isn’t the name that keeps coming to me in the quiet moments between me and our Father. It’s you.”

Dalton rubbed his eyes as a headache formed in the back of his skull. Could he climb back into bed and start this day over? Maybe things would turn out differently if he had a second chance at this morning.

Too bad that only happened in Hollywood.

Lincoln leaned forward, intensity radiating from his eyes. “Listen to me. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, but in the last four months, since you started following Jesus and growing in your faith, your wisdom and discernment has amazed me. God has his hand on you in a special way, plans for you that are bigger than you, or me, or the office of VP. I like Clint, but you’re like a brother. There is no one, no one, that I would rather have at my side as we approach election day.”

He raked shaking fingers through his hair. No matter how he tried to consider the offer, his mind rebelled at every turn. This was ludicrous. Institution-level insanity.

“I need to focus my energy, and time, on The Shadows. I can’t do that if I’m tied up in political activities and worrying about what the voters think.”

“God knows I want nothing more than to stop them.” Lincoln’s eyes slid closed briefly, then reopened with an intensity that dried out Dalton’s throat. “Maybe God is calling you, us, to this office so we will have the power and authority needed to shut The Shadows down for good.”

Use the office of the vice presidency to bring The Shadows down? It was certainly a tactic he’d never considered before.

“Who am I? I’m nobody.” The excuse sounded weak even to Dalton’s own ears. “You need a somebody if you’re going to win this race. And this country needs you to win.”

“Don’t answer right now. Do us both a favor and pray about it.” Lincoln leaned back in his chair, an air of satisfaction on him as though he knew what God would say if Dalton prayed. “And read Exodus chapters three and four. I think you’ll relate to the story of Moses’ calling.”

Everything in him wanted to slam this door closed. Bolt it shut. Nail boards across and drag heavy furniture in front of it to keep anyone from coming through.

The idea of running for office, the invasion of privacy and having his every word critiqued, made him want to vomit.

Yet the firm refusal he wanted to make wouldn’t come.

Instead, he found himself nodding. He could pray. He would read the scripture Lincoln suggested, although it was surely one that would support Lincoln’s argument rather than strengthening his own.

Then, when God said no, he could come back to Lincoln with a clear conscience and a solid sense that Lincoln had misheard.

And he was certain God would say no, because there was no one who was a worse choice to enter the political arena than him.

₪   ₪   ₪

His mind wouldn’t shut up.

Jordan carried the last of the supplies from the day’s boating trip into the house, then disappeared into his office while Allison – saint that she was – put everything away.

The day had been perfect for a boat ride. The sun was hot, the water refreshing, the company good.

Yet all Jordan had wanted to do was get home and dig into the death of Ramon Zapato’s lawyer, Ellen Morse.

Sean’s voice mingled with Allison’s as they conversed casually in the kitchen, which was down the hallway from Jordan’s office.

At least Allison had someone to talk to, since he wasn’t in the frame of mind to be much fun right now.

His attempt to call the detective in charge of the case earlier had met with no success, the voicemail greeting the only response to his call. He’d left a message, but so far there’d been no return call.

After logging into the national database, he input Ellen Morse.

No criminal record, not that he’d expected to find one. Not even any traffic violations, which was fairly shocking in this day and age.

The idea that a middle-aged woman with a clean driving record would suddenly get drunk and wrap her car around a tree in a fiery blaze of glory didn’t sit well. If she hadn’t done that in her younger, and presumably more foolish, days, he couldn’t see it happening now.

Sure, a lot of people got behind the wheel because they didn’t realize they’d had too much to drink, but from his brief meeting with the woman, he’d be surprised to find out she was one of them.

Especially since her firm had handled several high-profile drunk driving cases. Of anyone, she would likely be very attuned to the dangers of getting behind the wheel after having anything to drink.

He picked up his cell phone and tried calling the detective working the case again.

A throaty female voice, one that hinted at prematurely aged skin from years of smoking, answered on the fourth ring.

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “ASAC Jordan DuBois, OIG. I wanted to talk to you about the Morse car crash.”

“What’s the OIG’s interest in this?” Suspicion deepened the words.

Not that he was surprised. It wasn’t often that the OIG involved themselves in things like suspected impaired driving crashes. “If you haven’t already found out, I visited Ellen Morse yesterday morning to discuss a case she was working. I find the timing of this to be…” He let the sentence hang for a moment to drive home his point. “Highly coincidental, to say the least.”

“We’re still investigating.” The detective’s non-committal tone was one he’d often used himself.

“I understand that, but surely you have some preliminary findings. Suspicions of what might have occurred. Something to corroborate the theory that her death was an accident and not something more sinister.”

“Until the autopsy is done, I don’t even have an official cause of death.”

He clenched his jaw at the stubborn tone in the detective’s words. Pulling in a steadying breath, he forced a friendly tone, even as he wanted to reach through his cell phone and throttle the woman. “I think we can help each other out. If there’s anything suspicious about the death, I may know the motive.”

A bit of a stretch, but one he was willing to make.

Also one almost guaranteed to get the attention of an overloaded detective with more cases on her plate than one person could handle.

“If this wasn’t an accident, we have plenty of people with motive, given Morse’s reputation.”

“What about her reputation?” His digging hadn’t turned up anything shady on Morse, although he and Sean hadn’t really spent much time looking at the lawyer.

“You new in town or something?” A hint of disbelief colored the detective’s words. “Morse is a partner at one of the top law firms in town. A firm known for championing – successfully, I might add – the underdog. That’s a good way to make enemies of people with power and money.”

Most enemies wouldn’t jump straight to murder. “Is there anything about the scene that makes you think this wasn’t an accident?”

Silence settled for a second, then the detective grunted. “This stays between us. If I hear a word of this in the press, we’re gonna have problems.”

“The press and I aren’t on friendly terms.” Not unless they had to be. As an ASAC, he’d occasionally had to make statements, but he never enjoyed them. And he absolutely never sought them out.

“We found brake fluid on the road. A trail of it, like a steady leak. Impossible to tell right now if it came from her car, but it was fairly fresh. Forensics is working on a match, but it’ll be far from conclusive proof.”

While the lab could identify the type of brake fluid, perhaps even confirming that her car had the same type, it would be impossible to definitively state that it came from her car unless it contained contaminants.

“Was her brake line intact?” After an accident of that caliber, a punctured or torn brake line wouldn’t be surprising, but maybe they’d found evidence of tampering.

“The brake line was fried. We have bits and pieces of it, but much of it was burned.”

So it was unlikely that they’d be able to learn if her brake line had been cut or punctured before the accident.

“Any unusual damage to her vehicle?” Maybe another car had run her off the road or something.

“There was damage to the front quarter panel, but that could have happened any time, including during the accident.”

“Paint transfer?” He could already guess the response he’d receive, but maybe he was wrong.

“The fire engulfed the car. To be perfectly honest, we’re waiting on dental records to confirm that the body found inside is Morse’s, although we’re confident it is. The size and gender are right, and there’s evidence of healed bone fractures in the left radius. Morse shattered her radius two years ago in a skiing accident, which required implantation of a metal rod.”

Clearly, such a rod was located on the remains found in the car.

“Why do you think this might not be an accident?” The detective’s husky voice broke into his thoughts.

Well, she’d shared candidly with him. Only right that he return the favor. “Morse was working a case for a farmer. The farmer and his wife were killed in a purported home invasion about ten days ago. When I talked to Morse yesterday morning, she said she was still working the case. I struggle to believe that the timing isn’t significant.”

“Seems like a stretch. She had other cases, I’m sure.”

While the detective said all the right things, he didn’t detect much skepticism in her tone. Curiosity, sure. Interest, most definitely. But not skepticism.

“I’m sure she did, but other clients who were recently murdered? Doubt it.” He paused briefly. If the detective investigated this as a homicide, it could also turn up leads for his own investigation. Sharing information with her could help him in untold ways. “The home invasion theory isn’t adding up. Too many inconsistencies. I’m heading out there first thing Monday to look around.”

“I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts on it once you get back.” In the background, the sound of fingers tapping a keyboard echoed. “If you wanted to swing by and look at the file, I suppose that’d be okay.”

It was about as close to an invitation as he was likely to get.

He glanced at the clock. After five, but he doubted the detective was going home any time soon.

And, after the way he, Allison, and Sean had snacked on the boat, no one was likely to want dinner tonight. Shouldn’t hurt anything to make a trip down to the station. Once he cleaned up from the lake and the boat, that is.

“I can be there in about an hour.” Maybe he’d take Sean with him. Sean might have some good insights into the case, given that he’d been working it, too.

“See you then.”

Six

A strange stillness blanketed the lobby of the police station as Jordan pushed open the door. Sean followed a few steps behind him.

Approaching the front desk, he identified himself and asked for the detective. The desk officer made a call, then buzzed them through.

A low din echoed in the hallway, spilling out from a single doorway on their left.

No doubt that led to the bullpen, where desks would cluster in groups, likely based upon teams or divisions.

A woman stepped into the hallway, her upswept brown hair accenting high cheekbones and her bootcut jeans and v-neck blouse hugging her curves in all the right places.

Behind him, he heard Sean inhale abruptly.

Yeah, the woman was stunning, no doubt.

“ASAC DuBois?” The familiar husky voice clearly identified her.

“Yes.” He stepped forward and shook her hand as introductions were made. Not a hint of cigarette smoke met his senses. Looked like maybe he’d misjudged her based upon her voice on the phone.

She gestured for them to follow her, pausing briefly as a wracking cough grated out. “Sorry. My allergies are killing me right now.”

Ah. That explained a lot. “I get that. They’ve been bad this year.”

She led the way toward a group of desks positioned in the far corner of the room, then swept her hands toward several hard, plastic chairs. “Grab a seat.”

Jordan lowered himself into one chair while Sean took another. On the detective’s desk, a file folder lay open, a handful of pages spread out.

She shuffled through the loose papers, then passed over a few photographs. “Images from the scene.”

Jordan picked up one image and left the others for Sean to peruse.

In the photo, a charred husk of a car curled around a massive tree. Debris littered the ground around the car, likely bits of plastic, glass and metal from the explosion that had clearly overtaken the wrecked vehicle.

He swapped the photo for another, this one a close up. It took him a moment to decipher what he saw – in fact, if it weren’t for the dash and the metal skeleton of the steering wheel, he might not have put the pieces together for a few minutes – but then he recognized the charred remains of what had once been a human.

Ellen Morse, if the detective’s suspicions were correct.

More photos of the body showed blackened bones and a gruesome grimace of teeth.

“You can see there,” the detective handed him the next photo in the stack, “that the victim had a metal rod in her arm.”

He stared at the close-up of the victim’s arm. Yes, that definitely appeared to be a metal rod. Likely it had been more definitive in person, but even in the picture he could make out the cylindrical shape. “I don’t suppose there was any evidence that wasn’t burned, like a purse or anything.”

“Negative.” A singular shake of the detective’s head sent a few stray brown wisps dancing around her face. “The fire incinerated the evidence.”

“Did the medical examiner indicate when you could expect the autopsy results?” Sean asked, drawing the detective’s sharp brown gaze away from Jordan.

“Probably middle of the week. There are a few other high-priority exams before this one, but given your suspicions,” she redirected her attention briefly to Jordan, “I did ask that this one be prioritized.”

“Appreciate that.” Toxicology would take weeks to come back, but hopefully the autopsy itself would reveal something substantial. What that something might be, he wasn’t sure. Fire had a way of destroying good evidence, and this one looked like a doozy.

“That double homicide you mentioned. Care to share a bit more about that and why you think it’s connected?”

Jordan set the pictures back on the desk. “The farmer was bringing a suit against the USDA for fines leveled against him last year for not using the mandated seeds in commercially grown produce. He also claimed to have evidence that the mandated seeds contained harmful chemicals. Ellen Morse told me she believed in the case and planned to pursue it, in spite of his death.”

Of course, Zapato’s daughter could have shut the whole thing down, but Jordan doubted she would. If Morse had gotten the chance to speak to her, she likely would have convinced the daughter to move forward with the case.

Something told him Morse had been quite persuasive when she wanted to be.

He’d ask the daughter about it when he saw her Monday, but Morse had indicated that she was going to wait until after the funeral to make contact. Chances were, she hadn’t spoken to the daughter before the accident that had claimed her life.

“I’ll be looking into all her cases, but I’d be surprised if any of her other cases involved a double homicide.” The detective tapped some notes in front of her. “I’ve already got some of her former colleagues swearing that Morse never had more than a single glass of wine.”

Always possible that her colleagues didn’t know her as well as they thought they did, but his gut told him the alcohol angle was a misdirect.

But was it covering up a larger conspiracy to silence a small-town farmer and poison the population?

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you think alcohol was involved?”

She didn’t look bothered by the question. “We got an anonymous tip right before the crash of a car driving erratically. Description matched Morse’s car and it was on the same road where she crashed.”

An anonymous tip? If someone tampered with her brakes, that’d be a good way to send the investigation in the wrong direction.

“Feel like looking at the remains?” The detective twirled a pen around her fingers. “She’s downstairs.”

Ugh. Viewing human remains never ranked high on his to-do list.

Five years ago, the morgue had been located several miles away, but then the city government had to push for a new building, one that would house the police, medical examiner’s office, and courthouse. Now, a short walk would put them in those chilly chambers of death.

“‘Less, of course, you got something better to do.” A hint of challenge lined her words.

Really, there was a whole list of things he’d rather do, but he wouldn’t say as much. “Doubt we’ll see anything, but sure.”

Beside him, he felt Sean stiffen.

Yeah, neither of them liked dead bodies. Not that he imagined anyone really did, except maybe the coroners who made a living dissecting them.

A hint of a smile quirked the corners of the detective’s lips. She pushed up from her chair and led the way from the bullpen without a word. Sean backhanded his bicep as they trailed her.

No words were necessary. Sean wasn’t thrilled that he hadn’t shut it down.

Probably afraid he’d lose face before the pretty detective.

A maze of hallways led deeper into the building. They went through a solid steel security door, which dumped them into a stairwell.

The detective coughed again, fingers lightly touching her sternum as she turned her face into the elbow of her other arm. As the fit subsided, she shook her head slowly. “I’ll be glad when it’s October.”

No point in reminding her that was still almost three months away.

Their footfalls bounced around the concrete-walled stairwell, the florescent lights overhead casting a harsh yellow light down on their heads. Clearly, the back stairwell hadn’t required the more aesthetically-pleasing touches that the rest of the building had received.

At the bottom of the stairs, the detective pulled a card out of her pocket and swiped it over a square pad mounted next to the door.

The chill hit Jordan the second he stepped through the door. The hallway smelled of bleach-based cleaner, which was at least a step above the formaldehyde scent he knew awaited them.

Silence cloaked the basement level of the building, the area feeling as lifeless as its inhabitants.

Their shoes squeaked on the vinyl floor.

Through another door, where the temperature dropped even further, then they stopped in front of a wall of refrigerated body doors.

The detective paused by the fourth row, checked the identifier, then pulled open the door. She slid the tray out.

Jordan’s throat tightened at the sight of the charred remains. The curves and bone structure clearly evidenced that the victim had been female, but the body was unidentifiable from where he stood.

“Here’s the rod.” The detective shot them a sly grin as if sensing their discomfort, then pointed at the rod in the arm. “You can come closer. She won’t bite.”

He stepped forward, his attention shifting to the corpse’s skull. Empty holes showed where the eyes should have been and teeth were evident in the lipless mouth.

Behind him, Sean’s breathing shallowed. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I, uh, need to make a call.”

Jordan glanced over to see Sean’s solid back retreating through the doors as if being chased by the spirits of the dead.

The detective’s throaty chuckle echoed off the wall of metal doors. “I was wondering which of you would bail first.”

Jordan hooked his thumb in the pocket of his shorts. “Sean’s always had a bit of a weak stomach.”

“I heard that!” Sean’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“You were supposed to!” He hollered back, eliciting another chuckle from the detective.

“There’re worse things than not being able to stomach a dead body.” She crossed her arms over her chest as a small frown curled her unpainted lips. “This job hardens you.”

“We don’t see it much in our line of work.” No, their work revolved more around spreadsheets and interviews. Looking at the blackened remains in front of him, he couldn’t help being thankful of that fact.

He forced his gaze to move down the corpse, swallowing past a suddenly dry throat.

All traces of clothing had burned away, as had the flesh which once covered the charcoaled bone and muscle tissue. “Was anything salvageable?”

“You mean personal effects? We found remnants of a laptop in the trunk, but it was pretty melted. We won’t get anything off that.”

Hopefully, Ellen Morse had backed up all her files on a company server or the cloud, although it’d take a court order to get access to that. No law firm would willingly give the police access to their files, not even to assist in solving the death of one of their own.

“I’m planning to try to get a court order for her cases once we confirm ID.” The detective slid the tray back into the locker and latched the door. “You said you’re following up on the farmer case Monday?”

Jordan fell into step beside her as they walked toward the hallway. “I’ll update you when I get back into town.”

“Appreciate that.” The detective looked at her watch. “Well, guys, it’s been real, but I’m beat. Show you the way out?”

The exhaustion was evident in her eyes and slowing movements.

They retraced their steps, clomping up the stairwell to the main level, the fire door clanging behind them as they stepped into the hallway leading back to the bullpen.

Sean cleared his throat. “Jeet?”

The detective slanted a glance at him. “Not since lunch.”

That she understood the slang for “did you eat” showcased either midwestern roots or that she’d been in the area long enough to have picked up on the local dialect. It’d taken Jordan several years to get used to that particular saying.

Sean flashed a grin at her. “O’Malley’s is right around the corner and offers a law enforcement discount. Some of the best brewskis in town.”

Clearly Sean had picked up on the absence of a ring – or tan lines from one – on her finger.

Jordan smothered a smile. Three years post-divorce and Sean was on the hunt.

“I could go for a good drink.” The detective jerked her head toward the bullpen. “Lemme grab my gear and we’ll head out.”

More power to them. He was headed home.

Jordan extended his hand to the detective. “I’ll have to pass, but I appreciate your time. We’ll talk next week.”

A firm shake met his. “Count on it.”

As Sean moved to follow the detective’s retreating figure, Jordan slapped him on the shoulder before heading for the lobby.

Time to get home to Allison and call it a night.

₪   ₪   ₪

The text required an immediate response.

Arthur’s fingers tightened briefly on the cell phone. He hated being awakened in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t fault Niles for contacting him. The code on the text told him all he needed to know.

I’m cheering you on.

The words would have looked like an encouragement to anyone else reading it, but he knew what it meant.

A matter of critical significance had surfaced and he, The Shadow Master, needed to know.

The fact that Niles had sent it at about four a.m. Central time on a Sunday morning only added to the urgency of the matter.

He slipped from the king bed, being careful not to move the mattress any more than he had to, and shot a glance at Liz. Her light strawberry blonde hair practically glowed in the pale moonlight filtering through the semi-sheer curtains covering the sliding glass door leading out to the balcony.

She didn’t stir. No surprise there. Once she was out, that woman slept like a hibernating bear.

Woke up about as cranky and hungry as one, too.

While the master suite of their hotel provided a small measure of privacy, he couldn’t risk waking Liz and having her overhear this conversation.

He crossed to the small closet, retrieved his laptop case, and opened the hidden panel to remove the rubber encased Shadows phone. After shrugging into a plush white robe from the massive master bathroom, he unlatched the lock on the sliding door and strode out onto the balcony.

The penthouse floor, which housed no one but him and his team, towered seventeen floors above Portland, Oregon’s street level. Below him, the Willamette River sparkled under the nearly full moon. The city, while it never fully slept, was fairly quiet from where he stood.

Even so high above the city’s floor, the balcony wasn’t the ideal place to have this conversation. However, with two of his security guys in the main part of the suite – the only two who knew the true nature of his and Liz’s relationship – he couldn’t risk having the conversation inside. The men may be privy to some of the more intimate details of his life, and though they were members of The Shadows, a 911 conversation with Niles was well beyond their rank.

He’d simply have to be careful what he said.

He crossed to the hot tub that sat on the balcony’s edge and turned on all the jets. The noise from the motor and the bubbling water seemed loud in the darkness. It should help mask his voice if anyone was close enough to listen in.

From his team’s reconnaissance, he knew that the rooms below him didn’t have balconies and the windows didn’t open. Short of electronic surveillance devices, which weren’t out of the question, it was unlikely that anyone would hear him, but he couldn’t be too careful.

He sat in a chair adjacent to the hot tub and called Niles.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I knew you’d want to hear right away.” A hint of breathlessness shallowed Niles’ voice. “Tari Salah outed Mike on tonight’s podcast.”

Mike. One of the three tier ones. That meant only Niles and Gretchen remained under the radar.

And since Dalton Fowler knew Niles was a Shadow, it stood to reason that Tari Salah did as well. Why she hadn’t outed him yet was a mystery, but the bomb was ticking. It was only a matter of time.

He bit back a flood of curses. An ache spread through his tightly fisted fingers on the hand not pressing the phone to his ear.

“How…” His voice shook with the fury building inside and he pulled in a breath to calm himself. “How did this happen?”

“I have some of our best guys working on answering that.” Niles sounded shaken, and rightly so. She could have revealed him.

Maybe next time she would.

One of these days, that ticking time bomb would explode, and the shrapnel could prove deadly.

“We need to shut her down. Can’t you,” he dropped his voice to a near whisper, “have her arrested?”

That they knew where she was and how to get to her, yet seemed unable to touch her due to her public presence and the stir it would cause, was unthinkable.

After all the attacks she’d launched on them, if anything happened to her the nation, and possibly the world, would blame The Shadows. Heck, even an accidental death would look suspicious after their failed attempt to silence her last year and the very public way she’d blamed them for that fiasco.

“We tried that before. It failed.” Niles’ tight words evidenced his own displeasure with the outcome. “I thought about an active shooter situation at her workplace, but security is so tight there that we’d have a hard time getting someone inside, much less getting to her before the shooter was taken down.”

He thought through options, but everything pointed back to them. A home invasion gone wrong. Been there, tried that. A bomb at her house. The public would blame The Shadows. “What about a car accident?”

It might work. People died in car accidents all the time. Sure, there may be speculation that it wasn’t an accident at all, but it’d be impossible to prove if they properly executed it.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Niles’ admission bolstered his own confidence. “If we have one of our guys hack her car’s computer, they might be able to send her off a bridge or into a building or something.”

If done well, it could look like she’d lost control of her vehicle. “Do it. Before Tuesday’s debate. As a backup, reach out to our research team about a special delivery, one only she can appreciate.”

Niles would understand what he meant by special delivery. They were currently nearing completion on creating poisons targeted at a specific person’s DNA. The two tests that they’d initiated so far, one on Kris Vicks in prison and another on some random hillbilly who wouldn’t be missed, had proven effective, although not quite as timely as they’d wanted.

If they could kill her before the debate, even better. It’d throw Lincoln Kingsley off his game.

“I’ll make it happen.”

“Be sure you do. Or you might be next.” Arthur ended the call and dropped the phone into the pocket on the front of his bathrobe.

Tari Salah had been a thorn in his side for too long. If she revealed the tier ones, the whole organization could begin to unravel.

If she revealed him, he could lose the election. It was still unclear how public sentiment would be toward a president with ties to a secret organization. Once he was in, he’d have the power and influence to squash rebellion, but until that day? He was vulnerable.

He walked to the balcony railing, staring out at the lights of the city.

A crisp breeze blew up the side of the building, a shiver working down his spine as the sixty degree air touched the exposed skin on his calves, feet, and neck.

He’d worked way too hard to get where he was. No one, especially not some radical like Salah, would jeopardize that.

Below him, much of the city slept. His mind was so wired now that he’d need to take a sedative to get any sleep from this point on, but he desperately needed that rest. The day was packed with political meetings and public appearances, all of which would be taxing. He needed to be mentally sharp, and not have massive bags under his eyes, to charm the public into voting for him over that crippled Kingsley.

“Arthur?”

He started at the soft voice behind him, turning to find Liz padding barefoot across the balcony. A plush white robe wrapped around her, cinched at her slender waist.

How in the world had she woken up? The way she slept, he thought a train could go through the bedroom and she might not know it.

“What are you doing out here?” Her words were soft, whether from residual sleepiness or out of caution to avoid anyone overhearing, he wasn’t sure.

“Sorry if I woke you. I couldn’t sleep.” No point in mentioning that he’d slept fine until Niles had called.

Liz didn’t know about The Shadows. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Frankly, I’m surprised I woke you.”

“Me, too, but I heard the sliding door.” She rubbed her arms, obviously chilled in spite of the plush robe covering most of her body. “I had a nightmare earlier. The assassination. I don’t think I really fell back asleep after that.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, babe.”

And he was. Not about having Saul Haskins, her husband and former presidential front-runner, assassinated, but that she’d had to be present when it happened. Even though her marriage had been little more than a PR move, witnessing an execution was traumatic.

She pulled back, her gaze drifting to the still-bubbling hot tub. “Well, since we’re both up and you have the jets going… this has been calling my name since we landed.”

She headed for the tub, evidently confident he’d follow.

He glanced around at the surrounding buildings, but saw no sign of light or life.

They were always so careful when in public that things like this were a novelty. Even now, with the late hour and the sleeping city, it still felt dangerous, which added to the thrill of the idea.

He tried to force all thoughts of Tari Salah and Lincoln Kingsley from his mind. Both of them would be dealt with in the coming days. One crushed by him during a televised debate. The other crushed permanently by one of his men.

₪   ₪   ₪

The sun bore down on Jordan as he climbed out of his Corvette. Dust settled on the spotless blue paint, leaving a haze that would require a trip through the car wash when he got back to the city.

Ah, well. At least he’d gotten the chance to drive his baby on the open road. He didn’t get to take her out on longer trips nearly as often as he’d like.

The alarm chirped and he turned to face the humble farmhouse that had once housed Ramon and Maria Zapato.

Three vehicles in the driveway evidenced that someone was here. Likely the daughter and Estevan.

He wasn’t sure who the third vehicle belonged to. Probably someone else in the family, hopefully someone who could provide insight into what’d happened that night nearly two weeks ago.

A worn dirt path cut between the browning lawn and a well-kept flowerbed, providing a clear walkway to the front porch. The porch, in need of a fresh coat of paint, didn’t creak as he took the stairs. Not a single board protested his walk to the front door either. While the aesthetics might have suffered the ravages of weather and time, clearly the structure itself was maintained.

The door opened before he reached it.

A Hispanic man stepped through. His stocky, solid build and mass of curly black hair hadn’t changed much in the last decade, except for a hint of silver streaking away from his face.

“Jordan, amigo.” Estevan crossed the remaining distance and clapped his back in a one-armed hug. “Appreciate you makin’ the trip, homie.”

“Glad to do it.” He met his friend’s dark-eyed stare head-on. “You’re right. There’re things that don’t add up.”

Estevan waved him toward the door. “Come on in. Got a few people for you to talk to.”

The sharp tang of bleach hit him as he crossed the threshold into the cool interior. Scarred hardwood floors stretched in front of him into a living room with mismatched sofa, loveseat, and recliners.

A rounded woman with shoulder-length black hair sat on one end of the sofa, piles of papers in front of her. A heavyset silver-haired man perched on the recliner kitty-corner to her. The black and white collar fastened around his neck identified him clearly as a man of the cloth.

He followed Estevan across the room to where the pair sat.

“Jordan, this is my cousin Selena and Father Ignacio. Tio Ramon and Tia Maria attended his church for years.”

Jordan nodded at the father, then directed his attention to Selena. “My sympathies for your loss.”

Her bloodshot eyes filled and she swallowed hard. “Gracias.” The word choked out of her. “I still can’t believe this happened.”

He eased down on the other recliner, while Estevan sank onto the far end of the sofa.

“I grew up here.” She swept her hand around the living room, which contained dozens of boxes in various states of packing. “We never even locked our doors. Now this happens?”

Sadly, it was true of many rural areas. “I understand. My grandparents had a farm and I don’t remember the doors ever being locked.”

“This used to be a safe community.” The father’s deep voice, unaccented in spite of his latte colored skin, drew Jordan’s attention. “But the Good Lord knows things have been changing in recent years.”

With Selena struggling for composure, maybe now was a good time to see if Father Ignacio knew anything that might be helpful. “Change comes to all of us. Did you know the Zapatos well?”

Ignacio nodded. “Wonderful people. Generous and loving. I remember one time when a family’s house burned down, they donated large amounts of produce to help feed them.”

A sob tore from Selena’s lips and she swiped her face across her sleeve.

“Did you notice anything different about them in recent months?” Jordan kept the question soft and gentle, not wanting to upset anyone further, but needing to dig deeper. “Had they been stressed or upset?”

“There was stress from the lawsuit, but they never let that get in the way of their faith or service to God.” Ignacio directed bold eyes on him. “Are you a man of faith, Jordan?”

“I am.” Although he and Allison hadn’t been to church in months. It seemed every Sunday they had other plans or were flat-out exhausted, but he still believed in God. Church simply wasn’t always high priority.

“I am glad to hear that. There is nothing more vital than a relationship with our Creator.”

The father was probably hoping to convert him. Not happening. “You’ve got that right. I’m covered.”

A twinge nudged his heart. Was he covered? Really?

He smothered the feeling. Of course he was. He was a Christian. He’d given his life to Jesus.

Sure, it’d been a few weeks… maybe months… since he’d cracked his Bible. Sure, he and Allison had been more miss than hit at Sunday services lately. But God understood. He and God were solid. He didn’t need that other stuff to follow God.

“My parents were devoted Catholics.” Selena’s voice wavered out of quivering lips. “They taught me the value of serving God.”

Was he showing anyone the value of a walk with Jesus?

Jordan pushed the disquieting thoughts aside. He needed to focus on the Zapatos. “Did they talk to you about the lawsuit? Either of you?” He allowed his gaze to encompass Ignacio.

“Not much.” Selena tucked her hair behind her ears. “I think they wanted to protect me. Anytime I asked, they said their lawyer was handling things.”

“And I didn’t ask.” Ignacio spread his hands. “It was none of my business.”

Neither of them would be much help with the lawsuit angle, which was seeming more and more like a strong possibility in light of the lawyer’s untimely death.

“How about in all this?” Jordan indicated the papers on the table in front of them. “Have you come across any paperwork about the lawsuit?”

Selena sniffled. “Not so far. My parents believed in saving every single document related to the farm and finances. That’s most of what I’ve been looking through.”

Her gaze dropped to a pile of receipts on the table. Next to the pile sat what appeared to be a bank statement. The box at her feet looked to be filled with more of the same.

He didn’t envy her the task of sorting through and shredding all this.

“What about something related to tests your dad ran on the approved seeds?”

A spark lit her damp eyes. “I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m sure that’s here somewhere. Padre was livid about that. I’ve never seen him so angry. He ranted about how they were poisoning people and needed to be stopped.” Her voice broke and she brought a shaking hand to cover her mouth.

“Ramon had a strong sense of morality.” Ignacio’s voice broke the sudden silence. “He believed in doing the right thing. He believed in the betterment of his fellow man. He didn’t get into details about the lawsuit, but he did discuss his concerns about these seeds at length and chose to fight against them rather than adopt them.”

Sounded like a good man. There were getting to be fewer and fewer of them in the world. “I heard that Sustaining Life Farms tried to buy this place. Repeatedly.”

Selena’s mouth curled downward. “They’ve already reached out to me. They didn’t even wait a week after my parents…”

Sounded about right. “I’ve heard they’re pretty aggressive.”

“Heartless is more like it.” She swallowed hard. “But it’s a good offer. And… and I don’t know what I’d do with this place. I mean, my life isn’t here. My husband, and kids…”

Her eyes shifted to the hands clenched tightly in her lap.

It was a hard position to be in. Torn between wanting to preserve her parents’ legacy and doing what was best for her own family.

Well, he’d learned about all he could here. At least for now. Time to check out the scene.

The strong smell of bleach told him the house had been thoroughly cleaned since Maria Zapato had died in its walls, but the field might still yield some answers.

He held Selena’s gaze. “With your permission, I’d like to look around outside.”

A stilted nod replied. “I–I can’t go out there. I hope that’s okay?”

“Understandable.” He actually preferred it that way. It’d allow him more leeway to poke around without worrying about her emotional state or any outbursts.

“I’ll come with you.” Estevan pushed up from his seat. “I can show you…” his eyes slid toward Selena and he swallowed hard. “…around.”

Jordan rose, nodding at both Selena and Father Ignacio. “I’ll touch base with you when I’m done.”

The father nodded. “I may be gone by then. I have a meeting in about an hour, so I’ll have to leave soon.”

Fishing a card from his pocket, Jordan passed it across. “If you happen to think of anything, please let me know. Even if it doesn’t feel important.”

Ignacio palmed the card. “Of course.”

Silence lingered as Jordan followed Estevan through a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t seen an update in the last few decades, then through a back door. The old wooden screen door banged closed behind them, the closing mechanism long since worn out.

Estevan trudged across the back yard, walking a worn path to the countless rows of corn beyond the grass line. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

“I bet. I’m sorry you all are going through this.” While Jordan had lost his grandparents, he hadn’t really lost any other family members, especially not to acts of violence.

“Selena’s got it the hardest. Without any siblings to help her…” Estevan released a shaky sigh. “Makes me glad I’ve got my brothers around, you know?”

“I get it.” Jordan stepped off the grass and onto a hardpacked dirt road.

Two distinct tire tracks cut through mostly-dead grass. Green cornstalks rose on either side of the tracks. Not far ahead of them, a scarecrow towered above the stalks, his contorted face angled toward them.

His scalp prickled and the hairs raised on his neck.

It felt like that scarecrow stared directly at him, its empty eyes warning him against coming closer. Logically, he knew the scarecrow was an inanimate object, but the feeling persisted.

Clearly, he’d watched one-too-many horror flicks.

A path of flattened cornstalks cut through the field. No farmer would do that to his crop. He nodded at the area. “I take it that’s where the truck chased him?”

The words felt callous, knowing he was talking about Estevan’s uncle, but they were factual.

Estevan swallowed hard. “Si.”

Jordan broke from the main path and followed the destructive road of death. It missed the scarecrow by a few yards and ended not far past it.

A large brown area stained the flattened cornstalks and darkened the ground.

Blood.

The lack of rain these past few weeks had ensured that the scene remained intact.

Jordan skirted the area, allowing his eyes to trace the pattern. Most of it pooled in a single spot, likely where Ramon’s body had landed after being mowed down. Deep tire ruts marred the dirt in the area, one of the impressions creating deep grooves where the blood had pooled.

The truck had hit him, then run over him for good measure.

No chance it’d been an accident, not that he’d really thought the possibility existed.

This had been murder. Maybe premeditated, maybe unplanned, but murder nonetheless.

He crouched close to the dried blood pool. The impressions in the packed dirt were deep, making him think the ground had been somewhat damp that night. The size and depth of the tread told him the vehicle was large and heavy. A truck, no doubt, probably one of those large workhorses so prevalent on farms.

Maybe a spray truck, since there’d been traces of herbicide present. A spray truck would definitely be large and heavy enough to leave these impressions.

An ache settled in his thighs as he continued his perusal of the scene.

No obvious signs of trace evidence, but then again, the police would have already collected that.

He pushed up, pivoting toward his left.

A flash of light in his peripheral brought his head around.

He slowed his movements and scanned the area, looking for whatever it was that had caught his attention. Estevan stood on the main drive path, but hadn’t followed him down the flattened trail. The cornstalks swayed slightly in the breeze, which carried the scent of dirt and fresh farm air.

Man, he hadn’t smelled that in ages.

But that wasn’t what had distracted him. There’d been a light. Or a reflection.

Like off a rifle?

Sweat slithered down the back of his neck.

Was someone watching him through the scope of a rifle right now, lining up the shot that would end his life?

Seven

Jordan shifted his attention to look further out. There weren’t any places for someone to sight on him, short of the house and the barn. He focused there. The house, a simple one-story, didn’t have any sign of a shooter on the roof. He couldn’t see the windows on the main floor from where he stood, thanks to a mass of cornstalks that stood taller than his head, which meant that anyone at those windows wouldn’t be able to see him either.

That left the barn.

He assessed the aging structure. It, too, was one level, although stood taller than the house to accommodate the large farming equipment that was likely stored inside.

No sign of a sniper there, either.

Naturally. Why would a sniper hang out here? Just in case someone decided to poke around?

Man, that thing with the lawyer must’ve really messed with his head.

He turned back for one final look at the spot Ramon had died.

Another flash of light, but this time he could see where it came from. The scarecrow.

He turned to face the straw-filled dummy mounted on a pole. This wasn’t one of those cute scarecrows from children’s books. No, this one had a macabre face, one guaranteed to give kids nightmares.

Whether or not that scared the birds away more, he couldn’t say, but this creature sure wasn’t going to win any most beautiful scarecrow contests.

He approached the post, looking up to see what had reflected the light.

No sign of anything metal, which would have been his first guess. He circled it slowly, but didn’t see the flash of light again.

But he knew it had come from here.

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Man, these allergies were killing him. Good thing he didn’t live on a farm.

Still holding his glasses, he looked up at the scarecrow, his gaze locking on the face.

The details came sharply into focus. He could see the texture in the fabric, the broken straw poking out from under the tattered hat.

Impossible. His vision was awful. The prescription glasses he couldn’t see without evidenced that.

Yet right now, he not only could see, but he could see intricate details as if they were under a magnifying glass. His attention shifted to the creature’s dead eyes. More specifically, the one on the left, which looked unnaturally black.

A camera. He could see it clearly. But how? That camera was at least ten feet from where he stood, yet he saw the tiny lens, the thin black ring encircling it.

“You like that monstrosity?” Estevan’s voice came from behind him and he turned to find the other man approaching.

Estevan’s face blurred before his eyes. He looked back toward the scarecrow, but saw nothing aside from a blob of colors, certainly not the intricate details he’d seen moments before. He put his glasses back on and the world once again came into focus. Okay, so that was super weird. Maybe he had heat stroke or something. It was pretty hot out here.

“Amigo?” Estevan nodded at the scarecrow, his eyebrows raised.

“I saw something. A reflection, I think.” Not think, knew, but what he didn’t know was how to explain it when he’d been legally blind.

Estevan looked up at the scarecrow and rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” He glanced around. “I need to get a closer look. Is there a ladder nearby?”

“Probably in the barn.”

“I got your permission to go in and get it?” Even though they’d been friends at one time, he was now here in an official capacity. Best to do everything by the book.

Estevan snorted. “You really gotta ask?”

“Yeah, I do.” He went silent and waited.

Estevan waved his hand toward the structure. “Get whatever you need. Look around, for all I care. We got nothing to hide.”

Perfect. He’d be sure to do both.

First, the ladder.

Sweat raced between his shoulder blades as he trudged toward the barn. Estevan fell into step beside him, his own brow glistening in the full glaring sun. What he wouldn’t give for a cooling rain shower right about now, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

Stepping into the shade of the barn brought a measure of relief from the heat, but relief was both small and temporary.

“What do you think you’re gonna find?” Estevan broke the silence as Jordan grabbed a six foot ladder leaning against the wall by the door.

Unless he was losing his mind – which felt possible, at the moment – he knew what he was going to find. He couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud, in case he’d imagined the whole thing. “Not sure. There’s only one way to find out.”

The ladder wasn’t all that heavy, but his fingers still hurt by the time they reached the scarecrow. The edge of the ladder put a lot of pressure on the joints. He pushed the back half of the ladder out, then locked the arms in place.

Positioning it at the base of the scarecrow, he climbed onto the first step.

Don’t look down. In spite of the mental command, his eyes angled toward the earth beneath the ladder’s feet. His fingers tightened on the top and he clung to it as if he dangled over the Grand Canyon.

He should’ve brought Sean. Then he could’ve remained solidly on the ground while his friend, who didn’t have a fear of heights, climbed the stupid ladder.

Sure, Sean would’ve ribbed him something fierce, but at least his own feet would’ve remained grounded.

He forced his feet up to the next step. His waist cleared the top of the ladder.

Another step caused his fingers to curl tightly around the plastic platform on top of the ladder. The words emblazoned on the surface – do not stand – made him question why anyone would do something so crazy to begin with.

The next step put him face-to-face with the nightmarish creature.

He forced his fingers to release the ladder and shifted to look at the scarecrow. With his left hand clamped onto the post on which the scarecrow was mounted, he examined the sun-bleached face.

One of the eyes immediately drew his attention.

A camera.

Not large by any means, but there was no mistaking the glass surface. He reached for it.

The ladder shifted slightly on the uneven ground. His stomach lurched and his breath froze in his throat. He bent forward and latched onto the top of the ladder, as if that would somehow help him if the ladder toppled over on the hard, uneven ground.

“You okay, amigo?” Estevan lunged forward and grabbed the legs of the ladder.

The action provided much-needed stability and Jordan eased out a breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” The words almost sounded convincing. “You mind keeping a hold on the ladder so it doesn’t dump me on the ground?”

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Would a fall have been pleasant? No way. Would he have died or been seriously injured? Quite unlikely.

Something about not having his feet on the ground turned him into a spineless chicken.

He pulled in a deep breath, then forced his fingers to stop strangling the ladder. Cautiously maneuvering, he faced the scarecrow and reached for the camera. He gave a gentle tug, but it didn’t release.

“What’ve you got?”

“A camera.” He looked down at Estevan. “Did your uncle have a security system?”

He’d not seen any evidence of one, but this camera clearly indicated that he might’ve missed something.

“Tio Ramon?” Wide eyes regarded him from Estevan’s slack-jawed face. “I guarantee he would’ve said that was a waste of money.”

“Well, we’ve got a camera here.”

Estevan said nothing, but shook his head slowly.

Jordan leaned his hip against the ladder and cautiously reached both hands up to the scarecrow. Twisting the camera gently, he slowly pulled on it. It didn’t budge.

A sigh burst out. “I think we’ll have to take the scarecrow down.”

Estevan surveyed the crops around them. “I guess there’s no point in keeping it up. Not anymore.”

True enough. The corn all around them had died. Some of the distant stalks didn’t look beyond saving, but without someone here to tend the crops, they’d likely shrivel up.

He pulled out his pocketknife and sawed through the rope securing the scarecrow’s closest arm to the crossbeam. Next, he cut the rope around the neck, then the one around the waist.

Estevan supported the dangling scarecrow while he slowly descended the ladder and repositioned it near the remaining secured arm.

Okay, just one more time up the ladder and he could check ladder-climbing off his to-do list for the rest of the year.

“Hurry up, amigo. This thing’s heavier than you’d think.” Ruddiness darkened Estevan’s cheeks.

Jordan forced his sneakers onto the bottom rung. One more step put him close enough to cut the remaining rope, then he quickly got his feet back on solid ground.

A grin quirked his lips as Estevan lowered the scarecrow to the ground with an almost gentle reverence. “You know it doesn’t feel pain, right?”

“Hey, you want this thing coming alive and chasing you at night, be my guest. I ain’t gonna be his next victim, though.”

It was impossible to tell if Estevan was serious or kidding. Surely the latter. No sane person would really believe a scarecrow would animate at night and hunt them down.

Jordan knelt beside the scarecrow and scrutinized the head. On top of the hat, a solar panel shone in the sunlight. Likely the camera’s primary power source, although he was sure it would also have a battery back-up.

No zipper or way to get inside that he could see. An examination of the neck found several safety pins securing the head in place. He removed those, then pulled the head off.

Straw filled the inside. He extracted it, then dug his hand into the burlap fabric.

“Ahhh!” Two hands planted solidly on his shoulders and he jumped. Behind him, Estevan laughed, the almost maniacal sound carrying across the air. “Gotcha, man.”

“Funny.” While his tone was dry, he couldn’t keep a smile from stealing across his face.

Returning his attention to the task at hand, he felt around until his fingers connected with plastic. He extracted a camera, the brand name on the side telling him that Ramon hadn’t skimped when he’d purchased this.

He held it up for Estevan to see. “Now we need to find out what this thing saw.”

With any luck, it would help the sheriff nail Ramon’s killer.

₪   ₪   ₪

Dalton disembarked Lincoln’s jet, surveyed the nearly empty hangar the jet had taxied into, then gave the all-clear.

Sure, the security team had already secured the hangar, but he felt better checking it himself before Lincoln left the relative safety of the plane.

The ramp that had been wheeled up to the plane’s door was more than wide enough to accommodate Lincoln’s chair. While one of the guys controlled the descent using the handles behind the chair, Dalton placed himself in front and braced Lincoln’s chair so it didn’t go down the ramp too quickly.

One of Lincoln’s salt and pepper eyebrows jumped on his dark face. “You’re no fun.”

“And here I thought you’d appreciate not taking the express route down the ramp.”

“I suppose that’s good thinking.” Lincoln rapped his knuckles against the chair. “One catastrophe was enough for this year.”

No fooling.

Two black Suburbans idled nearby. One of them had the rear liftgate open, a ramp extending out the back.

Lincoln’s wife Vanessa flanked him on one side, while Dalton strode beside him on the other as they headed toward the open Suburban. The third row seating had been removed to make room for the chair.

Lincoln expertly motored his chair up the ramp and into the back of the vehicle, his head not far from the fabric-lined roof. He engaged the wheel lock, then motioned Dalton to the row in front of him.

It didn’t take a mind reader to know that Lincoln was going to bring up the vice presidency topic again.

One of the security guys opened the rear passenger door for Vanessa, so Dalton rounded to the driver’s side and climbed behind the driver’s seat. Normally, he’d take the front passenger seat, but that wasn’t where Lincoln wanted him right now.

Honestly, it was probably safer that way. The dark tinting on the back half of the vehicle ensured no one would see him inside.

Just in case there was a sniper watching, something he couldn’t fully discount.

A few suitcases ended up next to Lincoln’s chair, while most went into the other SUV.

Dalton leaned forward and lightly slugged the shoulder of the security guy sitting behind the wheel. “Remember, this isn’t the Daytona 500. There’s no prize for speed.”

The large, solid guy, who went by the moniker Saber, grinned at him in the rearview mirror. “Whatsa matter, Dalton? Afraid you’ll lose your cookies?”

“With your driving? Almost a guarantee.”

The man laughed. “Maybe you oughta ride in the kiddie-mobile with the rest of the guys.”

“And leave Lincoln and Vanessa at your mercy?” He shook his head slowly. “I have better ethics than that.”

As the rest of the security team loaded into the other SUV, Dalton settled back and buckled his seatbelt.

Saber was a great driver. A little heavy on the accelerator sometimes, but he could maneuver in and out of traffic and avoid a tail with the best of them.

Silence descended for a few minutes, as Saber put the vehicle in gear and followed the lead SUV out of the hangar. Dalton settled in to wait, knowing Lincoln’s voice would break the quiet soon. The question was imminent; of that much, he was certain.

“So.” Lincoln’s voice, uncharacteristically soft, came from behind his right shoulder.

Dalton shifted in the seat, his back against the door, so he could face Lincoln.

“Have you prayed about our conversation the other day?”

The question, so generic, wouldn’t alert Saber or Andy, who sat in the passenger seat, of the true meaning of the conversation.

“I have.” Not as much as he should have, but he had prayed about it a few times. Mostly, he’d come up with a hundred reasons why he was not the man for the job. “And I haven’t gotten a clear answer yet.”

Lincoln dipped his head in acceptance. “Keep praying. God will make it clear to you.”

“And if the answer is no?” He stared at Lincoln, refusing to break eye contact. “Do you have a plan B?”

One side of Lincoln’s lips quirked at the question. “If the answer is no, I believe God will give me a plan B at that time. But I really don’t think God is going to tell you no.”

Unease squirmed in his gut. He sure hoped God told him no. “You need someone who already has political backing.” He’d told Lincoln this the last time the topic arose, but it was worth repeating. “There are still a few good senators and state representatives out there.”

“There are.” Lincoln’s acknowledgement contained no conviction. “But that doesn’t make them the right fit for me.”

Fingers alighted on his arm and he glanced over to find Vanessa smiling at him, warmth in her dark eyes. “We both believe you’re the man for the job.”

Their confidence stabbed his heart. Telling them no would be tough, but he was sure that was the direction this would go. “I’m glad someone thinks so, because I’m not seeing it.”

Lincoln leaned forward, his voice lowering even further. “Do me a favor and keep an open mind while you pray. I’m confident the Lord will lead you down His path.”

“I will.” He narrowed his eyes slightly and shifted his attention between Lincoln and Vanessa. “But I’m going to turn that same request back on you. Pray about it. Both of you. Listen for God’s voice so that you’ll choose the right person if His answer is no.”

Not if. When. Because he was certain that God was laughing at this idea right now, and when He did speak, the answer would be a resounding no.

The vehicle slowed and Dalton turned to face the front. The hotel where they were staying was about a block up the street. On either side of it, people crammed the sidewalks, divided into two clear groups. On one side of the street, signs with Kingsley’s name bobbed and people cheered.

The other side of the street held a group holding a mixture of signs with either Arthur Topheth’s name or anti-Kingsley rhetoric.

How had their schedule leaked? While the crowd may not have known the exact time Lincoln and his team would arrive, they’d clearly had a rough idea.

Or, maybe they had nothing better to do than camp out here all day.

None of that mattered now. The important thing was making sure Lincoln and Vanessa made it inside the hotel without incident.

The vehicle eased forward, the road ahead snarled with traffic so typical of downtown areas. No doubt the masses of people on either side of the road contributed to the backup, as drivers rubbernecked to see what all the commotion was about.

The reduced speed allowed Dalton time to slowly trace the crowds, looking for anyone who set off his danger radar.

He started with the anti-Kingsley side of the street. Plenty of angry faces shouting indecipherable words, but no obvious threats. Not that a shooter would stand there with his gun raised in the air or anything.

Sure would be nice if they did, though.

He shifted his attention to the supporter side of the street. While it seemed obvious that this group should be less of a threat, he couldn’t dismiss the fact that it would be a very strategic place for a would-be assassin to blend in. No one would expect an attack from someone who appeared aligned with supporters.

His eyes stopped on a man wearing a gray baseball cap standing toward the edge of the crowd. Little more than one in a sea of faces, he wasn’t sure why this guy caught his attention, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.

The man’s face, impassive and cool, surveyed the surroundings. The rest of the crowd had shifted their attention to the two armored SUVs, but this guy? He seemed more concerned with something else.

Looking for law enforcement presence, maybe? Or the best vantage point to take a shot?

Dalton couldn’t see the man’s hands. Couldn’t see anything below the man’s shoulders, so he had no idea if the guy was packing. Something about the man’s composed visage set him on edge.

He unclipped his seat belt and leaned forward, tapping Andy on the shoulder and pointing. “Gray cap.”

Andy’s sharp gaze followed his pointing finger. “I see him.”

Dalton eased back to his seat. He tried to continue his perusal of the crowd, but the man had a magnetic hold over him now.

“Suspicious subject.” Andy’s voice drew his attention to the front seat. “Supporter side, ten o’clock, gray cap.”

Wait a sec. Andy and the guys all had coms?

Of course they did. They always wore them when traveling. The bigger question was why he hadn’t been given one when they deplaned.

He’d been so distracted by getting Lincoln tucked into the SUV, then by the knowledge that Lincoln was going to bring up the VP position, that he hadn’t given it a thought before now.

But someone should have handed him one. Why hadn’t they?

The vehicles pulled up in front of the glass sliding doors of the hotel.

The crowds surged forward, pushing past the paltry police line to swarm the two SUVs. The tinted windows were too dark for them to see inside, so they had no way of knowing which SUV housed Lincoln. Instead, they encircled both vehicles.

Not good. Getting Lincoln in and out of this vehicle was challenging enough. Doing so while holding back a rabid crowd and watching for lethal threats? Impossible.

Like many historic downtown hotels, this one had an underground parking garage, the entrance to which gaped like a black hole ahead of them. A large metal gate blocked unauthorized access, so it should be a pretty secure place to unload.

He may not have a com, but he could still help the team. “We need to get the police to clear a path to the garage. Let the valet know that we’ll be driving down there to unload. I want hotel management to check us in and meet us by the elevator down there, so we can get Lincoln and Vanessa up to the penthouse without risking any public interactions.”

Saber nodded. “Good call.”

Andy got on his com to relay the instructions, even as Lincoln protested from the back seat.

“These people came to welcome us to their city. I need to put in a little face time.”

Dalton turned to look at Lincoln, giving him a stare that he hoped left no room for argument. “And you will. But on our terms. This,” he swept his hand at the mob surrounding them, “is too dangerous.”

Lincoln’s jaw twitched and he looked like he wanted to argue, but then he gave a single nod and slumped back against the chair.

Good. Because it didn’t matter that Lincoln was in charge or might be the next president. Dalton would not have let him win this fight, not when lives were on the line.

Andy swiveled to look at him. “Several of us are going to help hold the line.”

Dalton reached for his door handle, but Andy’s voice stopped him.

“Dalton. You stay here.”

He whipped around to stare at Andy, who had the nerve to order him to stay in the car? “It’s going to take all of us to hold back this crowd.”

“Secret Service is on scene, as are local LEOs. You stay here and help Saber secure the Kingsleys.”

Secret Service and local law enforcement support were great, but he still had a job to do. Protect Lincoln.

“Dalton.” Andy’s fierce tone cut through his thoughts. “You. Stay. Here.”

He was being cut out.

The knowledge slammed into his mind with the same force of the door closing behind Andy.

He turned and looked at Lincoln. “Why do I feel like I’m no longer part of the team?”

No hint of apology lingered on Lincoln’s face. Instead, his eyes took on a stubborn hue. “The team needed to know that there’s a price on your head. Like it or not, you’re now in the same boat as me. Being protected.”

“That’s not the deal. You hired me to work with this team. To help protect you. I can’t do that if I’m being locked away.” Irritation bled through his words, softening the hardness around Lincoln’s eyes.

“I hired you more for your investigative skills than anything else.” Lincoln blew out a breath. “You’re too important, not just for your skillset, but as a friend, to not protect. We know there’s a credible threat. We need to take that seriously. I’ve already hired three more guys, all well-vetted, to join our team.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to be a burden on your campaign.”

“Something happening to you would be the greater burden.” Lincoln paused for a second, his eyes crinkling in humor. “Besides, when you say yes, this will be part of the package anyway. Might as well get a jump on it.”

If he said yes.

Something slammed against the back of the SUV, causing the heavy vehicle to rock slightly.

Dalton jerked and craned his neck to see past Lincoln. Outside the back window, Andy strong-armed a twenty-something kid away from the vehicle. The kid’s face contorted and he screamed profanities, but his anger was no match for Andy’s strength.

A loud thunk came from outside Dalton’s door. He whipped around to find a goth-looking girl there, banging on the window.

“Lincoln Kingsley, you coward!” Spittle hit the window. “I know you’re in there! Come out and face us!”

A uniformed officer pulled her away, which only served to increase the volume of her protests.

The crowd receded, pushed back by a line of agents and uniformed officers. Lincoln’s security crew stuck close to the SUVs, forcibly removing anyone who managed to sneak past the law enforcement line.

The SUV inched forward, staying close to the bumper of the lead car, which likely had only the driver in it now. A few more yards and they’d be in the relative safety of the ramp leading to the secured underground garage.

A muted crack rose above the rumble of the crowd. Lines spiderwebbed the rear window behind Lincoln.

An unnatural silence descended for a second, then screams echoed between the buildings. Another crack resounded and more fissures appeared on the back window.

Someone was shooting at them.

Dalton whirled toward Saber. “Get us out of here!”

A bulletproof window could only sustain so many hits before the projectile penetrated the armored surface.

As the vehicle picked up speed, he scanned the crowd for the man he’d identified earlier. Too many people, racing in too many directions, left him unable to spot the guy who’d sent off every warning bell in his head.

Shadows fell over the interior as they entered the concrete-walled ramp.

At least that should provide some cover, assuming the guy wasn’t directly overhead.

He looked out the back window to find Lincoln’s security team, weapons drawn, forming a tight line across the ramp, blocking access to any who might try to push past.

The team didn’t follow the SUVs down the ramp. Must be planning to join them inside.

If he had a com, he might know what they had planned. He might know if the shooter had been apprehended. If it’d been the man he’d previously identified as suspicious.

He clenched his teeth.

Protecting him was one thing, but there was no way he would let them exclude him from the process. No matter what Lincoln said, he’d find a way to stay in the loop, even if everyone insisted on keeping him off the front lines.

Which, as much as he hated to admit it, made sense.

With The Shadows gunning for him, being out in the open only exposed the whole team to more risk.

He kept a close eye on the gate as it chugged down behind the SUV. No one – supporters, protestors, law enforcement, or otherwise – made it past the perimeter Lincoln’s guys had set up at the top of the ramp.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the garage, his breathing settled.

And to think if he joined Lincoln’s team as running mate, this could be his life.

He swallowed hard, the rock in his throat swelling. Then again, wasn’t it already? Sure, Lincoln was the likely target this time, but he was very much in the thick of things.

Portland, Oregon had supported Topheth from the beginning. They’d known this was a somewhat hostile city in which to hold the debate, but the hope was to win some over when they saw Lincoln and heard what he had to say.

After the reception they’d received, he couldn’t help wondering if coming here had been a big mistake.

₪   ₪   ₪

“Dad had a what?” Selena’s mouth hung open as she stared at the camera in Jordan’s hand.

Jordan eased down into the chair across from her. Cameras weren’t that uncommon, not anymore. That both Selena and Estevan were so surprised to see one told him a lot about the type of man Ramon had been. “We need to see the feed.”

“I… I don’t even know where to begin.” Her voice broke and she ducked her head, wiping tears that broke free from swollen eyelids. “Dad wasn’t exactly a tech guy. He was a simple farmer.”

“Is there someone who might’ve helped him set this up? A farmhand or foreman or something?”

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, moving like the Missouri River at flood stage. “I don’t know. I should’ve been more involved in the farm. Asked more questions or something.”

“There’s a decent amount of land here. Surely, your father employed some workers.”

“I know he did, but I never met them.” Selena lodged her fingers into the tight curls ringing her head. “I bet there are some files in the office, though.”

Paper files? Who kept paper files anymore?

Still, he followed her into the office. If there were paper files around, it’d make his life so much easier.

The office was a sparsely furnished room with a scarred wooden desk in the middle of the space. A threadbare gray fabric chair stood like a lonely sentinel. A small monitor rested on the dusty surface, a docking station, keyboard and mouse in front of it.

He turned to Selena. “They stole the computer but not the monitor?”

“Have you looked at the monitor? It’s ancient and cheap. No one would steal that hunk of junk.” She circled to the back of the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. “Besides, dad often had the laptop in the kitchen or living room. He really only used the office if he needed a second monitor.”

Made sense. Jordan leaned over the desk to get a glimpse of the open drawer.

Sure enough, it was packed with hanging file folders. The narrow folders didn’t appear to contain a wealth of paper, but maybe it had an employee roster or tax documents or something.

“Dad didn’t keep paper files of everything, but always printed off his year-end tax files.” She pulled out the front folder and plopped it on the desk. “Here’s last year.”

They flipped through the file until they came to the section with employee payroll.

As expected, most employees were temporary, really only working during the harvest season, but there were two employees with longer tenure.

Those would be the ones most likely to have insight into the farm’s daily operations.

Jordan wrote down the names and addresses of both men. “Are either of these names familiar?”

Selena shook her head. “Maybe Father Ignacio knows them?”

The father had left while Jordan had been preoccupied with the scarecrow, so he couldn’t easily ask him. Besides, with the information he currently had, it’d be much easier to simply show up on the doorsteps of the men than waste a lot of time asking around about them.

Hopefully, they were home and available. Now that they were no longer employed by Zapato, the men may have had to find other employment.

Selena’s finger lightly traced a hand-written note scrawled across the bottom. Fresh tears chased down her cheeks.

The raw pain twisted his own heart. He hadn’t experienced such loss, not yet. But he would. Some day.

Death always came.

She pushed the papers away and stumbled backward a step. “Feel free to look at any of this. I-I need air.”

She rushed out of the room, leaving him alone with a useless monitor, an aging chair, and the echo of her grief.

The chair creaked as he sat on it, the lonely sound reminding him of the frailty of life. One day you’re strong and vibrant, the next you’re struggling to survive.

He pulled out the next few folders in the drawer, perusing each one long enough to see that each folder held a different year’s taxes. The folders appeared to be in descending order, with the most recent year at the front. He’d review the last five years, see if the two employees he’d identified from last year’s file appeared to work here every year.

With Selena’s ignorance of the farm’s day-to-day operations, these men were his best bet.

He went through all the drawers. The other bottom drawer had a small document scanner and a box of receipts. Maybe the receipt for the camera would be inside. That could help him establish a timeline for when Ramon felt like he needed to begin surveilling the fields.

The camera looked pretty new, so he was betting it was a recent purchase.

Which meant something had happened to force a man who had never been too tech savvy to invest in monitoring technology to keep an eye on his crops.

He found a spiral notebook and pen in the top desk drawer and pulled them out to make notes as he went. This was going to take a while.

Hopefully, by the time he was through, he’d have an idea of who might have wanted to kill a simple, honest farmer.

And why.

Because no matter what the locals thought, the camera convinced him that this was no simple home invasion gone wrong.

Ramon and his wife had been targeted. That same danger had spread to the lawyer handling the case.

He would stop it from becoming an epidemic of evil that took any more lives. 

Eight

“As you know, we have a zero tolerance policy.”

Gretchen held her spine straight as she stared down the principal at her daughter’s school, a pudgy man whose eyes expressed interest, in spite of the wedding ring cutting off circulation on his swollen finger.

How dare this man call her down here for this. To be pulled away from work in the middle of the day was bad enough, but to be forced to come to her daughter’s school to be told about some minor experimentation with vaping… she would not forget this.

Gretchen redirected her attention to Delilah, who slumped in the chair beside her. Deep pink lips curled down in a pout and her hazel eyes feigned disinterest.

Only the slight tremor that shook the fingers clenching her tightly crossed arms betrayed Delilah’s fear.

Gretchen refocused on the principal. “This is a first infraction. Surely, you have students with far worse offenses than this to deal with.”

The principal blotted his forehead with a handkerchief. “We aren’t here to discuss other students. Vaping anywhere on campus is against school policy.”

Gretchen leaned forward, bracing her hand against the principal’s desk. “So is bullying, yet no one has done a thing to the girls who harass my daughter every day.”

She poured all her anger and frustration into those words.

The man blinked rapidly and leaned back. “We’ve investigated every complaint and taken appropriate action–”

“And yet it continues.” She spat the words at the man. “Tell me. What consequences have those girls faced?”

“We’re, uh, not here to discuss them.” His breathing quickened.

Good. He should be afraid of her. “Maybe we should be.”

“Mrs. Pierce–”

“Ms.”

“Ms. Pierce.” He tried again. “Vaping is a very serious problem. Vape contains toxins and nicotine, both of which are detrimental to a child’s mental growth and development. It is proven to be a gateway to more serious issues, such as drug abuse. We’re looking out for what’s best for our students.”

She slapped her open palm on the desk. “Then do something about the bullying!”

“I assure you, we are.”

Right. She knew better than to believe that load of lies. “I will address this with my daughter, but I do not appreciate being called away from work in the middle of the day to discuss something that could have been reviewed over the phone.”

“It’s policy…”

She held up a hand. If the man said the word policy one more time, she might become violent. “I appreciate your concern,” she let contempt drip from the word like a leaky faucet. “But this is a family matter. Delilah and I will discuss this and I will come up with an appropriate punishment.”

She leaned back in her chair as the principal pressed his lips together tightly.

A hint of a smile played with the corners of Delilah’s mouth. Probably liked seeing the principal squirm, but she sure wasn’t off the hook either.

“Delilah. We will discuss this at home tonight.” The firm tone, if not the gaze she leveled at her daughter, erased any hint of amusement from the twelve-year-old’s face. Redirecting her attention to the principal, she forced her firmest tone. “Now, I assume Delilah is free to return to class.”

The man fidgeted, then gave a single nod. “Consider this your first and only warning, young lady. Next time, you’ll be looking at suspension.”

She slanted a firm look at Delilah. “There won’t be a next time, will there?”

Delilah heaved out a sigh. “No. But seriously, there were like four other girls in there doing the same thing.”

“Oh?” Gretchen stiffened, her gaze shooting to the principal. “And where are these other girls?”

She’d passed no other students or parents on her way into the office. If this man had singled out her daughter for some reason, there would be hell to pay.

“They are not your concern.”

“If my daughter is the only one being punished, then it very much is my concern.”

“We’re dealing with it.” The words felt weak.

“Really. Like you’re dealing with the bullying?” Gretchan looked at her daughter. “Delilah, were these other girls pulled to the principal’s office, too?”

A snort responded. “Are you kidding? Their parents work here.”

“So. Because I don’t work here, my daughter is the only one facing consequences?” Her tone dropped the temperature in the room by several degrees. “That is discrimination.”

The principal squirmed. “Your daughter was the only one we caught in the act.”

“They were all in there, mom. I swear it.” Delilah gripped her arm fiercely.

Gretchen rose to her full five foot nine inch height and towered over the seated man. “Delilah will return to her classes now. And you,” she pointed a finger at his chest, stopping inches from poking him with her manicured nail, “Will simply call next time, rather than leaving a cryptic message that I need to come to the school right away. Or I will call my lawyers and we will bring a harassment and discrimination suit against this school. Do we understand each other?”

Blood rushed his face, mottling his skin. His flabby double chin jiggled. “You can’t threaten me.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. How do you think the press will respond when I bring claims that the school is favoring some students over others? That the daughter of a single mother is being treated as an example, while the children of faculty and staff aren’t even reprimanded?”

The color slid from his face and his throat worked.

“That’s what I thought. Now, I appreciate the information. I will deal with this at home, but for now my daughter is returning to class.” She planted a hand on her cocked hip. “I’m assuming you confiscated the vape pen?”

He nodded quickly.

“Good.” Turning to Delilah, she assessed her firmly. “Do you have any others?”

“No. It wasn’t even mine. It was Sandi’s.” Delilah held her gaze, a sure sign her daughter was telling the truth.

“Well, then. It sounds to me like Sandi and her parents should be in here to give an accounting, not us.” She speared the principal with the coldness of her gaze. “Alert me if there are other incidents, but next time you will tell me over the phone. Good day.”

She put a hand on her daughter’s back and herded her out of the office, pulling the door firmly behind her.

Once in the hallway, she turned Delilah around to face her. “Vaping? Really? Are you trying to ruin your health?”

Delilah averted her eyes and gave a limp shrug. “It’s really not that big a deal.”

“All those poisons in your body? Not a big deal? Have I taught you nothing all these years?”

A heavy sigh broke from Delilah. “I’m so sick of always being healthy. I’d like to have donuts for breakfast or a big greasy burger for dinner.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she couldn’t take the call. Not here. While she didn’t know who it was or what it was about, she could almost guarantee it required confidentiality.

It was a stark reminder of the time she’d lost today on this foolish errand.

She rubbed her temples. “We will discuss this further tonight. Know this, there will be consequences.”

Delilah swallowed hard and dropped her hazel-eyed gaze to the floor. “Whatever.”

“Now get back to class. And I better not hear another word of you vaping or smoking or drinking or doing anything else that’s foolish.”

Whirling, Delilah stomped down the hall.

Being a mother was hard. Being a single mother of an almost teenager, even harder.

The phone began vibrating against her side again. She pulled it from her pocket as she strode toward the main entrance.

Her hand jerked at the name flashing on the caller id.

Arthur.

What was he doing calling her? Now, of all times?

By mutual agreement, he wasn’t on any of Delilah’s school records, so the principal certainly wouldn’t have called him.

Which could only mean this call had nothing to do with their daughter and everything to do with The Shadows.

She accepted the call as she pushed through the school’s main doors. “What?”

Most people wouldn’t address The Shadow Master so rudely, but then again, most of them hadn’t lived with the man for years. Though they’d never married, they’d lived in a common-law state which had considered them husband and wife.

“Really, Gretchen. Is that any way to address the future president?”

She gave a short laugh. “No, but it’s certainly how I address my ex.”

“I’m making sure Delilah’s okay.”

Her steps stalled on the edge of the sidewalk. What felt like a million little spiders danced across her skin and she shivered under the noontime sun. “Of course she’s okay. Why would you ask such a crazy thing?”

“Well, it’s not every day you’re called to her school.”

She almost tripped over her own feet. “Are you monitoring me?”

“My dear.” The words dripped with insincerity. “That’s what we do. With our past… connections… and your current important role in our process, surely you aren’t surprised.”

She really shouldn’t be, but the idea that her ex was aware of her movements felt like a dagger in her spine. “Well, you can stop it right now. Delilah is fine. I’m fine. And you’re wasting my time.”

“Your work is critical to the success of our plans. Nothing having to do with you is a waste.”

“Our plans are proceeding without a hitch.” Well, there’d been a few hitches, but she’d handled them. “Surely you have better things to do. Running your campaign or spending, how shall I put this, quality time with your running mate?”

Silence descended.

Good. She’d shocked him. Oh, he thought he was so clever, but he wasn’t the only one who could keep tabs on someone. The fact that he’d been involved in a covert relationship with Liz Haskins, who now ran for office alongside him following the death of her husband, had been blindingly obvious to her for well over a year.

“What do you know about that?”

She dropped into the front seat of her car and started the engine, the air conditioner pumping cool air into the hot and stuffy interior. The console asked if she wanted to switch the call to Bluetooth and she hit the decline button.

These types of calls were best held close to her ear.

She laughed. “I know you better than most. I’ve seen the secret looks, the little touches.”

Silence descended for a heavy moment.

“I’ve heard rumors.” A hardness edged his words now. “Sloppiness. Resulting in the death of three people.”

They both knew he wasn’t concerned about a few deaths. No, his only concern was if the mission, for which she’d been strategically selected nearly two decades ago, was on track. “Some tried to challenge us. We dealt with it.”

The silence, weighted with disapproval, felt oppressive. “And now? Are all such challenges neutralized?”

“Yes.” She watched as two teens stole across the parking lot hand-in-hand. Although they were nowhere near her, and wouldn’t be able to hear her even if they stood right outside her window, she dropped her voice. “No one is more invested in this project than I am. You know that.”

While their relationship had dissolved long ago, she knew that Arthur still respected her work.

Not that he’d ever admit such a thing.

“See that it stays that way.” His own voice dropped a few notes, whether in response to hers or for some other reason, she wasn’t sure. “And if I hear one word about Liz…”

She laughed. “If I’d wanted to out you, I could have done it long ago. I figured it out a year before you had Saul taken out of the way.”

More silence confirmed that what she’d guessed all along about Saul Haskins’ assassination was true.

“I am not to be tracked. Or monitored in any way. If I find that I am, something might slip out. Inadvertently, of course.” She paused, allowing the unspoken threat to hang. “You’ll live your life and I will live mine. Do we have an agreement, Arthur?”

He grunted. “Make sure this plan goes according to schedule. We can’t afford any delays.”

The call ended and she set the phone aside.

Funny how much better she felt after taking Arthur down a few notches. It was about time someone did, and evidently she was the only one with the proper leverage.

₪   ₪   ₪

“You want some food, amigo?”

Jordan looked up to find Estevan standing in the doorway of the office. Before he could reply, his stomach rumbled, the noise filling the space.

A grin spread across Estevan’s face. “Sounds like a yes to me. Come on. There’s lots of food in the fridge, left over from the funeral.”

While funeral leftovers weren’t his first choice, the town was a good fifteen minute drive. It’d take too much time to go in search of a restaurant or café. Plus, it would probably insult Estevan and Selena.

Selena was already in the kitchen, pulling foil pans from the fridge. “We have tamales, enchiladas, rice, beans, and more chips and salsa than you could ever want.”

So much for the stale potato salad and cold casseroles he’d expected. Clearly he went to the wrong kinds of funerals. Was it crass of him to sample it all?

Estevan grabbed a plate and heaped it with a little of everything.

Well, now that Estevan had set the example… Jordan took the proffered plate Selena held out and followed behind Estevan, sampling all the options.

His mouth watered as the plate rotated in the microwave and the rich smells of Mexican cuisine permeated the small country kitchen. This would probably be the most authentic Mexican food he’d ever had and, while he didn’t generally eat such heavy fare for lunch, he planned to enjoy every second of it.

As the three of them sat down around the old oak table, its scratched and pockmarked surface evidencing decades of use, Estevan clasped his hands together. “I’ll say the blessing.”

Selena offered a small smile and bowed her head and he followed suit, even as his mind raced.

When had Estevan, his sports-addicted, party-hard friend from college, started praying?

As Estevan’s simple, yet earnest, prayer enveloped him, another thought invaded his mind. One wholly unwelcome and more than a little uncomfortable. When had he stopped praying?

He couldn’t remember the last time he and Allison had prayed a blessing over a meal, much less prayed something more substantial.

In fact, the brief prayers he’d shot up during the gunfight the other day had been the only ones in recent memory, and those had most certainly been a cry for help in times of duress.

“Amen.”

The word jerked him from his guilt and his eyelids flew open.

Estevan picked up his fork and dug in with gusto.

As he used his fork to cut off a bite of enchilada, revealing shredded chicken inside, he glanced across the round table at Estevan. “I didn’t know you were into God. When did that happen?”

A smirk curled Estevan’s mouth. “You mean, when did I trade drunken frat parties for a Bible and mass?”

“Something like that. Yeah.”

Estevan spooned some chunky salsa onto the rice and stirred it together. “Guess it was ‘bout two years after graduation. I woke up one day, slightly hung over from the night before, and realized that my life had no meaning. I was empty, amigo. You know how it is?”

Yeah, he knew. He’d been there, more times than he wanted to count, and God had always called him back. But this was Estevan’s story, so he simply nodded.

“My sister was attending mass up the street, still Catholic, but different than the one we grew up in. Since going there, she’d changed. Was more joyful, you know?” Estevan set his fork down, as if anticipating that the story would take a while. “Anyway, I thought ‘what do I got to lose?’ and cleaned myself up and went that morning. The priest, he was talkin’ about Jesus. Not Mother Mary, like I was used to hearin’. Jesus. I hung around afterwards and talked with him more and I ain’t never looked back.”

He didn’t have to see his friend’s heart condition to know it was true. There was no denying the peace and joy on his face. “I’m glad to hear it, man.”

“What about you? You still walking with Jesus?”

“Yeah, sure.” The words fell from his lips automatically, even as a twinge hit his heart. So he wasn’t the most committed at the moment. He still believed in Jesus. God knew that.

Enough introspection. They had work to do here.

“This is some amazing food. Thanks.” He smiled at Selena. “And I found some interesting things in the desk. Like the receipt for the camera. He bought it two weeks before the…” He bit back the word murder.

An oppressive heaviness settled in the air as the unspoken word no doubt lingered in all their minds.

He chewed another bite and swallowed before pushing forward. “The camera uploads to the cloud and he wrote what I suspect is his user name and password on the back of the receipt.”

Not the most secure thing to do, but if he was right, it’d sure help them out.

“That sounds like Dad.” Selena’s face drooped and her throat worked. The food on her plate, a small portion to begin with, sat mostly untouched.

“With your permission, I thought I’d try logging in after lunch. See what the camera picked up.”

“I’d like to see that footage, too.” Selena sat up a little straighter and picked up her fork, as if having something different to do after lunch provided the motivation she needed to eat.

“You’re welcome to, obviously.” He glanced over at Estevan, to find his friend watching with a cautious expression. “But there may be some footage that’s hard to see. Sure you don’t want me to preview it first?”

Selena froze, her bite halfway to her mouth. “You-you think the camera picked up…?”

“I’m hoping so.” He gentled his tone. “It could provide valuable leads to the investigation and help bring those responsible to justice.”

Her eyes pooled. The fork clattered on her plate as she swiped at the tears.

He set his own fork down. Ugh. Why had he ruined their lunch with this topic? It could’ve waited ten minutes for them to finish eating. “Sorry. Let’s hold this conversation until later, okay?”

Selena’s responding nod felt jerky and stilted. Conversation stalled.

Man, he was such a clod.

He focused on enjoying the spicy food, and ignoring the way Selena seemed to eat on autopilot. The only thing worse than losing both your parents in a single swoop would be losing your spouse and kids.

Allison’s face infiltrated his mind, followed by his parents, then his siblings. What would he do if something happened to any of them? Fingers tightening on the fork, he stabbed at a bite of enchilada as if that would drive the thoughts away.

“I’ve been thinking about this all morning. I-I’m going to accept Sustaining Life’s offer on the farm.” The color had slid from Selena’s face and she kept her eyes on the food. To avoid seeing any condemnation about the decision?

Maybe, although he was hardly one to condemn her for closing a difficult and painful door.

“It’s above market value, and…” She sighed heavily and lifted her gaze, looking first at Estevan, then him. “There’s not a lot of interest in small town farmland these days.”

“And this place now holds some tough memories.” The words escaped his mouth like convicts in a prison break.

A glimmer of relief crossed her features. “Yes. There were many good times here, but I’m afraid the bad memories will be stronger.”

“You know that they’ll rip the house down, right?” Estevan’s voice contained no censure, his words more matter-of-fact than anything.

Selena’s throat worked. “That may not be such an awful thing.”

Her mother had died within these walls. He imagined it would be hard to spend time here without remembering that fact.

“I’ve also been thinking about the guys who worked for your dad.” Jordan held Selena’s gaze for a moment. “If something weird was going on, they might be reluctant to talk to me. An outsider and all.”

Especially if they shared his suspicions that Ramon and Maria hadn’t been killed in a home invasion.

“What would you think about calling them and arranging a meet? Maybe they wouldn’t mind coming here and we can all sit down together.” The fact that he wasn’t from around there, coupled with his status as federal law enforcement, didn’t necessarily lend to earning the trust of men who might already be afraid and wary.

Selena nodded. “I can do that.”

As plates emptied, Estevan rose. “I got the dishes. You two can get back to what you were doing.”

After retrieving his laptop from his car, Jordan obtained the wi-fi information from Selena, then set up in the office to attempt to access the security feed.

The website loaded and he clicked the log-in link, then input the user name and password written on the back of the receipt.

The blue circle spun.

Would it work? No guarantee that it was the user name and password for this. It could be for anything. Maybe the receipt had simply been the handiest piece of paper when Ramon had needed to write it down.

The screen refreshed. He was in.

Dozens of clips loaded, with run times ranging from seconds to hours.

Like most cameras, it appeared this one was motion activated. At least he wouldn’t have to wade through hours of empty footage. Judging by the time stamps, he was pretty sure Ramon had deactivated the camera during the day when he and his workers would be out in the field. Up until the murder, all the timestamps occurred in the evening or overnight hours.

Many of the clips were dated the day after the murder. They would likely contain images of the investigation.

While that might be helpful to watch at some point, his primary concern was with the clips from the night of the murder, of which there were several, and those from the days leading up to the murder.

The final clip on the night of the murder ran for twelve minutes. He’d start there, then work his way backwards.

His gaze flicked up to the open office door.

Better to close that, just in case the video had sound. Ramon had been run over. He couldn’t imagine that the man had gone down quietly. The last thing Selena needed was to hear her father’s death.

He closed the office door, then cued up the video.

Lights swept the field. Likely what had triggered the recording.

A large truck – probably a one-ton, if he had to guess – lumbered down the rough drive through the cornfield. A container filled the bed of the truck. While he couldn’t see what was inside, it was the type frequently used for spraying chemicals.

The truck stopped out of frame, but he soon saw a shape move on the moonlit path. The nearly full moon provided enough illumination for him to see the hose the figure dragged and the sprayer in his hands.

As he watched, the man – from his size, there was no way it was a woman – aimed at the rows of corn and bathed them in liquid from the tip of the sprayer.

The timestamp showed that it was well after midnight.

Ramon and his crew wouldn’t be treating the crops that late. This guy, whoever he was, was up to no good and using the cover of darkness to hide his activities.

The camera panned left and the truck came back into view as the spray guy disappeared from the screen.

So the camera could be controlled remotely. And Ramon must have been watching the whole thing. Maybe he’d panned to the truck to see if there was more than one guy involved. Assessing the odds before confronting them.

The camera panned back to the man spraying and stayed there.

With an eye on the clock at the bottom of the frame, he watched as nearly two minutes ticked by.

Suddenly, the man with the sprayer jerked, then whipped around. A moment later, he fell backward, the sprayer flying out of his hands. The chemical bath ceased.

A man rushed into the frame, reloaded his shotgun, and aimed at the truck.

Most likely, that was Ramon Zapato, not that he could see the man’s face.

Red lights flashed, then the truck barreled backward toward Ramon, its white reverse lights providing garish illumination to the scene.

Ramon darted out of frame.

The truck whipped into a turn, then charged forward in the direction Ramon had disappeared.

Ugh! He wished this camera was one that tracked movement.

Suddenly, the camera panned, picking up the truck as it plowed through cornstalks. The movement of stalks ahead of the truck showed Ramon’s path.

Who had moved the camera? It must have been Maria, Ramon’s wife.

The food in his stomach roiled.

Had she watched as the truck ruthlessly mowed down her husband?

The front of the truck neared the moving cornstalks, where he knew Ramon must be. The cornstalks stopped moving. The brake lights flashed, then the truck reversed a dozen feet before surging forward again.

While he couldn’t see Ramon for all the cornstalks, he knew what the video showed.

The truck had hit Ramon, knocked him down, then backed up to run him over.

He paused the video to give his mind time to process. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes as if doing so would erase the man’s last moments from his memory.

Good thing Selena had opted not to view this. While it had disturbed him, it’d be highly traumatic for her.

Perhaps the worst part was that the panning of the camera indicated that someone had been watching this live. Maria was the only option.

She’d watched her husband get run over, only to be beaten to death herself shortly after.

He slumped in the chair and replaced his glasses. Procrastinating wouldn’t change a thing. He needed to finish this clip.

He clicked the play icon.

The truck backed up, disappearing from the frame.

Amidst the flattened cornstalks was the shape of a body.

The camera didn’t pan again and the clip froze thirty seconds later due to lack of movement.

He released a shaky breath, then forced himself to click the next clip, which was dated the following morning around seven a.m.

Two men raced into the frame, dropping to their knees beside Ramon’s prone body. With jerky movements, one man reached out and felt for a pulse. He ripped his hand back as if burned.

Yeah, it wasn’t fun touching clammy skin. After seven hours in the elements, Ramon’s body would have cooled.

The other man rose and pulled out a cell phone, gesturing wildly with his hands.

The guy who’d felt for a pulse rose, his head whipping to look toward the direction of the house. He took off running. The other guy ended the call and followed.

Probably going to check on Maria. Had they found her body? Or had they waited outside for the authorities to arrive?

He’d have to ask the sheriff when he had the chance.

And why hadn’t Maria called the police? She saw Ramon get run over. Wouldn’t she have called 911 at that time?

Another question for the sheriff.

The video ended and he clicked the next one. In it, the sheriff arrived and checked on the body. The next few videos showed the coroner arriving, the crime scene being processed, and the body being hauled away.

He spent the next half hour reviewing the clips in the previous two weeks – since the camera was installed – leading up to the murder, but didn’t see anything more than birds and animals moving through the darkened cornfield.

He pushed back from the desk and stood. Tight muscles in his back and neck told him he’d sat too long. A few good stretches limbered things up and he headed for the door.

No good would come from telling Selena or Estevan the details of the video clips, but he’d download a copy to give to the sheriff. Maybe they’d be able to clean it up enough to ID the truck and catch the killers.

For now, he needed to check in with Selena to see if she’d reached Ramon’s workers. Having worked alongside Ramon, they might be able to shed light on the weeks leading up to the murder.

Ramon had installed the camera for a reason. He’d like to know exactly what those reasons were, and if they had led to his death.

₪   ₪   ₪

“You see, the seeds are far exceeding expectations.”

Gretchen watched as a skinny kid, barely out of college, drowning in a too-large white lab coat, pointed enthusiastically to the sprouts popping out of the soil in one of dozens of planter boxes in the lab.

His excitement had a contagious element and she smiled at him. “This is very encouraging. I’d like you to run a few more experiments, looking at different types of soil, water levels, and climates. Report on how this seed performs under less ideal conditions.”

The kid nodded, his head bobbing like a buoy in stormy seas. “We’ve already begun another round of testing, as of yesterday. We should have results within a week.”

It was still somewhat amazing that their super seeds could sprout so quickly. Quick-growing crops that thrived under a variety of conditions could be a game-changer in the global food supply.

And would, of course, make the company who produced such seeds wealthy beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.

The power they would wield… well, it was no wonder that Arthur Topheth was so focused on the project’s success.

Her phone vibrated against her side and chimed with an incoming call.

She pulled it from her pocket. Oxygen hardened in her lungs as the number on the screen registered.

Without a word, she whirled and accepted the call. “Yes?”

“We got a problem.” The smooth voice of her fixer, the man she hired to take care of their issues, filled her stomach with rocks.

She pushed through the door and exited the lab. A problem? She paid this man excellent money to ensure there were no problems. “Give me a minute.”

Managing a tight smile for the two lab employees she passed, she didn’t break stride, not even when one met her eyes and indicated that he may have something he wished to say.

Couldn’t he see she was on the phone?

She pushed through the first security door, passed the offices belonging to the head scientist and his assistant, then exited through another steel door into the hot summer day.

It wasn’t until she’d put a little distance between herself and the building and sought the shade of a large leafy maple tree, that she spoke again. “Explain.”

“There’s an agent digging into the latest acquisition.”

Names were always omitted during their conversations, in case anyone managed to listen in, but her fixer could only be speaking of one thing. The Zapato farm. “Do you know who he is?”

“He’s the ASAC of the Kansas City OIG office.”

She cursed softly. Not just any agent, but the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Office of the Inspector General. This wasn’t simply bad. It could be catastrophic. “There’s nothing for him to find. Right?”

“He found a security camera.”

Her legs threatened to drop her to the lush grass beneath her high-heeled shoes. “How did you miss that detail?”

“It was hidden in a scarecrow.” If her anger bothered the man, his tone didn’t show it.

That only fueled her fury. “Your job is to anticipate all contingencies and proactively cut them off.”

“You think you can find someone better than me, go ahead and try.” Challenge deepened the words.

And risk having him spout off to the wrong person about what he knew? He was too deep in this whole mess, and had too much valuable information, for her to cut him loose. They both knew it. “What do you know about this agent?”

“He’s not one of ours.”

Naturally. Why should this be easy? “What do you propose?”

“I’m following him. If I can find a time and place to take him down, I’ll do it.”

They’d already eliminated the Zapatos and the lawyer representing them. How many more people with ties to this case could they take out before their feet felt the flames? “We have too many events…” She put special emphasis on the word to drive home that she meant deaths, “linked to this. Make sure it points somewhere else.”

“Understood.”

She terminated the call and pocketed her phone. This was a nightmare. Right after she’d assured Arthur that the loose ends had been wrapped up, now there was a federal watchdog agency digging around?

How had the OIG even gotten wind of this?

She pulled in a cleansing breath. It was fine. They would be fine. Surely, The Shadows had someone with the influence to shut down an OIG investigation and cover up the death of a single agent. Even if he was an ASAC.

She needed to get back to the privacy of her office and log into the network to see who they had on their side.

If this blew up in her face, Arthur would make sure she didn’t live to regret it. The fact that she was his ex, and the mother of their child, would not grant her any favors.

Like all of them, she was fully expendable. Failure would be met with lethal consequences.

Nine

Jordan swatted at the fly that buzzed his head as he crossed the open space in the barn. A row of shelves, built against the wall to his left, had his attention.

Selena had reached the two men who’d worked here and they were on the way, but he wasn’t one to sit around waiting. Maybe the barn would reveal something important.

With any luck it would contain some of the seeds that Zapato claimed were tainted. So far, he’d found nothing to back up that story in the house. Which could mean that the lawyer had all the information, or that the killers had found it and taken it with them.

Assuming the murders were even linked to that.

Plastic containers lined the shelves. Most were empty at the moment, although he suspected the containers housed seeds during the winter.

Or had in previous years. With the end of the Zapato farm in sight, there wouldn’t be any more seed harvesting taking place here.

Fertilizer and a variety of gardening tools filled some of the shelves. More tools, such as rakes and shovels, hung from hooks lining the wall.

A workbench stretched from the end of the shelves to the corner of the barn.

He walked over to it and scanned the surface.

Nothing really jumped out at him. The only thing that felt a little out of place was an oversized cowboy hat, which rested haphazardly on the back of the bench.

He continued scanning, but his gaze pulled back to the hat.

Something about it felt off.

He moved closer.

It wasn’t sitting flat. It looked like it was caught up on something, although he couldn’t see what.

He reached out and touched the top of the hat. A hint of hesitation drifted through him. He sure hoped a barn rat didn’t come scampering out at him or something.

He lifted the hat.

A small brown box rested on the table underneath it. About the size of a coffee mug, it was the right size to be mostly unseen. In fact, if the flaps hadn’t been sticking up, the hat probably would have sat flat on the table and he wouldn’t have noticed the discrepancy.

The logo on the outside of the box featured a leafy plant and looked familiar, not that he spent a lot of time studying logos. Setting the hat aside, he picked up the box and glanced at the shipping label.

Addressed to Ramon Zapato. Return address stated Vida Immortal Seeds.

His fingers tightened on the cardboard. Were these the seeds that Ramon claimed contained contaminants?

They had to be, right? Vida Immortal was one of two approved USDA seed suppliers.

Had Ramon received seeds from the other supplier as well? He scanned the workbench. No other boxes, not that he saw anyway.

He looked inside the box. Two seed packets rested inside. The loose flaps indicated they had been opened, but a gentle shake of the box revealed that there were still a few seeds inside. At least in one of them; no telling if both had seeds without pulling the packets out, which he didn’t want to do.

He doubted there’d be a need to test for fingerprints, but better to play it safe. Just in case.

At least now he could do his own testing. He’d have to grab an evidence bag from the kit in his trunk.

He glanced around, half expecting someone to jump out and snatch the box from the counter in front of him. But, of course, he was alone in the barn.

Still, a little caution never hurt anyone.

He replaced the hat over the box, then strode across the barn.

Outside, a car door closed.

His steps slowed. Caution lit inside him like a match igniting a dry cornfield.

Most likely, it was the two guys who’d worked for Ramon.

Except then there’d be two doors, not one, right? But they might have traveled separately. Why would he assume they would come in one vehicle?

He edged to the side of the open door and peeked around.

A lithe man, wearing denim shorts and a simple blue t-shirt, stood next to Jordan’s blue Corvette. His white skin and light blond hair made a pretty convincing argument that this guy was not one of the workers who’d been employed by Ramon. Both those guys had very Hispanic-sounding names. Sure, this pale guy could have a name like Juan or Ricardo… but he seriously doubted it.

His hands clenched as the guy tested the door on his car.

That man was tempting death right now. Or disfigurement, at the very least.

After looking around, the man bent and peered in the driver’s window. What was he doing? This was more than admiring a nice car. The guy was up to no good.

Jordan unclipped his holster and put his hand on the butt of his gun, then exited the barn and strode for the stranger. “Help you, man?”

The man started, then whirled. A gun, one Jordan hadn’t seen before, appeared in his hand and leveled on Jordan.

Jordan launched himself to the side, diving behind an old pick-up truck. If the dust coating this truck worked as a shield, those bullets would never reach him.

Too bad grime made a lousy shield.

No retort of gunfire sounded.

Had he misread the situation? Maybe the dude hadn’t had a gun after all? If the guy was holding a cell phone, he’d feel really stupid.

He positioned himself by the front passenger tire, then slowly rose.

The man crouched beside the Corvette.

Smart. He’d never shoot in the direction of his own car. Well, maybe if he absolutely had to, but it’d be a last resort.

“Jordan DuBois.” The man’s calm voice carried over the space between them.

Okay, so this guy knew who he was. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.

“I have a message for you from the cartel.”

His fingers tightened on his gun. That sounded ominous. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

A humorless laugh carried over the quiet farm. “Does it matter?”

Maybe not to this guy, but it mattered to him. The cartel didn’t mess around, so he could only guess what their “message” for him was, although why they were coming after him was a mystery. He hadn’t had any recent run-ins with the cartel that he could remember.

And those types of things tended to stick out.

“They’re not happy that you messed up their operation. They put a lot of work into setting up at that meat processing plant.” The man locked on him, then jumped up and fired his weapon.

Jordan jerked back down as the bullet thudded into the truck.

This was about the explosion at the meat plant last week? “Well, tell ‘em to keep their drugs in their own country and they won’t have to worry about it.”

Mouthing off to one of the cartel’s fixers probably wasn’t the smartest plan… why had the cartel only sent one guy? Didn’t they usually travel in groups to thoroughly eliminate their enemies? And how in the world had they found him here, of all places?

He glanced around, expecting to see more guys pop up, ready to mow him down in a spray of bullets.

Nothing. As far as he could tell, it was only him and this guy.

Unless others were in the house, taking out Estevan and Selena.

Another gunshot. The dirt a few feet away from his sneakers exploded in a cloud of dust.

He needed to move. This guy knew precisely where he was. As long as he remained here, the shooter had the advantage.

Another gunshot. The bullet hit further down the truck, past the cab.

A fist slammed his gut.

The gas tank. This truck, if the tank had fuel in it, could go up in a ball of fire.

He glanced around.

A large tree, its trunk wide enough to shield him, stretched into the blue sky about a dozen yards behind him. The only other option was trying to run back to the barn, but he’d be completely exposed taking that route. At least the truck would provide some meager cover as he broke for the tree.

Several more bullets pinged the middle of the truck, not a single one close to his hiding place.

Yep. That guy was definitely going for the gas tank.

Jordan plotted the best route to get to the tree, then pulled in a breath.

First, he’d send a few shots at the guy. Not close enough to hit his car, but enough that the man would instinctively duck for cover.

Then he’d run.

He rose enough to see over the hood, then brought his gun up and fired a few rounds. As the man ducked down, he whirled, racing for the tree.

A few shots responded.

He dove, inhaling a lungful of dust as the dry grass and weeds at the base of the tree scratched his arms. Scrambling forward on his forearms and knees, he army-crawled behind the tree and pressed his spine against the rough bark.

He’d made it.

Pushing to his feet, he turned so he could peek around the massive trunk.

Next to his car, the man appeared to be inserting a new magazine into his gun. So much for this guy running out of bullets soon.

A loud blast shattered the sudden silence and the man dropped.

Estevan stepped off the back porch, a shotgun shaking in his hands. The barrel, however unsteady, remained fixed in the general direction of the cartel messenger.

And, in the general direction of his car. His car!

Jordan broke from the cover of the tree and raced to where the man fell. Estevan approached, meeting him at the nose of his car.

“Sorry about the paint, amigo.”

Jordan’s breath froze as he took in the once-pristine finish of his car. The driver’s side, now pockmarked from the buckshot, would require a complete overhaul. The shattered driver’s window littered the inside with glass.

Blood spatter streaked the blue paint.

It’s a car. It’s only a car.

He repeated the mantra, telling himself that he should be thankful to be alive.

After kicking the gun from the man’s limp hand, Jordan dropped to his knees beside the man and felt for a pulse.

Nothing. Not that he was surprised. That buckshot had done a lot of damage.

“You already called for help?” He angled a glance up at Estevan, who nodded.

“Did that before grabbing my uncle’s shotgun and coming out here.” The color slid from Estevan’s face and his Adam’s apple bobbed as his gaze locked on the body on the ground. “Madre Maria. What have I done?”

The words choked out and Estevan whirled, puking into some bushes beside the house. He landed hard on his knees in the packed dirt, the sound of his heaving echoing in the suddenly quiet afternoon.

When he’d rocked back onto his heels, his head cradled in his hands, Jordan spoke. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

Hopefully that would make him feel better about killing this man.

Taking a life was never easy. Nor should it be. The first one was especially rough. For Estevan’s sake, he sure hoped there wouldn’t be a second one.

The rumble of a truck’s engine carried up the road.

No sirens, plus it sounded like one of those older work trucks. They had a distinctive sound, one he could pick out anywhere.

The question was if they were reinforcements for the man who sprawled at his feet.

Jordan darted to the front of his car and crouched by the bumper. The engine would provide a modicum of cover if the truck carried unfriendlies.

A truck turned slowly down the driveway. Inside, he could make out three people, although the glare on the windshield kept him from seeing details.

He checked his weapon. Down a few bullets, but he still had enough to take out these guys, if it came down to it.

The driver’s door popped open and a tall, skinny man stepped out, his coloring hinting at Hispanic heritage. A tattered cowboy hat perched on his head and his jaw dropped at the sight of the dead man on the ground.

As his gaze lifted to Jordan, and the gun trained on him, the man slowly raised his hands. “E-Estevan?”

“That’s me.” Estevan’s voice contained a hoarse quality. He swiped the back of his hand across his lips and staggered to his feet.

“I’m Ricardo.” He gestured to the truck. “Juan and Malachi are with me.”

Jordan lowered his weapon and slowly rose, but kept his gun ready. He recognized the names Ricardo and Juan as the guys employed by the farm, so these guys were probably on the level, but he wouldn’t let his guard down.

“What happened?” Ricardo’s gaze darted to the body, then Jordan.

“We were ambushed, amigo.” Estevan gestured at the dead man. “He said the cartel sent him.”

Ricardo crossed himself as his gaze remained fixed on the body. Two other men climbed out of the truck. Jordan glanced at them long enough to see that they appeared unarmed.

Ricardo bumped his hat back as he scratched his head. “Why would the cartel be showing up here?”

“He claimed they were sending me a message.” Jordan rounded the front of his vehicle, slipping his weapon back into the holster. “Agent Jordan DuBois, OIG. Thanks for coming.”

Sirens echoed in the distance.

This was about to get messy. He jerked his head toward the house. “Unless you want to face a bunch of questions you don’t have answers for, you may want to wait inside.”

Wait, he hadn’t even checked to make sure Selena was okay.

He turned to Estevan. “This guy didn’t go inside or anything, did he?”

“Nope. Just started shooting at you.”

Good. At least the damage was limited to one dead guy and his car.

Not that he was happy about either of those things.

The three men headed for the house, while he and Estevan waited for the sheriff to show up. He assessed the men as they passed in front of him. The white guy with auburn hair stood out amidst his Hispanic friends. Must be that Malachi guy they mentioned.

There was something familiar about him.

The man looked up, meeting his gaze. A slight nod, accompanied by a smile that somehow felt knowing, and Jordan was sure he’d met this guy before.

But where?

That’d have to wait for later.

The sirens were almost upon them now. There’d be questions. Lots of questions. His gun, as well as the shotgun Estevan had discarded when he’d vomited into the bushes, would be taken into evidence.

The sheriff’s vehicle, an SUV with flashing lights mounted on top, pulled into the driveway.

At least he’d stopped by the sheriff’s office on his way here this morning. Meeting the sheriff and the deputies on duty in person would ensure they recognized him now.

His attention strayed back to the body on the ground, which most definitely did not look like the stereotype he had in his head for a cartel enforcer.

The whole thing felt off. One man instead of a crew. A man who neither looked nor sounded like he was from Mexico or South America. A handgun instead of a semi or fully automatic assault rifle. The man making such a point to tell him that he carried a message from the cartel.

In fact, the idea that the cartel would single him out and target him was, in itself, near lunacy. That warehouse episode had been a joint task force endeavor. The DEA had been involved and they, far more than he, had dealt the more serious blow to the drug trade.

That was assuming that those drugs were even being moved by the cartel and not by some other entity.

A second SUV pulled in behind the first and the sheriff and two deputies exited the vehicles.

In an area this size, that was probably half the force right there.

As the group approached him, he forced the questions about the cartel from his mind. There would be time to dig into and analyze all that later. For now, he needed to relate the facts as they’d occurred and let the sheriff and his team conduct their own investigation, one not tainted by his personal doubts.

No matter how he tried to separate his suspicions from the facts, the thoughts kept circulating.

If this wasn’t the cartel, then it was an obvious misdirect. The question remained: why?

₪   ₪   ₪

All roads pointed to The Shadows.

Dalton leaned back and scrubbed his hands down his face before refocusing on the computer screen in front of him.

Now that he, Lincoln, and the rest of the team were safely ensconced in the penthouse suites of their hotel, he’d finally had time to dig deeper into the known associates of the two guys who’d tried to kill him at that farmhouse in nowhere, Nebraska.

This had been on his to-do list for days now, but there’d been too much going on for him to devote the time to investigating.

What he’d found, however, didn’t really make him feel any better.

While The Shadows obviously didn’t have their name on an LLC tied to the farm, he was beginning to recognize the signs. The farm should have gone under years ago. Tax returns showed meager results, with year-over-year losses, ever since the property had changed hands four years ago.

Yet, he’d seen no signs that the farm struggled financially. In fact, the new electric vehicle in the driveway, coupled with the new roof and well-maintained barn, told him that money wasn’t an issue.

The boxes provided all the explanation as to why.

Smuggling was a good way to create an influx of cash. Smuggling for a group like The Shadows would give them both cash and power.

The boxes themselves had proven untraceable. So far. He’d keep digging and see if he couldn’t turn up something solid. Some of the supplies had been purchased legally, but most had no paper trail he could find. Black market acquisitions, most likely.

Tari had sent him a list of things that could be created using combinations of the supplies that had been seized, but the list was a long one. It ranged from everything from low-risk cold medicine to neuro-toxins that could kill.

He sincerely doubted The Shadows planned to treat the common cold.

In the dead men’s network of friends had popped several known Shadows. While such a tenuous connection would never hold up in court, he knew that it tied these men solidly to The Shadows.

His cell phone rang, pulling his attention from the screen.

The way his vision blurred told him it was a good thing. His eyes needed a break.

Caller ID showed Hannah.

His pulse tripped. His almost fourteen-year-old niece calling him on a Monday afternoon was unusual. Trouble?

He accepted the call.

“Hey, Uncle Dalton.” Her voice sounded mostly normal. A hint of stress underscored the words, perhaps, but she didn’t sound traumatized.

“Hey, Nanners.” The nickname that had started as Hannah Banana had quickly shortened to Banana, then become Nanners.

“Are you always gonna call me that?” Teasing colored the words and settled his heart rate.

If she could tease him about the nickname she’d had since she was a two-year old struggling to say the word banana, then things were okay. “Probably. You might not want me to give a speech at your wedding someday.”

Although that better be many years down the road for her.

“Noted.” She paused, the silence weighted by an unknown force. “You know how you’ve been talking to me about God and stuff?”

His heart thundered, although for an entirely different reason this time. Honestly, he’d wondered if she’d been paying attention when he’d tried to casually slip Jesus into conversations. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“There’s this guy at school. I mean, he’s seriously kinda weird, but there’s something about him, too. He talks about Jesus and he’s sure. I mean, super sure. We’re working on this science project together and some of the things he says, they just make sense. He’s talking about how science proves there is a God and how Jesus is God and…” She blew out a breath as if running out of words. “I don’t know. It sounds like what you’ve been telling me and it fits.”

And to think he’d wondered if she was listening. “So what’re you going to do about it?”

Silence beat for a moment too long. “I’m still thinking it over. But seriously, here’s the thing. He says Coach Mazie is bad news.”

Finally. Someone in her life giving her the truth he’d known for months.

When Hannah had first started talking about Coach Mazie, he’d done some digging. The fact that a former professional women’s basketball player was now coaching teenage girls at a Colorado school was suspicious, to say the least. The interest the coach had taken in his niece at the precise time that The Shadow started threatening Hannah was downright sinister.

Still, he had to tread carefully here. “What makes him say that?”

“Some of the things she’s been saying.” He could almost see her twirling her straight brown ponytail between her fingers. “You know she’s been giving me private coaching lessons, right? For free.”

No. His secretive little sister had failed to mention that. “That’s generous of her.”

Devious was more like it. Especially since Tari had definitively tied Mazie to The Shadows.

“I know, right? And she’s been talking about personal stuff. Like how she’s found this enlightened state, and how we need to rise against the shackles of traditional thinking.”

The brainwashing had begun.

He struggled to pull in air. How much of that garbage had taken root in Hannah’s impressionable young mind?

“But I was talking to Collin, my friend. I told him some of that and he said it was a load of garbage.”

He bit back the urge to tell her Collin was right. “And what do you think?”

“I think the things Collin’s been saying make more sense than what Mazie says.” Hannah paused. “Mazie’s said some pretty harsh things about your friend Lincoln. And that podcaster you know, the Fight the Darkness lady. And… I don’t know. I guess I think you wouldn’t hang with those people if they’re as bad as she says.”

“I wouldn’t.” He shot up a quick prayer for guidance. “I don’t know what she’s told you about them, but she doesn’t know them. Not personally. I do. I can tell you that they’re both very smart. They have integrity no one can touch. And they try to do the right thing. Always. Would you say that about Coach Mazie?”

“Well, sure. I guess.” Her unconvinced tone told him otherwise. “I mean, it’s not like she’s a criminal or anything.”

Not as far as they knew, anyway. “Did you tell her that I work for Lincoln? That I’m friends with him? What’d she have to say about that?”

The silence lengthened for a few heartbeats. “She said that you drank the crazy sauce. That they’d tricked you or bought you or something.”

At one time, that would’ve made him angry but now, he fought back laughter. The idea that Lincoln and Tari deceived anyone, much less someone who’d been as skeptical as he’d been, was idiotic. He didn’t try to temper the amusement in his tone. “Well, she’s entitled to her own opinion. I guess the question is what you believe.”

“She’s wrong.” The words came out instantly, with vehemence. “I mean, it’s not like you’re always right or anything, but you really dig into things. You look for the truth and back it when you find it. If she knew you, she’d see it differently.”

Wow. It was nice to know that the high standards he’d always held, even before he became a Christian, had made an impact. “Did you tell her any of that?”

“I tried to, but she said I needed to practice.”

So, in other words, the coach was good with spouting her own ideals but wouldn’t listen to Hannah’s beliefs. “Nanners. Be careful about people who only want to force their ideas on you and won’t listen to your own.”

“She’s not like that!” Defiance rose in Hannah’s voice. “Besides, isn’t that what Christians do? ‘Believe in God or you’re going to hell’ and all that?”

Worms wriggled under his skin. He’d have to tread carefully on this one. “We shouldn’t, but like all groups of people, sometimes we get it wrong. I believe in God, and Jesus, and that the Bible is truth. I won’t deny or apologize for that. And I hope you’ll really think things through and talk to me, or Collin, and seek out the truth. But if you choose not to believe the same things we do, I won’t love you any less. I will still let you express your beliefs and will be here for you always.”

“I know.” Her soft words lacked the heat of the previous ones.

“You want to put it to the test? Openly disagree with Coach Mazie. Tell her you think she’s wrong about me. Or, if you really want to push it, tell her she’s wrong about Lincoln or Tari. See how she responds. If she’s really in your corner, she’ll agree to disagree. If she’s pushing an agenda… well, you’ll know.”

Even as the words left his mouth, he questioned the wisdom behind them. They knew Mazie was a Shadow. Was it really wise to push her like that?

Well, it was too late now.

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure she’ll prove that she’s legit.”

If only. Dalton didn’t voice his doubts any more than he voiced his concerns that Mazie’s connection to The Shadows was a danger to Hannah and the whole family. The last thing he wanted was Hannah telling Mazie that she knew about The Shadows.

That wouldn’t end well for Hannah.

“Thanks, Uncle Dalton.” Her voice sounded more upbeat than it had before, no doubt because she now felt she had a surefire way to put her doubts about her coach to rest. “You’ve always given me good advice, but I don’t know. Lately it’s just been even better.”

“That’s Jesus. Not me. He’s changing me.”

“Yeah, well. Uh, I’m glad it’s working for you.” Her words sounded a little rushed and he knew he was losing her. “Look, gotta go. It’s almost time for practice.”

“Have fun. Call anytime.”

“Sure thing.” And then she was gone.

It was the middle of summer. She didn’t have practice. She had another coaching session with the not-so-great Coach Mazie.

He pushed back his chair and dropped to his knees right in front of the desk. While there was still work to be done figuring out what that farm had been up to, right now he needed to fight for Hannah.

Only this battle couldn’t be fought with research and evidence. It’d be fought from his knees.

Ten

Man, was he wiped. Unfortunately, he still had work to do before he could hit the road to drive home.

Jordan watched as the sheriff’s vehicles pulled away.

A crime scene tech had roped off the area around his car and was diligently working the scene. While he’d been promised they’d start with his car so he could drive it home today, he hadn’t been given a timeline for how long that would take.

That busted window would make for a windy and noisy ride home, but at least it was drivable.

The sheriff had also reported that they’d located a body earlier that day, dumped in a ditch by the side of the road. Decomp had set in, evidencing the man had been dead for a while, but they’d found buckshot in his torso. While the sheriff couldn’t say for sure that it was the guy Ramon had shot in his field that night, it seemed like a logical assumption.

He headed for the front door of the Zapato farmhouse. Inside, the guys who’d worked for Zapato still waited to talk to him.

And he needed to figure out who that third guy, the one who looked familiar, was and why he was here.

As he entered the house, he heard muted voices coming from the living room. Following the sound, he found Estevan, Selena, and the three men seated around the room’s antique coffee table. Cans of soda and a bottle of water rested on cork coasters on the table’s surface.

After a quick scan of the faces, he let his gaze linger on Estevan. His old friend had been pretty upset – understandably so – after what had happened earlier. Being thoroughly questioned by the police certainly hadn’t helped. Yet now, less than an hour after giving his statement, Estevan almost looked… at peace?

How was that even possible?

He took the closest chair and waited for the conversation, which seemed to be about God, to lull, then zeroed in on Estevan. “How’re you holding up?”

“Okay.” Estevan nodded at the auburn-haired guy – who seemed more familiar the more time Jordan spent around him. “Malachi here really helped me process things.”

Past tense. Like he was done processing them.

Right. “Let me tell you from experience that it’s probably going to come back and hit you at different times. I really suggest finding a pro to talk things over with. Someone who deals with trauma or grief counseling.”

“I’ll think about that, amigo.” Estevan’s tone was non-committal.

Well, he’d made the suggestion. Nothing more he could do now, except talk to these guys about Ramon Zapato. He turned his attention to the three men, all of whom sat on the bold red, blue, and green geometric printed couch that screamed early 2000s.

“Sorry about the wait. Sure didn’t expect all that to happen.” Jordan gestured toward the side wall, outside of which the crime scene tech worked in the scorching heat. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Jordan DuBois of the Kansas City Office of Inspector General. Estevan asked me to do a little digging into Ramon’s death.”

Selena muffled a small sob.

Ugh. He could’ve been a little more sensitive in how he said that.

One of the men, the oldest of the trio by a long shot who was probably in his fifties, nodded solemnly. Unlike his lanky friend, he perched on the front of the sofa so his feet could touch the floor. “I’m Juan. I worked with Ramon for over a decade.”

The other man, who’d earlier introduced himself as Ricardo, ran sun-darkened fingers through a mop of black curls but said nothing. In spite of their traditional Mexican names and Hispanic coloring, both spoke as men who had been born and raised in the U.S.

The other man offered Jordan a friendly smile. “Malachi. It’s good to see you again, Jordan.”

Selena’s lips parted. “You know each other?”

His question exactly. While there was something familiar about this guy, he still couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“We’ve met.” Malachi’s attention moved around everyone in the group, seeming to take them all in at once. “In Dallas a few months ago.”

Dallas. He’d been there for a funeral, the wife of his friend Ephraim…

Fists did a one-two punch to his gut. Memories of sitting in the resort’s penthouse suite with his prayer group friends, this guy, and another guy stampeded through his mind.

No. Oh, no. Not this guy. Trouble followed him. Or at least it had for all his friends.

He had enough trouble right now. He didn’t need anyone adding to the mix.

He pulled in a long breath.

Whether he liked it or not, Malachi was here now. Why and how he fit into all this were questions he needed answered.

“Yeah, I remember now.” It took concentrated effort, but he managed to keep his voice normal. “Gotta admit that I’m surprised to find you here.”

And more than a little suspicious. How was it that this guy seemed to show up at the most chaotic times in his friends’ lives? Maybe, instead of helping them through it as they all thought he had, he was the one causing all the trouble.

“Malachi’s been helping Ramon the last few months.” Ricardo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “The things this guy knows about crops and farming…” He shook his head slowly.

“He’s the one who suggested Ramon test the seeds.” Juan’s eyes narrowed and his jaw worked. “If not for him, Ramon probably would have planted a bad crop of corn.”

Interesting. While Malachi hadn’t said a lot about himself when they’d all been in Dallas, he didn’t recall hearing that Malachi had great expertise in agriculture. He could dig into that later. For now, there were more critical issues. “Where did you send the seeds for testing?”

“We split them up and sent them to two independent labs for testing.” Malachi’s sober expression spoke to the seriousness of the situation. “Ramon didn’t tell the labs where the seeds came from, just in case anyone had any connections to the two vendors. One batch went to Texas A&M University. The other we sent to Tari.”

He jerked as if zapped by electrical current. Tari had examined the seeds? “Tari specializes in medical research. Why her?”

“She’s still qualified to run laboratory tests to evaluate seed content. I knew she would be completely unbiased.”

That was true, he supposed. “What did the tests reveal?”

“High concentrations of chemicals and heavy metals. Trace amounts of arsenic.” Malachi pressed his lips together tightly, his words containing a hint of anger. “Both tests returned the same results. There are enough additives to the seeds to sicken consumers. Potentially kill those with compromised health.”

The words rolled over him like a tornado. Sicken. Kill. “Both approved seed vendors had these ingredients in their seeds?”

“The seed composition was exactly the same.”

Exactly? That was strange. There should be many similarities, but he found it hard to believe seeds from two different vendors would have the exact same makeup.

Well, he had samples of those seeds himself. He’d get them tested. See if the results he got lined up with what Malachi said.

“Walk me through the days leading up to Ramon…” His attention shifted to Selena, who gripped the arms of the chair in which she sat. “Through those last days.”

The men all told the same story of normal farm work. While sweet corn made up most of the crop for Zapato farms, a section of land had also been devoted to other crops. They’d been harvesting broccoli and cucumbers, which would be sold at local farmer’s markets and to the few remaining mom-and-pop grocery stores that dotted Atchison and the surrounding counties.

“Why did Ramon install that camera in the scarecrow?”

Juan and Ricardo exchanged a meaningful look, then Juan leaned in, dropping his voice as if afraid of being overheard. “Crops were dying back. Corn in particular. No sign of bugs or blight. Nothing we tried seemed to stop it. He suspected people were behind it and wanted to catch them in the act.”

“It’s why he’s dead,” Ricardo blurted the words out, eliciting a strangled sob from Selena. “Corporate espionage. I’m telling you.”

“What do you mean corporate espionage?” Zapato had no affiliation with corporations. He’d been a small, independent farmer, not part of a larger corporate conglomerate.

“Sustaining Life Farms.” Juan spit out the words as if they contained poison. “They were all over Ramon to buy this land. You dig into them, I guarantee you’ll find their dirty fingerprints all over this.”

Suspicions and accusations were one thing. Proving them was another altogether. “Why do you think it was them?”

“They’re buying up all the land in the country.” Ricardo scooted further forward, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial low. “I’ve been tracking it. Farmers who refuse don’t last long. A farmer in California was run over by his tractor. Paralyzed. Another farmer in Oregon caught West Nile Virus, which led to neurologic conditions. You know that Oregon is one of the lowest states for mosquito population? And do you know how few people develop long-term neurologic conditions as a result of West Nile? Roughly one percent. Yet this guy happens to be one of them? Not buying it.”

It sounded like the stuff of conspiracies, yet Ricardo seemed so certain.

Then again, didn’t all conspiracy theorists fully believe their own delusions?

“How do you know all this?” He worked to keep the doubt out of his voice.

Ricardo straightened. “I have an investigative blog. About the dangers of corporate farming. I do a lot of research, but also get tips from readers.”

Well, it would be easy enough to prove or disprove. He jotted down the blog’s name, as well as the two incidents Ricardo had mentioned, so he could follow-up on them later. “But you also work on the farm?”

Ricardo’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Yeah, well, blogging doesn’t put food on the table for most people.”

True enough. “So he thought someone was killing his crops and installed a camera to prove it?” The theory actually lined up with what he’d witnessed on the video, but he wanted to be sure he had the facts straight.

“Si.” Juan slipped into Spanish briefly. “The crop failures were always grouped. A whole cluster would die back at the same time.”

He could see why Ramon would be suspicious of that, especially if there wasn’t any indication of an infestation or disease. “Did he ever see anything on the cameras? Before that night?”

Ricardo and Juan exchanged a look, then Juan shook his head. “Not that he told us.”

That jived with what he’d seen on the surveillance footage also. “Can you think of anything else I should know? Something that may be related to what happened?”

A moment of silence passed while both men seemed to think it over.

“No.” Juan was the first to speak. “People liked Ramon. And Maria. They were generous and fair.”

“Maria frequently made fresh tamales for the workers for lunch. And Ramon was always the first to donate food when someone was down on their luck.” Ricardo’s eyes shone, possibly holding back unshed tears. “Ask anyone in town. They all liked him.”

It was a small enough area that it’d be easy to verify that. Heck, he could probably ask the sheriff, or the crime scene guy outside. This was one of those areas where everyone seemed to know everyone else.

“Well, I appreciate you guys coming down here and talking to me.” He pulled a few business cards from his pocket and passed them across the coffee table. “If you think of anything else, call me. Even if it doesn’t feel relevant. Sometimes it’s the little things that really break open a case.”

Malachi offered a warm smile. “Would you mind if I caught a ride back to Kansas City with you?”

Back? Had Malachi come all the way from Kansas City for this meeting? And if so, how had he gotten here? Clearly hadn’t driven if he needed a ride back. “Where’s your car?”

“I’m without one at the moment.” Malachi shrugged. “My time here has clearly come to an end and God’s calling me to go with you.”

Go with him? Okay, that was weird. Maybe a little creepy.

And yet… he didn’t feel like Malachi was a threat. “I can’t bring you back here when your business in the city is done.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” Malachi’s relaxed posture against the sofa gave off a carefree vibe. “God always provides. I don’t know how long He’ll have me in the city, but when that time is up, God will provide what I need to be where He calls me to go next.”

“Okay then. Just so long as we’re clear, I’m fine with you catching a ride back to the city.”

It’d be good to have a little time to talk to Malachi one-on-one. This guy had managed to infiltrate his friends’ lives. Now, he showed up in some random little town in the middle of a murder investigation.

Jordan had never believed in coincidence. No, Malachi being here was not random. It was planned. While his friends would probably say God had planned it so Malachi could help him, he remained unconvinced.

Nothing like a ninety-minute car ride to drill down to why the man was here… and if he could be trusted.

₪   ₪   ₪

The sun hung low in the sky by the time Jordan pulled away from the Zapato farm. He’d texted Allison to let her know he wouldn’t be home until close to nine.

Selena and Estevan had filled his stomach with more leftover Mexican fare before he’d taken off.

The wind buffeted the side of his face, both refreshing and somewhat deafening as the vehicle picked up speed. With a duffel bag in the trunk, Malachi lounged in the passenger seat.

That noise would make conversation a little challenging, but he was determined to get answers.

“I gotta tell you, I wasn’t thrilled to see you show up today.” No point in beating around the bush. If he wanted to get to the truth, it’d start with him.

“I gathered.” Malachi’s good-natured tone indicated he didn’t take it personally. “You know that I didn’t bring any of that trouble on your friends, right?”

“That a fact? You just happened to be there during the most stressful and traumatic days of their lives?” Surely, Malachi could see the odds against such a thing.

“Because God sent me to them. It was not an accident that I was there at that time. God knew what was coming and sent me to encourage their faith.”

If that was the case – and he wasn’t convinced that it was – then this sudden appearance didn’t bode well for him. “So you’re saying that I’m about to go through something and need you here to encourage my faith?”

A moment of silence stretched. “I do have a message for you, if you’re ready to hear it.”

If he was ready? What kind of statement was that? He glanced over to find Malachi’s intense stare locked on him. “Sure. Lay it on me.”

“Remember that God’s word is not always easy to hear. Britt, Charae, Ephraim, and Jade have learned this firsthand. Now, our God has sent me to you.”

The preamble felt ominous. Uncertainty slithered through his core.

Well, he’d never been one to back down from a challenge. “Noted. I’m listening.”

“Our Lord’s message to you mirrors what He said to the church at Laodicea in Revelation 3:14-22. ‘I know all the things you do, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish that you were one or the other! But since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth!’”

Jordan’s hands jerked at the words. Spit him out?

Malachi wasn’t done. “‘You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’ And you don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. So I advise you to buy gold from me—gold that has been purified by fire. Then you will be rich. Also buy white garments from me so you will not be shamed by your nakedness, and ointment for your eyes so you will be able to see. I correct and discipline everyone I love. So be diligent and turn from your indifference.’”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and his jaw clenched.

That was supposed to be a message? For him?

He bore down on the semitruck in front of him and whipped into the left lane, zipping wordlessly by the semi.

Malachi said nothing further.

Chill. So Malachi thought that was a message for him. What did Malachi know? Clearly, he hadn’t heard from God correctly, not this time.

He slid back in front of the semi, the truck’s headlights rapidly receding in his rearview mirror. He pulled in a steady breath. “What makes you think that message is for me?”

“God told me.”

The simplicity of the words made his blood boil. How the heck did he argue with that? “You sure you heard Him right? He hasn’t said anything like that to me.”

“Would you have heard Him if He had?” Surprisingly, the rebuke felt gentle. “When was the last time you really stopped and listened to God?”

“It’s a long walk to Kansas City, you know.” The defensiveness in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through him. How had he allowed this guy to get under his skin?

“Kicking out the messenger won’t stop God from getting your attention. He’ll break through. One way or another.”

Because there was no stopping God.

The truth dropped into his mind, stealing some of his fury. What if there was something to this?

“I’m not trying to be harsh.” Malachi’s kind tone supported his words. “Jesus ended his message to the church at Laodicea by saying ‘Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear My voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends. Those who are victorious will sit with Me on My throne, just as I was victorious and sat with My Father on his throne. Anyone with ears to hear must listen to the Spirit and understand what he is saying to the churches.’ Reconciliation is always God’s goal.”

A pang hit his heart. How long had it been since he’d sensed the presence of God?

He couldn’t even remember. Just like he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to church, or read his Bible, or even really prayed.

But did that make him lukewarm?

Nah. He was good. He had a lot going on in his life right now. Nothing more complicated than that. God knew that.

Malachi meant well, and maybe he’d had some good words for Jordan’s friends, but this time he was way off base. It happened to everyone.

He forcibly relaxed his tense shoulders back against the seat. “So what were you doing at the Zapato farm? Tell me you weren’t there only to talk to me.”

“No, although I’m not surprised God brought you here. God sent me to help expose the danger in those seeds.” The corner of Malachi’s lips ticked up. “God takes it pretty personally when man perverts His creation, especially when it causes harm.”

“So you knew? That the seeds are bad?” Why wouldn’t Malachi take that to someone who could do something about it? Like him, or the FDA or USDA?

“Not the details. God sent me here and told me to encourage Ramon to examine the seeds, but that’s all I knew. God doesn’t often give us a full road map, but guides us turn-by-turn.”

Wasn’t that the truth? “So do you have a copy of the test results?”

“No, Ramon had those.” Malachi fell silent for a moment. “I don’t know what he did with them after that.”

Well, he’d asked Estevan and Selena to keep an eye out for the reports as they cleaned out the house. He’d looked around the office, but hadn’t found anything. Either the reports weren’t there, or they’d been kept elsewhere.

“Did you ever see the results yourself? Or did he just tell you about it?” If Malachi hadn’t read the report, all this was hearsay.

“I didn’t see it personally.”

“I need to see those reports. You said Tari ran some of the tests?” Surely she would have retained copies of her findings. If not, at least she could personally attest to the validity of these claims.

“Yes. I knew she would provide an unbiased review and suggested Ramon send them to her.”

He had a few of his own contacts he could ship the seeds to for testing, but he’d also reach out to Tari and see if she could send him her findings. It’d be good to see if all the reports lined up.

If they didn’t, he’d have a whole new investigation to run to see if any of the supposedly-independent labs had loyalties they shouldn’t.

Because if Ramon was right – and the man’s death indicated he may have been – then these seeds could kill. All he needed was proof. Before it was too late.

₪   ₪   ₪

Feminine laughter drifted from the kitchen as Jordan descended the staircase. Sounded like Allison and Malachi were getting along fine.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d offered, but as he’d approached Kansas City the previous evening, he’d asked Malachi if he needed a place to crash while he was in town. The ice in Allison’s eyes when he’d shown up with Malachi, not to mention the tension in their argument behind their closed bedroom door before bed, had made him question the decision.

At least it looked like she’d gotten over her irritation.

Malachi seemed to have that effect on people. How he’d gone from wanting to kick Malachi out of the car to inviting him to be a houseguest proved that point.

He entered the kitchen to find Malachi at the stove, scrambling some eggs. Allison removed a plate of sausage links from the microwave and sent Jordan a smile that was considerably warmer than any he’d received the previous evening.

“This looks great.” He moved to the coffeepot and poured a cup of the black brew, then added a swish of organic French Vanilla creamer.

“Malachi offered to make breakfast.” Allison looked sharp in her fitted gray slacks and purple blouse, both of which hugged her curves in all the right ways. “I wasn’t about to turn that offer down.”

Malachi turned off the heat and removed the skillet from the stove. “It’s the least I could do after you opened your home to me.”

“Didn’t know we were getting a short-order cook as part of the bargain.” Jordan pulled a few plates from the cupboard. “But no complaints.”

They filled their plates and each took a seat.

Malachi’s gaze seemed to encompass both him and Allison at the same time. “Mind if I pray a blessing over our food?”

When was the last time he and Allison had done that? He didn’t know, but it’d been a while. “Sure.”

Malachi’s prayer, earnest and poignant, wrapped around him like a sweater on a winter day. Comforting, familiar, and genuine, it awakened something in his spirit that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe he had been complacent lately.

As Malachi said “amen”, he shrugged the thought off and picked up his fork.

The eggs were surprisingly tasty, containing a blend of seasonings that he wasn’t quite able to place.

“Are you driving your car in that condition?” Allison’s pale blue eyes suggested she was pretty certain of the answer.

“Only far enough to get it to the body shop. Sean’s meeting me there and is going to give me a ride to the rental car agency.” While he’d been stuck at the Zapato farm yesterday afternoon, he’d made arrangements for his car to get into one of the best body shops in town. They’d restore his baby to her former glory, but it’d take a week or two. Maybe longer, if they had trouble getting any of the parts.

In the meantime, he’d rented a small SUV to get him around. It wouldn’t be as much fun as his ‘Vette, but it’d serve a purpose.

He glanced up at Malachi. “What are your plans for the day?”

“I was hoping to catch a ride downtown with you.”

“Sure. You said you had business here?” Honestly, he really didn’t know what Malachi did, except pop up in random cities and supposedly help his friends during hard times.

“God has business here. I’m merely the hands He uses.” The words flowed as naturally as saying that the sun rose in the morning.

“What do you do, Malachi?” Allison’s question held a hint of suspicion, not that he could blame her.

Heck, he was battling the same suspicions.

“I do whatever God asks.” Malachi lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “I know that doesn’t answer your question, but I go where God sends.”

She set her fork beside her plate. “But surely you have a home base. A trade or skill set. Even Paul was a tentmaker by trade.”

“And like Paul, I’m a bit of a nomad. God always provides through kind-hearted people like you both.”

Kind-hearted? He hardly felt kind-hearted when Allison all but interrogated the man.

As if sensing Allison’s displeasure with his near-evasive answer, Malachi added, “There’s a church downtown where God is calling me to help out. The pastor is facing some intense spiritual warfare and I’m to encourage and support him.”

Allison’s lips parted slightly. “And God… He tells you that?”

“God is always talking. We aren’t always listening.”

Allison cocked her head. While her expression looked casual to most, Jordan knew that intensity in her gaze. She was gearing up for an argument. “I’ve been a Christian my whole life and don’t know that I’ve ever heard from God.”

The words held a hint of challenge. Would Malachi rise to it?

Malachi slowly worked the bite he’d forked into his mouth. Silence lingered like an enemy in the shadows as he swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I promise you, when you hear God speak… well, there’s nothing like it.”

Huh. He’d expected maybe a mini-sermon, or a lecture on how to listen for God more, either of which would have likely set Allison off.

Not that she held animosity toward God or anything, but she did have a stubborn streak. And she loved to argue when she thought she was right.

“Hmm.” Allison sipped her coffee, which had to be cool by now, then directed her attention to him. “I’m going to spin class with a friend after work. How about if I pick up Thai food on the way home?”

“Sounds good.” A weight lifted as the tension fizzled. He hadn’t even realized that he’d felt like he was suffocating until he inhaled deeply.

A fight over breakfast with a guy who genuinely seemed like he was trying to follow God was low on his daily to-do list.

Especially since something inside him said that Malachi wasn’t wrong.

But why did God speak so clearly to Malachi and not to him or Allison? The verses Malachi had quoted the day before blared inside his head like an announcer at a Kansas City Mavericks game.

Lukewarm water.

Spit you out of My mouth.

You are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked.

He tried to ignore them, but they repeated. Enough! Just because one guy thought that applied to him didn’t mean it did.

If that message was from God, God was going to have to prove it, because he wasn’t buying it.

Eleven

The debate hung like a rain-laden cloud over the day.

Dalton shrugged into a short-sleeved t-shirt with a popular superhero logo on the front and grabbed a pair of socks.

His hair, still damp from the shower, left wet streaks on his cheekbones.

As he straightened from putting on his socks, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Yeah, he looked every bit a surfer who’d never quite grown up.

And Lincoln wanted him to be vice president.

He tried to imagine himself standing behind Lincoln during his rallies, as Liz Haskins had stood behind Arthur Topheth.

Stylish, poised, and attractive Liz versus him. Not much of a competition there.

He shook his head and tore his attention from his reflection.

While there were certainly worse choices Lincoln could make, he could also do far better.

Dalton exited his bedroom into the suite’s living room. Two security guys lounged on the living room’s chairs, watching the news as the morning anchor recapped the attack on Lincoln’s motorcade yesterday afternoon.

Ugh. He had no desire to listen to that. Living it had been bad enough.

Lincoln and Vanessa sat at the small dining table sharing a breakfast of fresh fruit and toast.

He needed something a bit more substantial.

Detouring to the freezer, Dalton pulled out a sausage and egg breakfast sandwich and popped it into the microwave. He poured a cup of coffee, retrieved his sandwich, and sat opposite Lincoln at the small, faux-wood table.

Lincoln’s clear gaze found his own. The man looked far more rested than Dalton felt, in spite of having to go up against Topheth later in the day. Vanessa, too, had a calm about her that defied the tension of the upcoming hours.

“You ready for tonight?” Dalton picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

“I am. God’s given me His peace.” Lincoln leaned in. “The only question remaining is if I can make a certain important announcement prior to the debate.”

While he’d anticipated the question, the breakfast sandwich soured in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow. After a darting look toward the two security guys, neither of whom knew of Lincoln’s offer, he leaned in himself and matched Lincoln’s low tone. “I’m the wrong guy. Can you see me going head to head with Liz Haskins? Heck, I don’t think I own more than one tie.”

And it was a boring solid blue one at that.

“You think I don’t know that? We can take care of that.”

Yeah, he could see Lincoln’s publicist trotting him into some high-end menswear store to jazz up his wardrobe. Problem was, he didn’t really want it jazzed up. “I’m not a suit and tie kinda guy.”

Vanessa stretched across the table, one of her long-fingered hands resting atop his own. “Then be yourself. You are so much more than what you wear. Once the people see that, they’ll be asking ‘Liz who?’”

Sure they would. With all her charitable organizations, Liz was basically legendary.

He… well, he was a nobody.

“Dalton.” Lincoln’s eyes glittered under the light hanging above the table. “I keep praying. And I keep getting one name. Yours.”

He blew out a breath. “I’ve been praying, too, but I’m still not hearing a definite answer.”

Or maybe he didn’t know it. Prayer was a lot newer to him than it was to Lincoln. Maybe Lincoln knew how to hear from God and he hadn’t learned that skill yet.

“Sometimes God wants us to take a step of faith before the answer becomes apparent.” Lincoln studied him. “Obviously, I don’t want you to accept if God’s telling you no, but have you considered asking someone you trust to pray with you? Tari, or Ephraim?”

“I haven’t wanted to say anything to anyone.” Admitting it out loud released some of the tension inside. “I thought this was supposed to be a secret.”

“And it is. But talking it over with someone you trust, someone who knows how to show discretion, isn’t a bad idea. Get the perspective of someone on the outside.”

It was a good call, although he still felt foolish even talking about such an outlandish idea. “I’ll do that. I’ll give you an answer before the Atlanta rally on Friday.”

Lincoln nodded. “I can live with that.”

“Have you heard any updates about what happened yesterday?” With the police, FBI, and Secret Service actively looking into the attack and riot from their arrival yesterday, it seemed impossible that they hadn’t turned up at least a few leads.

Lincoln gave a single nod. “They caught the shooter, who claims he acted alone. Obviously, they’re looking into that claim, but if The Shadows were behind it, you know they’ll have covered their tracks well.”

Unfortunately.

“What about the farmhouse?” Lincoln picked up his coffee mug, but didn’t take a drink. “Have you learned anything new about the tier two member?”

“No, and I don’t think I will. I think whoever it was must’ve cleared out before I arrived.” That seemed to be how it went with The Shadows. It felt like he was always a step behind. “I did manage to find some thefts that lined up with some of the chemicals recovered from the barn. Brand and lot numbers match, so it’s a pretty safe bet that the items recovered came from the stolen shipment.”

“I shudder to think what they had planned with all those chemicals. Some of the options Tari suggested are pretty nasty.”

“I don’t think we can assume that their plans have been foiled. Only about half of the stolen shipment was at the warehouse. There’re still a lot of chemicals out in the wind.” Dalton pushed his empty plate aside and crossed his arms on the table in front of him. “Speaking of which, I think we need to discontinue all room service and take-out options for the time being. It’d be too easy for someone to slip poison into that.”

Color slid from Vanessa’s face, leaving her complexion looking like oxidized chocolate. “You think that could happen?”

“I do. I’d feel a lot better if we,” he swept his hand in a broad gesture to indicate that he was including the entire team, “prepared our own meals. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy, but at least we’ll know what went into it.”

And what was left out.

It would take some additional planning, and someone going to the store to pick out the food personally since he wouldn’t trust any type of delivery, but given that much of Tari’s list had focused on poisons and toxins, it seemed like an effort worth taking.

Not doing so could prove fatal.

₪   ₪   ₪

Imbecile!

Gretchen’s fingers curled into her palm, her long nails sending sharp pain shooting through the tender skin as she read the coded message that had come through her personal email.

She’d given one simple order: stop that OIG agent from investigating Ramon Zapato any further. She hadn’t said to get in an all-out gun battle with the man.

That explained why she hadn’t heard from her fixer last night with an update. The fool was dead.

At least that idiot had paid for his mistake. Death was far better than she would have given him.

She hoped he didn’t have anything tying him to her. He’d been responsible for several deaths at her directive – the Zapatos and that lawyer – so it was possible that he had been foolish enough to keep some of their communications.

The police would surely find his phone, but the numbers on that phone all led to her Shadows burner. They’d never trace that.

That phone may allow them to track his movements for the past few weeks, showing that he’d been present on the farm the night the Zapatos died. She had no illusions that the idiot had been smart enough to leave his phone behind.

It’d be best if one of their people could bury this. She’d have to see who they had with the necessary connections and clearance.

She made a mental note to follow up on it when she got home. For now, she had more important things to worry about than some low-level flunky who couldn’t complete a simple task.

“I have those reports for you.”

Gretchen looked up as Chase’s voice, smooth like silk, preceded him across her office. In his hand, a manila envelope drew her attention from his model-perfect hair and smooth complexion. Large red letters screamed CONFIDENTIAL on both sides of the envelope. A small label, affixed to the front upper corner, stated Crop Reports.

She took the folder from him and dismissed him with a small wave of her hand.

The door clicked shut behind him, then she thumbed the flap.

It lifted. Too easily.

Her eyes narrowed on the gummed lining. It had been sealed at one point. Had the glue been old? Or had someone, maybe Chase, taken an unauthorized peek at the envelope’s contents?

Her gaze shifted to the closed door.

Chase had never given her a reason not to trust him. Then again, the kind of secrets she knew, and the power that could be wielded with said secrets, could tempt the most trustworthy of people.

She’d have to keep an eye on him. There was too much at stake to risk a leak.

She pulled the stack of papers out and perused them.

The spring crops had failed at a little over half of the independent farms. Precisely as she’d planned. While it’d be nice to have all the independent farmers’ crops fail, doing so in the same year would most definitely garner attention.

This way, it would look like Mother Nature was simply unkind.

Next year, she’d take out another half of the remaining independent farms. A few years from now, none would remain.

Sustaining Life Farms would own the market.

Swiveling to her computer, she brought up Sustaining Life’s crop reports and did some quick calculations.

These crop failures would lead to some food shortages this year and next year. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. Perhaps, once Arthur was elected, he could use the crop failings at independent farms to apply pressure for them to sell out to Sustaining Life.

Her desk phone rang.

On cue. She’d expected this call since Chase dropped off the envelope.

“You got it?” Mike, the CEO at Sustaining Life Farms and a fellow tier one Shadow, sounded inordinately pleased.

A smirk curled her lips. Like he’d actually had anything to do with these numbers. No, that was all her and her team’s good work.

Still, if he wanted to think he’d driven these results, she’d let him have that perceived victory. “I did. The numbers are promising.”

“And those new seeds your team created? Worth their weight in gold. We’re harvesting the first crop now and it’s bigger, with better looking vegetables. Initial taste-testers have responded positively as well.” The man sounded practically giddy.

“Of course. We wouldn’t send you inferior seeds.”

“Never thought you would.” A brief pause indicated a change in topic. “The Zapato farm is ours. The daughter signed the sales contract this morning.”

“Excellent.” She already knew that Sustaining Life Farms owned the surrounding farmland. While the Zapato property wasn’t huge by most standards, it had been the sole holdout in that area. “And since he refused to use our special seeds, you won’t even have to worry about the soil being contaminated.”

“Which is good news for us. We’ll raze the buildings, clear the land, and be ready to plant come spring. We’ve also just acquired two new farms, one in Nebraska and one in Washington State.”

He didn’t have to tell her which ones. She already knew who’d been at the breaking point. Being turned down for a farming loan by the USDA had left those farmers little choice but to sell. At least they’d walk away with a good amount of money. Sustaining Life Farms, while ruthless, offered fair market value.

To do any less would invite criticism, and perhaps scrutiny.

They certainly didn’t need that. Especially after all the money they’d spent marketing themselves in a positive light. Even though they were nearing a monopoly, the public largely viewed them favorably.

They needed to keep it that way.

“Have you told the big guy?”

The question snapped Gretchen’s thoughts back to the conversation.

The big guy could be no one other than Arthur Topheth, but they never used names. “I’ll be forwarding this along as soon as I’ve thoroughly reviewed it. He will be pleased.”

She ended the call and turned back to the file, perusing the statistics and charts. Mike’s analyst had done a good job on this report. The presentation would give Arthur the high-level overview he’d want to see without forcing him to read all the details like she was now.

Arthur never had been one for details.

Reaching the last page, she stacked the papers, pushed back her chair, and crossed to her private document scanner, kept in her office for this very purpose.

Once the scanner converted the file to a digital copy, she uploaded it to an encrypted cloud storage site, then shot off a coded text to Arthur to let him know it was there. The cloud file could only be accessed by tier twos and above, so only a handful of people could see it. Of those, only one truly needed to know to look for it.

He’d be pleased to see their plan progressing so smoothly.

Yes, she’d had to have a few people taken out of the picture, but that was to be expected. Things should be back on track now.

And if anyone else got in the way, she’d make them disappear also. No one would derail their plans.

₪   ₪   ₪

“Jordan? It’s so good to hear from you.” Genuine warmth radiated through Tari Salah’s voice as Jordan put the phone on speaker and set it on his desk.

The closed office door would ensure no one overheard their conversation, but he bumped the volume down a few notches to be safe.

“Yeah, you, too.” He really should do better about keeping up with the group. He hadn’t talked to any of them since Rachel’s funeral, and that was five months ago. “Hey, I heard that you analyzed some seeds recently. Sent by a Ramon Zapato.”

“Yes. He wanted to know if there were any chemicals or additives in the seeds.” She paused. “He wasn’t wrong to be suspicious.”

That she remembered so quickly was reassuring, although he would’ve been surprised if she’d forgotten. It hadn’t been that long ago. “Ramon Zapato is dead. Murdered. I’m hoping you still have a copy of that report.”

A gasp responded. “Murdered?”

“Yes. Officially, it’s being investigated as a home invasion, but I’m not buying that story.” He cleared his throat. “Any chance he was killed because of what you found in those seeds?”

Silence ensued for a heartbeat. “It’s possible. The seeds had been highly genetically modified and contained a number of chemicals.”

“Do you still have the information?”

“Of course. I keep copies of everything I research, but that one in particular felt weighty.”

“Maybe worth killing for. Could you email it to me?” He hated to resort to something so easy to hack as email, but it was the fastest way to get the information. “Encrypted?”

“I’ll do it as soon as we’re done here.” The firmness of her tone left no doubt she’d follow through.

He gave her his work email, unease rippling through his chest. A mistake to use his work email? Maybe, but he needed this to be official. If that report contained what Malachi said it did, this would be going higher up the chain internally anyway.

“How are you?” Tari’s question, softly asked, seemed weighted, as if she somehow knew about all the troubles in his life.

“Okay. Almost got blown up last week and shot yesterday, but I’m still here so I can’t complain.” Unlike the people who had died in the explosion. “Your buddy Malachi showed up in the middle of my investigation, though. That’s how I knew to reach out to you.”

“Really.”

Why didn’t she sound surprised? “You knew he was going to be here?”

“Let’s say I’m not shocked. God has sent him to almost everyone in our prayer group. I figured it was only a matter of time before he showed up in your life and Lincoln’s life.”

“He’s, uh, different.” That felt like a gross understatement.

“He’s special,” Tari corrected gently. “If he gives you a word from God, listen. He’s one of the few that I know who has yet to get it wrong.”

“Yeah, sure.” That certainly didn’t make him feel any better. “Hey, look, I got a lot on my plate today. Thanks for sending that report on.”

“Always. And Jordan? Be careful. I’ve never known Malachi to show up randomly. When he comes, God is moving but so is the enemy. I fear you’re in danger.”

Maybe, maybe not. “I’ll watch for trouble.”

After saying she’d pray for him, Tari terminated the call. He set his phone aside and turned back to his inbox. How long would it take for her to send that report?

I fear you’re in danger.

Tari’s words echoed ominously in his head. Well, he’d been in an explosion last week, attacked by the probable bomber, and shot at yesterday, so she wasn’t far off. But was someone really out to get him? Or was it simply one of those weeks?

Okay, so he’d never actually had a week like this before, but he was in law enforcement. It was bound to happen sometime, right?

Except he knew the statistics. Most members of law enforcement never fired their guns.

It was probably a fluke. Life would get back to normal now. Boring, mundane, full of paperwork and lacking in life-or-death situations.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t shake Tari’s warning.

Tari had said she’d pray for him. Maybe he oughta be doing some praying himself.

A new email popped up, the return address of fighter@FightTheDarkness.com telling him exactly who it was from. He opened it, found a short message encouraging him to reach out if he had any questions, then double clicked the attachment.

He reviewed the test results, which really didn’t mean much to him, then zeroed in on her summary at the bottom.

As a scientist, I find no basis for including any of these additives or chemicals in seed production. I believe it to have potentially harmful health risks, particularly for those with certain chronic conditions or predisposed genetic factors. It is my recommendation that these seeds are not used in food growth or production.

He read the note again. It was precisely as Malachi had said. He wasn’t sure if he was happy to have it in writing or concerned to have the theory validated.

Concerned. Most definitely.

If these seeds were being mass distributed, then millions of lives could be in danger.

₪   ₪   ₪

Dalton’s ringing phone pulled him from his final review of their security plans for the night.

Tari’s name flashed on the screen.

While it was always good to hear from her, it was around quitting time on the East Coast. She should be driving home.

He could count on one hand the number of times she’d called him while driving.

His gut somersaulted, but he forced a light tone. “Hey, Tari.”

“Dalton.” Urgency lined his name. “I can’t believe I missed it before, but you’ve got to get in touch with Jordan. I sent him a file this afternoon. It links to that list you sent me from the farmhouse. I’m certain they’re poisoning people.”

“Whoa, slow down.” Background noise told him he was on Bluetooth. “You’re paying attention to the road, right?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to call you from my office, where someone might overhear. But you need to listen. Jordan called me earlier, asking about some seeds I tested last month. I found the report and sent it to him, then took a closer look at it. The chemicals in those seeds are among the ones you found in the barn.” A truck rumbled by, the sound momentarily drowning out her words. “I knew that list you gave me looked familiar, but didn’t place it until today.”

“Okay, I’ll call him and talk this over.” He still wasn’t sure he was following her. What seeds? Sunflower? Sesame? And what did Jordan – who he remembered meeting at Rachel’s funeral in February – have to do with these seeds? “How did you get the seeds in the first place?”

“A farmer sent them to me. At Malachi’s suggestion.”

Those words snagged his attention like few others could. If Malachi was involved, then he had no doubt this was a big deal. What it entailed remained to be seen, but every time he’d ever crossed paths with Malachi, it had led him straight to The Shadows.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think Malachi was on a personal vendetta to take The Shadows down himself.

“Malachi’s with Jordan now, I guess.” A shaky breath evidenced her concern. “This is big. I feel it in my soul.”

“It’s not too big for God, right? He’s brought it to us and we’ll figure it out with His help.”

“You’re right, of course.” The click-click of her blinker carried through the momentary silence.

He let it linger so she could focus on her driving. “How about you call me when you get home and we can talk about this more?”

“Call Jordan. Don’t wait for–”

The abrupt silence shot tension through his muscles. He straightened in the wingback chair, his fingers tightening on the phone. “Tari? You there?”

“I can’t control the car.” Her taut words hit him like a sledgehammer.

“What do you mean you can’t control it?”

“I’m picking up speed. The brakes aren’t working. I can’t steer.” The words spilled over one another, each one pounding his ears.

“Turn off the car.”

“I’m trying. It’s not working.” Breathlessness carried through in her voice. “I tried the emergency brake, too. I think someone is remotely controlling it.”

The Shadows. They were the only ones who hated Tari enough and had the resources to do something like this, right?

What could he do? Think, think. “How fast are you going? Can you look for a good place to jump out?”

He heard a noise in the background. “I can’t unlock the door.”

“Can you roll down the window?” He cringed at the idea of her climbing out the window and hitting the pavement, but it was better than crashing into another vehicle, which was probably what the person who’d hacked her car wanted.

“No. It’s not working. They’ve trapped me in here.”

At least she didn’t sound like she was in a full panic. That was good. Panic would cloud her thinking, but if she could stay somewhat calm, she might find a way out of this.

“Where are you? I’ll call the police. Maybe they can set up signal jammers or something.”

“I’m almost to the bridge…” Her voice faded, then came back, laced with the terror that had been missing earlier. “The corner! I’m going too fast. I’ll never make it!”

A loud crunch, followed by what sounded like ripping metal and a splash, then the call went dead.

“Tari? Tari!” He pulled his phone away to see that the connection had terminated.

He tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail.

Urgent prayers cascaded through his thoughts as he clumsily looked up the phone number for the Charlotte police.

“I need to report an accident.” He relayed what he knew and where Tari had been.

“We got a call about that and have emergency services en route.” The dispatcher sounded way too calm for the adrenaline racing through his body.

“You need to know it wasn’t an accident. Someone hacked her car and was controlling it remotely.”

Silence.

He looked at his phone again. Still connected. “I know how it sounds. I used to be a federal agent. But it’s true.”

“Okay, sir. We’ll look into it.”

Which is exactly what he would have said if he’d gotten a call like this one. “Please do. This lady is a friend of Lincoln Kingsley. We would appreciate an update once you have one.”

“Sir, you can call back in a while for an update.”

Well, clearly dropping Lincoln’s name hadn’t done him any good this time around. No wonder, really. He sounded like a nutcase.

After obtaining his information, the dispatcher ended the call.

Dalton dropped his head into his hands. Was she okay? If she’d gone into the water, was she in deep water? If so, had she been able to get out? Maybe the water shorted out the electrical system… but she still wouldn’t have been able to open the doors or roll down the windows. Did she even have something in her car with which she could break a window?

Images of her body floating in water, strapped into the driver’s seat of that metal coffin on wheels, flooded his mind. His breathing shallowed and pain stabbed his head.

No. He couldn’t think like that.

He dropped to his knees in front of the chair and prayed like never before. God was big enough to save her.

But what if God chose not to?

Twelve

Jordan packed up his laptop and snagged the clunky key ring, complete with a large plastic tag with the rental company’s logo on it and two key fobs for the rental car, from his desk. Why the heck they felt he needed two key fobs, especially when they were lashed together so he couldn’t even pass one off to someone else if they were to drive the vehicle, was a mystery, but that was how it’d come.

There was no putting this monstrosity in a pocket. No, he had to carry it like some weird trophy.

His cell phone vibrated.

Nope, not happening. The last time he answered an end-of-day phone call, it’d delayed him getting home, resulted in him taking this case, and now his car was riddled with buckshot.

Still, he glanced at the screen.

Ugh. His boss. No dodging this call.

“DuBois. I got a call about some tests you ordered? On USDA approved seeds?”

A wave of heat flashed through him. He’d sent those off this morning and placed orders in the system less than four hours ago.

For this to have warranted an immediate response… it didn’t bode well. “That’s correct.”

“Those seeds have been thoroughly vetted. Regularly tested. Care to explain?” Irritation lined the voice of his normally even-tempered boss.

“Questions have arisen as part of a case I’m investigating.” He let the words hang for a second. Why was he being called out on this? Laboratory testing was not uncommon for them. “If it’s all on the level, then the seed distributors shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“You’re wasting resources. Consider this case closed.”

Pain radiated through his jaw at his suddenly clenched teeth. He was being ordered off this? “With all due respect, we have three suspicious deaths tied to this case. I was shot at while on site. There’s something shady going on here.”

“You sure you aren’t looking for something?”

“I’ve got a buckshot-scarred car that says otherwise.” His fingers fisted at the reminder of his damaged ‘Vette.

“I thought that was the cartel.” The statement dared him to argue.

He’d take that dare. “That’s the story they want me to believe. Doesn’t add up.”

Obviously, he was looking into that angle. He had to. But he knew, deep in his gut, that it was a misdirect. So far, they’d been unable to find any link between the guy Estevan had shot at the farm and the cartel. He was certain they could dig for the next decade and still not find a connection.

Aside from that, there was no way the cartel would go to the trouble to track him down at some remote farm in the middle of Hicksville.

“Jordan.” A deep sigh came across the line. “You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, but this is, well, a little crazy.”

Fire rose in his chest. “Since when do you discourage pursuing the truth?”

Suffocating silence pressed in on him from all sides. He could hear his boss breathing, so he knew the call hadn’t dropped.

Finally, his boss cleared his throat. “Some directives are bigger than me.”

His stomach clenched. His boss wasn’t irritated. No, the man was afraid. But of what… or whom? “Care to elaborate?”

“I’m ordering you to stand down. There’s no case here.”

Ordered to drop a case. He couldn’t remember that ever happening before. And now… it felt like a cover up. “I’ve already sent those seeds off.”

“Call the lab tomorrow. Tell them the request is cancelled and that they can throw the seeds out.”

“What are you afraid I’ll learn?”

A sharp inhalation, followed by a short laugh. “Nothing. But those seeds are extensively tested. The FDA and USDA both conduct surprise tests at random times throughout the years. You really think you’ll find something that they’ve missed?”

When he put it that way, it did seem absurd, but what about the independent tests Ramon had run? That Tari herself had confirmed? “I don’t know, but there’s something rotten here.”

Why he held back the truth about Tari’s testing, he wasn’t sure, but it felt like a fact he needed to hold close, at least for now.

Maybe it was simply reluctance to bring Tari into this. Heaven knew she’d been through enough this past year.

His boss didn’t reply, but the silence screamed disapproval.

“If everything’s on the level, then these tests will prove it.”

“We don’t need these tests to prove it.” Testiness radiated from his boss’ voice. “They’ve been proven. Through many tests, run by multiple sources. You have other cases. Drop this. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” He clenched his jaw. He heard, all right. Didn’t mean he agreed.

“It’s settled then.” No ignoring the warning in those words. “I’ll expect your final report on this whole debacle by the end of the week.”

The call ended.

Had that really happened? Had the man who’d taught him to question everything, to never back down from pressure, caved to it himself?

Jordan had worked for him for years. Never had he questioned his boss’ integrity.

Until now.

The big question was… why? Had someone threatened his boss? The way the bodies had been piling up, he wouldn’t be surprised.

An even bigger question loomed. What was he going to do about the orders he’d been given?

The answer remained elusive, even as he snagged his laptop bag and pocketed his phone. By the time the elevator dinged on the parking garage level, he still didn’t know what to do.

The doors slid open and he stepped into the dank concrete-walled space.

Movement in his peripheral snagged his attention. He whipped toward it, his hand flying to the holster at his hip.

Malachi held up his hands slowly. “Sorry to startle you. This seemed like a good place to wait.”

He eased out a breath and willed his heart to steady. “Makes sense.” Except for one thing. This was a secured garage. “How’d you get down here?”

The rolling gate at the ramp to the street level made it impossible to walk in unnoticed. The emergency exits on the north and south sides of the garage were also locked and alarmed.

Malachi shrugged. “The gate was open when I got here. I walked in.”

Open? He’d have to talk to security about that lapse.

Well, it was a problem for another day. “You ready to head home?”

“If I’m still welcome there, sure.”

“Of course you’re welcome.” Even as the words left his mouth, Allison’s face flickered through his mind. Surely she was over her irritation at an unexpected guest by now. The way she’d been laughing with Malachi this morning told him that she didn’t hate Malachi.

Although she had seemed a little teed off during breakfast.

He led the way toward the rental SUV, which he’d parked a few rows over. As they climbed in and buckled their seatbelts, he glanced over at Malachi. “How’d it go at the church today?”

The whole idea was bizarre. Picking up and going somewhere at the drop of a hat, because God told you to? How could anyone live like that?

“It’s a work in progress for sure, but the pastor’s faith is strong and his God is even stronger. He’ll make it through, because he trusts in God.” Confidence rang in the words, as if the outcome had already been determined.

You had faith like that once.

The words whispered through his mind. He shifted on the seat as though suddenly sitting on nails. It was true. At one time, he never questioned that God could do anything. While he still believed that intellectually, it rarely translated into actions in his own life.

What was that the book of James said? Faith without works is dead?

What did that say about him?

“So, uh, what’s going on with that church?” Maybe a redirect would help ease the sandpaper scraping his soul.

“The pastor has been speaking truth in the power of the Holy Spirit. Some there don’t like that. There are rumors, and false accusations, leading to a growing divide in the body.” Malachi shook his head slowly. “Make no mistake. The enemy attacks hardest those who are making a spiritual impact. Those who face a lack of spiritual conflict should consider whether or not they’re doing anything of eternal value.”

Pressure built in his chest. Was that pointed at him?

A glance over at Malachi found the enigmatic man staring out the windshield, not leveling accusatory eyes on him.

Okay, so he was being paranoid. Why, he wasn’t sure. He and God were fine. No conflict…

In fact, other than this afternoon’s conversation with his boss and Allison’s displeasure at him inviting Malachi into their home, there was a discernible lack of conflict in his life.

But did that mean he wasn’t doing anything of eternal value?

The answer wasn’t entirely forthcoming.

“How are you?” Malachi’s question pulled him from the troubling thoughts. “You seem a bit unsettled in spirit tonight.”

Where to begin? This whole conversation bothered him, but he wasn’t one to spill his guts.

Malachi silently waited for an answer.

“Had an uncomfortable conversation with my boss right before I left today. About those seeds.” The words seemed to fall out of his lips, even though he knew he shouldn’t say too much about it.

“Based upon what happened with Ramon, I get the impression those seeds are a hot topic.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Complaints from farmers had poured in after the FDA and USDA had mandated specific seeds, but none of them had held the solid proof that Ramon’s complaint seemed to have. Most of them were simply irate with being told they couldn’t use their own seeds any longer. That, and the price tag associated with the approved seeds.

“I’m sure you can’t tell me the details, but I’d encourage you to pray about your next steps.” Malachi’s words sliced through the confusion of his thoughts. “And ask yourself what your boss has to gain, or lose, if you defy orders.”

That was a good question. While he’d been thinking about why his boss would make such a demand, he hadn’t stopped to consider the benefit or risk to his boss if he disobeyed.

He’d have to give that serious consideration.

And then decide if he followed orders or followed his gut. While the orders were very clear, everything in his core said he couldn’t abandon course, not now.

If Tari’s findings were true, and according to Malachi there was at least one other lab who had corroborated her findings, then closing this case would be a mistake of epic proportions.

₪   ₪   ₪

It had been ninety-seven minutes.

Dalton watched as another minute ticked by. Make that ninety-eight. An hour and thirty-eight minutes since Tari’s call had abruptly cut off.

He’d tried calling her dozens of times, but with the same result. Straight to voicemail.

If he’d been closer, he would have jumped in his car and sped all the way there, but Portland, Oregon was almost as far from Charlotte as he could get and still be in the contiguous U.S.

He’d even debated asking Lincoln to have the jet prepared and the pilots readied, but it was a misuse of campaign funds and still wouldn’t get him to Charlotte for many hours.

But now, over an hour and a half later, it was time to call the police department and try to get answers. If that failed, he’d call the area hospitals and see if Tari had been admitted. Calling the morgue would be his last resort, because he couldn’t dwell on the fact that she might not have survived the crash.

He dialed the police precinct he’d called earlier and identified himself. “I called earlier about a friend who was in an accident. I still can’t reach her. I need to know she’s okay.”

“I don’t have any information about what’s going on at the scene.”

The expected response didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it made him want to curse, a habit he’d really been working hard to break these past few months. If he still worked for the Special Assignments Bureau, he could’ve had the answer already, but he’d lost that access when he’d quit last November.

Time to bring Lincoln into this. “I work for Lincoln Kingsley and this woman is a personal friend of Mr. Kingsley and his wife. I need to provide them with an update on her condition. Maybe you could put me in touch with one of the officers on the scene.”

Hopefully Lincoln wouldn’t mind him dropping his name into the mix, but he’d found that it usually opened doors that otherwise remained closed.

In truth, he had yet to tell Lincoln about this. Lincoln was preparing for the evening’s debate and this news would shake him. He wanted to have all the facts before saying anything that might potentially derail Lincoln’s concentration and impact the debate.

A moment of silence lingered. Most likely, the dispatcher was trying to determine if Dalton was on the level or making this up.

He remained silent. Saying anything else could compromise his credibility.

Finally, a heavy sigh drifted across the line. “Let me see if I can reach someone. They may be busy with the scene and might not answer.”

“I understand. I’ll hold.” No way was he going to give them an out by asking for a call back. Holding the line added an urgency to his request, albeit a small one.

A click sounded, then classical music drifted softly into his ear. Every so often, an announcer’s voice cut over the music, heralding successes the police department had made in keeping the population of Charlotte safe or talking about upcoming police-sponsored community events.

Dalton paced the confines of his bedroom, pausing to look out the window at the congested streets of Portland below. Life went on while his world felt like it had frozen in place.

Finally, after what might have been two minutes but felt more like twenty, a different voice came on the line. “Officer Sparrow here.”

A sigh deflated Dalton. He hoped Sparrow was boots on the ground and not simply someone else in the department who’d stepped up to give him a firm brush-off. “Dalton Fowler. I called in the accident. I also work for Lincoln Kingsley and need to provide him with an update on Tari Salah’s condition. Are you at the scene?”

“Yes, sir, I am.” The respect in the officer’s voice told him he’d found a Kingsley supporter. While most officers spoke to him respectfully, there’d been a subtle shift in the man’s demeanor when he’d dropped Lincoln’s name.

“Is she okay?” His breath froze in immobile lungs and his tongue dried out as he waited for the man’s response.

“How about I let her tell you? She refused transport to the hospital.”

His head spun as air suddenly filled his lungs again. She was okay. If she could refuse treatment, she was going to be fine. “I’d appreciate that.”

A myriad of background noises drifted into his ear, everything from traffic to voices.

A lifetime passed before her familiar voice joined the chorus.

“Dalton?”

“Are you okay?” Concern added an unusual terseness to his words, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.

“I am, no thanks to…” She seemed to censor her words, likely because of the listening ears around her. “I’m sorry. My phone is somewhere on the floorboards of my car, which is currently being towed out of the water.”

“What happened? After our call dropped?”

“I went into the water.” A tremor shook her voice and he wished he could be there to make sure no one tried something like this again.

The hand not holding his phone fisted by his side. When he tracked down the people responsible for this, he’d make them pay.

“When the windows wouldn’t go down, I tried the moonroof. Thankfully, whoever hacked into my car must not have thought about that. The car sa-sank. Quickly. But I managed to unbuckle my seat belt and swim out through the moonroof.”

He frowned. Moonroof openings weren’t that large, but Tari was pretty small. “I’m glad that worked.”

“Me, too.” A small laugh escaped. “Another driver saw me go off the road and stopped to help. He called the police. The police told me another call came in reporting it right after. I’m guessing that was you.”

“Guilty.” Not that he felt the least bit guilty about that. No, the only guilt he felt was that she’d had to go through that alone. She should’ve had someone there, watching her back, to make sure something like this didn’t happen.

“I need to go. This nice officer is waiting for his phone.”

He’d dreaded hearing those words, even as he knew that this wasn’t the time or place to have the conversation that needed to come next. “Call me as soon as you can? This is a massive escalation and we need to discuss it further. And please thank the officer for me.”

“I will. On both counts.” The promise in those words contained an uncharacteristic somberness that told him she not only knew the direction their next conversation would go, but that she wasn’t completely opposed to it.

Good. That would make it much easier to convince her to accept the security that he had planned.

Now to talk to Lincoln about this and make sure he approved.

This had been close, too close. Next time, her enemies might not fail.

₪   ₪   ₪

“Obviously, you’re going to let this go.”

Jordan stared at Allison as she put the last of the Thai leftovers into the fridge. Had she not been listening to a word he said? “I don’t see how I can.”

Malachi had excused himself after dinner, saying he was going to take a walk and pray, leaving Jordan time to tell Allison about the troubling conversation with his superior.

He’d expected a reaction, but not this one.

Her features tightened and she closed the refrigerator door with a little more force than necessary. “Jordan, be reasonable. This is your job. Our livelihood depends partially on the money you bring home. All this,” she swept her hands in a dramatic arc around them, “goes away if you get fired.”

“We’re talking about the food supply. Countless lives that could be impacted if bad food is being grown. People could die. Including us.” How could she be more concerned about their lifestyle than their very lives?

She rolled her eyes. “I swear. Ever since you started listening to that Fight the Darkness podcast, you’ve bought into every conspiracy theory that floats by. Do you even hear yourself?”

Fire flared in his blood. “Do you? This isn’t a conspiracy theory. There are lab tests, conducted by respected scientists–”

“Tari Salah.” Allison put her hands on her hips. “That woman is all about conspiracies. I’m not sure how much credence I give to her findings.”

“People have tried to kill her. I’d say she’s less about conspiracy theory and more about truth.”

“Or so she’d have you believe.” Allison sighed deeply, massaging her temples. “I don’t want to fight about this. But please, think about your next steps and the ramifications of your actions. You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Do you really want to throw it all away for something that may be nothing more than an angry farmer who didn’t want to use the right seeds?”

“I’ve got three dead bodies that say this is more than a battle over seed use. Four, if you count the guy who tried to kill me.” A buzzing started in his head. How could Allison not see that everything pointed to something shady going on?

“Exactly!” She stepped close and traced a finger down his cheek. “Four dead bodies. You could be next. If you won’t drop this to save your job, how about your life? What if they come after you again? Or me?”

The words, exhaled on a shaky breath, plunged a knife into his heart.

He hadn’t considered that these guys might come after Allison. But it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, was it? If all this was connected, and he had to think it was, then these guys had already killed Ramon’s wife.

Allison might end up as collateral damage.

He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of her lightly floral perfume.

This investigation could come with a very high cost. Was he willing to pay the price?

If it meant losing Allison, then no. Absolutely not.

But what about the millions, maybe billions, of lives that could be lost if poisoned crops were distributed around the globe? If that’s even what was going on here.

“Let’s pray about it.” Where the words had come from, he wasn’t sure. He and Allison hadn’t prayed together for quite a while. Maybe it was time to change that trend.

She pulled back, her light eyebrows scrunching over her pale blue eyes. “Now you sound like Malachi.”

Maybe so, but Malachi wasn’t necessarily wrong. “There are worse things.”

“I don’t know. You have to admit that he’s a little out there.”

“Or maybe we aren’t far enough out there ourselves.” Malachi’s words as he recited that scripture passage kept replaying through his mind. Lukewarm. Spit you out. “I mean, when was the last time we went to church? Studied scripture? Prayed more than a rote blessing over a meal?”

She averted her eyes. “Those are religious activities. It doesn’t make us any less Christian if we’re not doing them.”

Funny how she didn’t sound convinced. And she certainly wasn’t convincing him. “Doesn’t it? How many verses talk about being in church, living in community with other believers? How many verses talk about studying scripture and praying and growing in faith? I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel closer to God now than I did a year ago.”

Where was all this coming from? He sure hadn’t spent much time thinking about it lately, at least not until Malachi’s words had hit him in the chest as they drove home from the farm yesterday.

A slightly pouty sigh escaped from Allison’s painted lips. “How do you even measure something like that? God loves us. Isn’t that enough?”

“God also expects us to love and honor Him in return. He warns against those who live like they don’t need Him.” Which was exactly how he’d been living, wasn’t it? Could he honestly say that his life didn’t display the attitude of that church Malachi described?

Unbidden, the words, spoken in Malachi’s voice, echoed through his mind. You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’

As he looked at all the stuff around him, he couldn’t help feeling that those words were truer than he’d like to admit.

“Let’s not argue. Especially about something like this.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared up at him, her breath tickling his chin. “Sure, you pray about it. God will tell you what I’ve already been saying. Our food supply has never been safer or more regulated.”

But even regulated programs could become corrupted. Voicing the argument wouldn’t get him anywhere.

She pressed her lips against his and he drew her close, enjoying the moment, even as the nagging thoughts in the back of his head refused to be silenced.

When she pulled back, her eyes searched his face. “All I ask is that you consider the impact. To us, this life we’ve built, and the family we’ll one day have. Maybe soon.”

He stilled. They hadn’t had the baby talk in over a year. Why was she bringing it up now?

She caught her lower lip in her teeth and averted her eyes.

Definitely hiding something. But was it something that big?

“Allison?” He let the unspoken question hang, his attention locked on every micro-expression flitting across her face, yet unable to decipher a single one.

“I’ve had some nausea the past week.”

The kitchen seemed to spin around him as he tried to wrap his mind around what she was saying. “But, the IUD…”

She shrugged. “I know. I shouldn’t be, but all birth control has some failure rate, albeit low. Maybe God had other plans. I’m planning to buy a test kit after work tomorrow. Just to be sure.”

A tremor rocked her body.

He pulled her against his chest and held her tight. A baby. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Sure, they’d talked about it, but the last time it’d come up they’d both agreed that they weren’t anxious to start down that road. Not yet.

Maybe God did have other plans.

If He did, what did that do to the decision in front of him now? Was he willing to risk their house and the life they’d built here, their unborn child’s future, on what might turn out to be career suicide?

₪   ₪   ₪

Arthur adjusted his tie, then shrugged into the charcoal suit jacket. The makeshift dressing room at the arena was tight, especially with a bodyguard crammed into the space with him. Somewhere in this building, Lincoln also prepared to face the cameras… and him.

There’d been no update on Tari Salah, but he hoped that Niles had come through as ordered. That Salah had died today, that Kingsley had heard about it, and that the man would be a mess for the televised debate.

A sharp rap came from the dressing room door. Before he could say anything, the door opened and his publicist stepped inside.

The trim man, no older than thirty, had worked for Saul before and was a shark when it came to navigating the press. Right now, his beady eyes narrowed on Arthur as if smelling blood. In his hand, he clutched a manila envelope that looked like it’d been run over by a postal truck or two.

Something told him this wasn’t a friendly visit.

The publicist didn’t remove his eyes from Arthur. “Can I have a minute? In private?”

Nope, not a social call.

“Of course.” He kept his tone calm, in spite of the tension tightening his muscles. Turning to his guard, he waved him outside. “Give us the room.”

The guard, a low-level Shadows lackey, nodded, then slipped through the door. The latch clicked behind him.

“What’s up?”

The publicist crossed the space and stood in front of Arthur. Without a word, he opened the envelope and pulled out a few sheets of paper. He shoved Arthur’s hairbrush, hairspray, and the make-up that he so loathed wearing aside, then plopped down the first sheet of paper.

Mocked up like a newspaper, but clearly printed with an inkjet printer on standard copy paper, an image of a balcony and a hot tub took up the center of the page.

His throat closed up.

The hot tub wasn’t empty. The angle of the picture made his face clearly recognizable. But he wasn’t alone. A blonde head, photographed from behind, was next to him.

The headline above the image screamed Presidential candidate Arthur Topheth caught with mystery woman.

He lifted his gaze to meet his publicist’s. The man continued to spear him with those intense eyes, never wavering even as he dropped another paper on top.

Arthur looked down at the next one. Another picture, another headline, this time asking Who is the woman who has caught Topheth’s eye?

This wasn’t good. Not at all.

He was pretty sure he knew what one of the upcoming images would show.

Another sheet of paper landed on top of the pile. Like roadkill, it commanded his attention. This picture showed both his face and Liz’s as they sat next to each other in the hot tub, his arm draped around her shoulders and her head nestled against his chest.

The headline hit him in the gut like a sledgehammer. Topheth moves in on Saul Haskins’ legacy and his widow.

Several more pieces of paper hit the table. He picked them up and flipped through them. The compromising images went from bad to worse, ending with one showing both him and Liz climbing out of the hot tub.

While the nudity ensured those pictures would never run in any newspaper, there was no way they wouldn’t be plastered everywhere online.

“Tell me these are fabricated.” Challenge laced the publicist’s words.

How to play this? His publicist had his back, always had. He’d even had Saul’s back through multiple scandals. This was bad, but at least it wasn’t quite so scandalous. He and Liz were both single, consenting adults. Not like when Saul was openly cheating on his wife.

His silence must have answered the question, at least in the publicist’s mind.

The man cursed. “Did you learn nothing from all Saul’s indiscretions?”

He slashed his hand through the air. “Do not compare me to Saul. There were no drugs or alcohol involved. No infidelity. Just two single adults enjoying each other’s company.”

“You know how this is going to go over? The public will flip. Most people aren’t going to want a president and vice president who are involved.”

He held up his hands to stem the tide. “Maybe, maybe not. We could spin it as a sharing of mutual grief over the passing of Saul–”

The publicist snorted. “That’ll win the romantics and bleeding hearts, maybe. But those who are more pragmatic will view this as a negative. They’ll want to know that the VP can think for herself and if they know you’re sleeping together, they’ll view her as compromised.”

Yeah, he was aware of that. It was the main reason he and Liz had kept their relationship a secret.

While it wasn’t against the law for the president and vice president to be in a relationship, most people wouldn’t likely go for it. “Then we spin it as a fake. AI generated images and all that. We could claim that one or both of us was falsely super-imposed over the image of someone else.”

The publicist tossed a piece of paper on top of the pile. “This came with it.”

$100,000 and this all goes away. You have until Friday at 8 a.m. Eastern time.

An account number, likely for an offshore account, followed the demand.

A hundred thousand? Was the blackmailer nuts? Besides, they all knew how these things worked. He could pay up, but then there’d be another request, and another, until they bled him dry.

“I’m not paying that.”

The publicist agreed with a single nod. “I’m glad to hear that. Paying this guy off could result in him not only going public with these pictures, but with the fact that you tried to buy his silence.”

“So let’s get ahead of this.” His mind raced as he tried to envision how it would play out. “What if we release a statement that someone has created fabricated pictures, compromising pictures, and are trying to blackmail me with these fake images? If we release that statement first thing tomorrow, we can plant the idea that it’s all fake before the images are circulated.”

The publicist rubbed the back of his neck. “Even at that, there will be people who suspect the truth. Those images will be examined, scrutinized, and ripped apart. Some people will figure out that the pictures are real.”

“All we can do is deny it.” Not a great defense, but it was all they had. “We have until Friday morning. I know someone who might be able to dig into this. Maybe we can ID this guy before the deadline.”

“You want to bring an outsider into this? Are you crazy?” The publicist’s eyes bugged.

“He’s a friend.” Okay, so calling Niles a friend was stretching things a bit. “He’s also discreet. I trust him.”

The publicist’s face reddened and he clamped his lips together, but didn’t argue further. Finally, the man deflated. “I’ll get a statement written up. We can review it later, after the debate. In the meantime, you and Liz need to be careful to maintain proper boundaries when anyone could possibly see it. People will begin analyzing every look, every interaction. Do not give them anything to speculate about.”

He ground his teeth at the man’s bossy tone, but bit back his arguments. After all, this was really his fault. He’d known it was risky at the time, but had thought the time of day and darkness would hide his actions. “Understood.”

He was not looking forward to telling Liz about this. It wouldn’t go over well with the carefully cultivated do-gooder image she’d managed to maintain, even while married to a louse like Saul.

Silence descended for a moment.

The publicist reached out and straightened Arthur’s tie, then brushed imaginary lint off the shoulders of his suit jacket. “Okay. We’ll get through this. For now, you need to go out there and destroy Lincoln Kingsley.”

“I intend to.” He knocked the publicist’s hands away. “If you wouldn’t mind closing the door behind you, I need a few minutes alone to get back into the right headspace.”

And make a critical phone call.

The publicist reached for the blackmail package, but he held his hands over the pile. “Leave them. I want to study them more after this is over.”

The publicist pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. “I don’t like the idea of these floating around.”

“I’ll put them in my bag. No one will mess with it.”

The publicist’s hand fell away and he reluctantly turned, exiting the room without a word.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Arthur crossed to lock it, then moved to his laptop bag. He opened the hidden compartment and fished out his Shadows phone.

He still had almost a half hour before the debate began. More than enough time to call Niles and get him on this.

Yes, it meant sharing the images with Niles, but if anyone could track down the sender, Niles could.

They would find the joker behind this and silence him or her. Permanently.

No one tried to blackmail him and lived to tell about it.

Thirteen

“Still no announcement for me to make?”

Dalton shook his head at Lincoln’s question. Like the debate was the right place to announce Lincoln’s VP pick, anyway. “I’ve had a few other things on my mind today. I’ll have my answer to you by Friday, as promised.”

A sober nod responded. “I figured as much, but thought maybe you’d heard from God.”

The debate would start in ten minutes. Right now, Dalton waited with Lincoln, Vanessa, and their entourage of security personnel in the wings.

His phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans. He dug it out.

Not a familiar number, but maybe it was Tari.

He stepped away from the group, finding a small measure of privacy near the emergency exit.

“I’m home now.” Tari’s voice sounded tired. Beyond tired, actually. Absolutely drained. Almost dying would do that to you.

“How are you? Any injuries?” He’d told himself he wasn’t going to grill her about this, but the questions flew out of their own volition.

“I’m better than I should be.” She sighed. “The airbag deployed.”

He winced. That could do some damage. “That’s rough.”

“I had no idea how rough. Until today.” In the background, he heard what sounded like a cupboard door close. “But I’m home now. The alarm is on and I washed the lake water off me. Things are already looking up.”

He was glad she thought so, because from where he stood things had escalated past a point of no return. “This was serious. They didn’t intend for you to walk away from that.”

Too blunt? Maybe, but he wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know.

She readily agreed. “What I don’t understand is why now?”

“You’re making them nervous. You revealed that tier one guy. They’re probably wondering who’s next.”

“I’ve revealed a lot of their people.”

“But none this high up. If Topheth is The Shadow Master, he’s probably afraid you’ll find the proof before the election.” He leaned against the wall, his gaze surveying the space around him. “Would you consider taking a leave from work and…” he shot up a prayer that God would guide him in this, “And come here? Lincoln is surrounded by security day in and out. I can’t think of a safer place for you to be.”

The silence roared louder than the crowd in the arena. Was she surprised? Thinking? Angry?

“You-you want me to come there?” The question croaked into his ear.

“Yes. You can still run your podcast from wherever we are, but you’ll be safe.”

“I can’t flake on work.”

“Are you kidding?” He swallowed hard, hating the words he knew he had to say next. “After what happened the last time The Shadows came after you at a lab, I’m sure they’ll grant your request.”

The words dropped like lead.

No doubt, memories of the explosion that had destroyed the lab she’d previously worked at weighed on her. They weighed on him, too.

“I don’t want to be a burden. Lincoln has enough to worry about without having another person to take care of.”

“He’ll worry about you less if you’re here. We both will.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Please come. You won’t be a burden. I promise.”

That heavy silence descended again, but he waited it out.

Tari was a thinker. She needed time to consider her options, not that he felt like she had many other choices.

“And Lincoln’s okay with this?”

She sounded so troubled. He had to convince her. “You kidding? It was his idea.”

“Was it now?” A hint of amusement lightened her tone. “Because this sounds like a completely Dalton sort of plan to me.”

“Well, I may have suggested that we could help. But he’s the one who insisted that I convince you to join us. And Vanessa? She’s thrilled with the idea of having you around.”

“Really? She doesn’t even know me.”

He chuckled, remembering Vanessa’s enthusiastic response to the idea. “She’s surrounded by men all day. I think the idea of having another woman around was enough. Besides, we all listen to your podcasts. I bet she feels like she knows you already.”

“Then I accept. Thank you. Honestly, since I got home about an hour ago, I’ve been waiting for the sound of breaking glass.” Her voice trembled. “The alarm to go off. A rocket to hit the house. Something.”

The fear bleeding through her voice twisted his heart. He hated that she felt that target on her back. “Maybe you should stay at a hotel tonight.”

“Because they can’t track me down there? I’m sure they monitor my credit cards.” She exhaled loudly. “No, at least here I have good security.”

The Shadows probably did monitor her cards. And while she could always pay cash, any decent hotel would require a credit card on record for incidentals. “We fly out tomorrow. We’re already planning to detour to Charlotte to pick you up. Can you get to the airport?”

“I can call a cab.”

A cab. How could they be sure that the cab driver wasn’t a Shadow? “How about if I arrange transportation? I’ll text you in the morning with a time, but it’ll probably be early evening your time.”

He half expected an argument, but her simple acceptance showed how much the events of the day had shaken her. “Oh, did you call Jordan?”

Jordan? His mind blanked for a moment. Oh yeah, she’d been telling him about something Jordan was working on before she lost control of her car. “With all that’s been going on, I completely forgot.”

“You need to call him. I have a feeling it’s critically important.”

“I will. Tomorrow. Text me his number, okay?”

“As soon as we hang up.”

A roar erupted from the arena and he lifted his head to see Lincoln wheeling on stage.

Time for him to rejoin the team in the wings so he could keep an eye on things. “Hey, the debate is starting, so I need to get to work. You stay alert tonight and we’ll touch base tomorrow.”

“I will. Thank you.” She paused briefly. “You know, Dalton, I can see why Lincoln chose you to lead his security team. You have natural leadership skills that inspire trust.”

He barely heard her say good-bye as her words replayed in his mind.

Leadership skills? Him? He’d always thought of himself as more of a lone wolf than a leader.

Stay here. Join me. As my new running mate. Lincoln’s words echoed in his mind, running alongside Tari’s voice. Leadership skills.

Was this the confirmation he’d been half-heartedly praying for?

₪   ₪   ₪

Arthur stepped into the spotlight, smiling broadly and waving at the crowd, many of whom cheered loudly and waved back. From the opposite side of the stage, Lincoln Kingsley wheeled himself across the platform.

The events of the past hour raced through his mind like an invading army. He needed to get his head in the game or he’d blow this opportunity to upstage Kingsley.

Bypassing his podium, Arthur met Lincoln in the middle and shook his hand. “I’ve been looking forward to this day.”

Lincoln’s grip was surprisingly firm for a cripple. The man stared him in the eyes, a fire and intensity radiating from those dark brown depths. “I know who you are.”

Arthur’s spine stiffened. Lincoln couldn’t mean what he thought. He forced a light tone. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

“The Shadow Master.” Lincoln’s smile never faltered, in spite of the somber tone of his words.

Ice slipped beneath his skin. If Lincoln knew, Tari Salah knew. How long until she used that stupid podcast of hers to expose him?

With any luck, his team had succeeded in eliminating that threat today, although Lincoln didn’t appear fazed so he had his doubts. Niles also had not mentioned it in their earlier conversation.

Not a good sign.

He pulled in a calming breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Extracting his hand, he straightened and turned his back on Kingsley to approach his mic. His thoughts raced as he crossed to his assigned spot.

The conversation with Niles earlier, in which he’d revealed the nature of his relationship with Liz and sent copies of the incriminating pictures, played through his head. Niles had assured him that they could use the angle of the pictures to figure out where they had been shot from and, from that, determine who had taken them.

Once they did, that person would pay.

No one threatened him and lived.

As the moderators welcomed the crowd and outlined the ground rules for the debate, Arthur forced the thoughts from his mind. There would be time enough to worry about all that later. Right now, he needed to make sure that Lincoln went down in smoke and flames. It was his sole purpose for this debate.

The moderators started the debate, asking questions designed to prompt discussion about current hot topics and purported holes in each party’s campaign.

As Kingsley went into a particularly dusty plan for economic growth, Arthur’s gaze drifted beyond the man to the people on Kingsley’s team that waited in the wings. There, front and center, stood that blasted Dalton Fowler.

So close, yet so untouchable.

He worked to keep his expression neutral and his mind focused on Kingsley’s words so he’d have a good response, but it was hard with Fowler standing there. Fowler had singlehandedly derailed so many of their plans. If not for him, Tari Salah would be dead. Britt Wolfe would be dead. Their lab in the Smoky Mountains would still be operational. Ephraim Rosenbaum would be incarcerated for murder. They’d have control of the nation’s water supply.

But no. Fowler had to screw up all those hard-fought, well-laid plans.

Shoot. And now he’d missed part of Kingsley’s droning response.

He tore his gaze from Fowler and focused on Kingsley, who sat behind a shorter podium that had been modified for accessibility purposes.

While he’d missed part of what Kingsley said, he was able to pick up on enough to know he hadn’t missed anything but some dry details.

When his turn came, he provided a succinct overview of his own economic plan, giving enough details to tease the public with the plan’s brilliance while not revealing enough to let anyone else, most notably Kingsley, steal from his playbook. A few well-placed verbal jabs poked manhole-sized gaps in Kingsley’s plan.

The next question turned to their vice-presidential picks.

Now this should be good. Kingsley, without a VP, having to talk about why he was currently running alone.

Maybe he’d give a clue as to who he was considering as his running mate.

It was his turn to answer first. “As you all know, Liz Haskins is a smart woman with a heart for the people. Her countless charitable contributions and innumerable volunteer hours show that she loves this nation, and most notably it’s people, with a pure and honest heart. She has organized and led dozens of causes and will help me return our government to one that is for the people. Our united goal is to represent you, the people of the United States, well and make sure that everyone, from the rich to the everyday working man, has a voice and is heard.”

Let’s see Kingsley top that.

The moderators shifted to Kingsley, asking first about the recent departure of his running mate.

If the topic had Kingsley on edge, the man didn’t show it. “Cliff is a good man and an even better friend. The spotlight is a hard place to be and his family was paying the price. I respect his decision to put the well-being of his family first and we remain close.”

Kingsley fell silent for a moment, his gaze very intentionally scanning the arena as if taking in each individual face.

The hush over the crowd made it feel as if they all waited with baited breath on his next words.

Maybe they did. As much as he hated to admit it, Arthur himself waited for Kingsley to address the current vacancy in his campaign.

“I’m considering several very solid people to join me in this race. I’m not going to reveal any names as long as discussions are still underway, but I can assure you that anyone I consider will share my same commitment to honesty, ethics, and transparency. You, the American public, deserve that from your leaders and my personal vow to you is to always put you and your well-being first.”

That was a good response to a difficult topic. Darn it.

He needed to know who would be joining Kingsley. Once they had a name, they could begin poking into that person’s life to find weaknesses to exploit. Or loved ones to threaten.

The best way to derail Kingsley’s campaign was from the inside and he intended to use every resource at his disposal to do that.

All they needed was a name. Then they could begin destroying that person’s life.

₪   ₪   ₪

Jordan dropped heavily into his desk chair and stared at the monitor as his laptop booted up.

For the first time in… months, at least… he’d gotten up early and read his Bible. Prayed. And no matter how logical Allison’s argument sounded last night, and the potential of a mini-DuBois entering the world in eight or so months, he didn’t feel like he should comply with orders.

In fact, he had the distinct impression he should not contact the labs and cancel the tests.

Those tests needed to occur as planned. If everything was on the level, those tests would show it and then he could close the case in good conscience. But, if those tests confirmed Tari’s findings, as he felt deep in his gut that they would, then he had to see this through.

No matter the outcome.

In the meantime, he’d continue, but quietly. Maybe he could keep it under his boss’ radar for the day or two he was waiting for the results to come back.

He pulled up Tari’s report and scanned the list of chemicals she identified in the seed.

None of them meant anything to him, but he’d research each one individually and see what he could learn. It’d make for a long day, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be time well spent.

He’d been working for an hour when his cell rang.

The number wasn’t familiar, but it had a local area code. He answered.

“Jordan DuBois? This is Dalton Fowler. Tari said I should give you a call.”

Jordan’s hand froze on the mouse.

He remembered this guy from Dallas, not to mention from everyone’s stories about how he helped them survive The Shadows.

First Malachi and now Dalton. This didn’t bode well for his future at all.

But it did make him think he was on the right track, whether he wanted to be or not. “Dalton, sure. How’s it going, man?”

“Well, life’s been interesting, to say the least.”

“Yeah, that debate last night was intense.” He and Allison had watched the whole thing. Malachi had joined them about thirty minutes into it, once he’d returned from his walk. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I found myself in the middle of a situation a week ago that resulted in a raid on a farm in Nebraska. We recovered a number of chemicals, including those Tari identified in some seeds you asked her about.”

A raid that turned up chemicals? On a farm, no less?

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was too early in the day for this. “I take it these chemicals were obtained illegally?”

“Some of them, yeah. Many are controlled. Those, we’ve been able to trace to stolen shipments.” Dalton paused for a heartbeat. “I’m thinking it wouldn’t be a bad plan to meet up and compare notes.”

Probably. From what he knew, though, Dalton travelled with Lincoln. As of last night, Lincoln had been in Portland, Oregon. That was a long way from Kansas City. “Sounds like it might be helpful. Where are you headed next?”

A pause answered his question.

Of course. Dalton probably couldn’t disclose that, even to Lincoln’s friends. It was no doubt confidential.

“We’re headed back to Kansas City tonight. Lincoln has a rally on Friday, but we’ll be in town for a day tomorrow.”

Okay, that would work. Maybe he’d even have some of the test results back by then. “How about we meet for coffee?”

After being ordered to drop the case, having Dalton come to the office was out. He didn’t want anyone to see him meeting with Dalton and connecting the dots. A neutral location, far from the office, was the best option.

“That sounds good. Oh, and I’ll probably be bringing Tari with me. I suspect she knows a heck of a lot more about all these chemicals than either of us.”

Tari? Well, that was unexpected. “She’s coming to Kansas City?”

Another pause, longer this time. “She’s very concerned about all this and thinks that The Shadows are involved.”

Why did he feel like there was a whole lot more to the story than that?

Well, if Dalton didn’t feel like sharing, he couldn’t force him. “That sounds great.”

They settled on a coffeeshop on the Kansas side of the city and he ended the call. As he set the phone aside, he pondered the coming meeting. That coffeeshop was way out of his way. But that also meant it was way out of the way of pretty much everyone he associated with, so no one would see him meeting with Dalton and Tari.

Now to keep this under his boss’ radar for at least the next twenty-four hours.

He put his glasses back on, watching as the blurry world came into focus. Knowing that Tari was coming, researching each of these chemicals on his own felt like a waste of time.

Today, he’d turn his attention back to some of his other cases. That’d make his boss happy and make it look like he was following orders.

Tomorrow, he’d hopefully have something more concrete to take to his supervisor.

Although if his boss was being pressured from higher up, evidence may not matter. The thought drove a stake into his heart.

Had his boss been compromised?

He pulled up the most recent report submitted by one of the agents on his team. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, his boss was right about one thing. There were other cases on their plate and those cases deserved his attention as well.

A new email came through and he opened it to find a courtesy notification about the raid on the meat packing plant. The DEA had found traces of narcotics in the wreckage. They’d also tied the guy he’d arrested to the explosives, although they didn’t think he’d been working alone.

While he was no longer active in that investigation, he appreciated the update. Some sort of closure was always a nice thing. He shot off a brief response, then turned to the reports awaiting his review.

He’d gotten through the first report and started on the next when a loud blaring sounded. The lights strobed, the flashes disorienting him as he stood.

A fire?

He hadn’t gotten any notifications from building management about an alarm test or drill today, so they’d better take this seriously.

Even though he knew evacuation protocols said to leave everything behind, he disconnected his laptop, closed the lid, and slid it, along with his wallet and keys, into his carrying case.

On the off chance that this was really something, he wanted to make sure he had these essentials available.

A notification dinged on his phone.

As he shouldered his bag, he grabbed his cell phone and checked the notification.

Bomb threat. Evacuate now.

The text from building management sent daggers through his veins. That was worse than a fire. Much worse.

He needed to get his team out of here now.

He slid his phone into his pocket and jogged across the office to his open doorway. Around the area, he saw people hurrying toward the exit, some with more haste than others.

He raced around the perimeter, checking the offices, before bringing up the rear of evacuees.

The fire door clanged behind them. Pounding footsteps echoed in the cement-walled stairwell as countless feet descended flight after flight of stairs.

Was there really a bomb? Statistically, it was probably a hoax, although if there was ever a prime target, a federal building that housed multiple law enforcement agencies would be it.

Sean’s curly red hair bobbed half a flight below him.

Good. He hadn’t seen his friend evacuate, although he’d known no one was left in their office space. Bodies jostled against him, an elbow connecting with his ribs and someone bumping into his back.

It felt like it took hours to descend the three flights to the ground level. With each step, he expected to hear the explosion, feel the building shake, have concrete crash down on his head.

He burst out of the emergency stairwell, blinking in the bright sunlight.

Police and SWAT officers waved everyone across the street. Barricades had been erected two blocks on either side of the building, holding back traffic. He joined the throng crossing the street, taking cover in the shade of a tall building on the other side of the road.

Sean wove through the crowd toward him. “Rumor has it there’s a bomb.”

“Bomb threat.” He surveyed the tall building. “Big difference.”

“Only until it goes off.” Sean elbowed him in the side.

If it went off.

Time crawled. What was going on? He scanned the perimeter established by law enforcement. A few officers in tactical gear holding joysticks evidenced that robots had been sent in.

This would take forever. Already, people were dispersing.

Not a bad plan. At the very least, maybe they should grab an early lunch.

He looked at his watch. Very early. It was only about eleven a.m. And he wasn’t even hungry. So much for that thought.

But a coffeeshop, one with free Wi-Fi, wasn’t out of the question.

In spite of the practicality of the idea, he didn’t move. Instead, he forced his gaze to travel slowly up the building. Why, he didn’t know. It’s not like he could see a bomb or anything.

Movement in a third floor window drew his attention.

Someone was in there.

He squinted, but the distance was too great for him to see.

Wait a second. Three windows from the corner… that was his office. Was someone in his office?

A fly buzzed against his glasses, slipping between the lenses and his eye. He jerked them from his face and shooed it away, his attention darting back to the window.

Oxygen congealed in his lungs.

He could see the window. Clearly. As if it was close enough to touch. The miniblinds were crooked, one corner angled about a foot higher than the other. They’d been hanging straight when he’d left the office. A shape moved in front of it, but it was too shadowed for him to make out any details.

Make out any details? Who was he kidding?

That window was across the street and on the third floor. And he was basically blind without his glasses.

So how in the world could he see it clear as day?

He blinked, expecting the image to blur, but it drew even closer. Like a camera with a high-powered zoom lens.

His throat parched. The noises around him faded.

How?

Memories of the incident with the scarecrow crowded in, but this was so much further than the scarecrow had been. To see so clearly, from so far away… well, it was impossible.

The blinds moved. The credenza beneath the window rocked and a flash of blue striped fabric crossed in front of the corner where the blinds had been shoved higher.

An arm appeared in the gap. Caucasian. There was something dark on the skin.

He stared at the dark mark and the arm zoomed closer, as if he’d picked up a pair of binoculars and focused in on it.

A tattoo. Of an S.

The arm disappeared from view.

“Sooo…” Sean bumped his arm. “You like being blind or something?”

He tore his gaze from the window to look at Sean, who rose in a blurry mess of red curls and freckles in front of him. Blurry, not clear or super focused. He blinked, but there was no change. Whipping his head back around, he sought out his office window, but everything was a distortion of vague shapes.

Whatever had happened to his vision a moment ago, it was normal now.

Could he have hallucinated the whole thing? He’d never had any kind of visual issues, other than poor vision, but maybe he was suffering a mental break.

No. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew someone was in his office.

He put his glasses on, then jogged toward the police line.

No one should be in the building. Maybe they could send a robot in there and get a good visual of the guy.

And prove he wasn’t crazy.

A police officer moved to intercept him. He held up his badge, but the man didn’t budge.

“Sir, this is a restricted area.”

“I’m ASAC DuBois, OIG.” Maybe his credentials would gain him some credibility. He nodded at the building behind the officer. “There’s someone in there. I saw him in a window. In my office.”

The officer’s dark eyes narrowed on him. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

After a second’s hesitation, the officer lifted the police tape. “Follow me.”

They crossed to where a man in black tactical gear stood overseeing the men working the robot controls. “This guy says he saw someone in one of the windows.”

The officer, who most certainly was the team leader, focused in on him. “And you are?”

Jordan showed his badge, then pointed to his office window. “He’s in my office. There’s no reason someone should be in there.”

The team leader stared at the window, then assessed Jordan, seeming to zero in on his glasses. “That’s quite a distance.”

And his glasses evidenced that he didn’t have the greatest vision. The man didn’t say it, but the implication was there. “The blinds aren’t how I left them. Plus, I saw movement and blue stripes.”

Best to leave out the hyper-focused vision and tattoo, at least for now. This guy would never buy it.

Heck, he had trouble buying it.

The team leader looked up at the window as if expecting the man to bust the glass, lean out, and wave.

“Can you send one of the robots in there? As a courtesy from one agency to another? We work some sensitive cases. I’d hate for them to be compromised because someone broke in during a false bomb threat.”

And the longer they stood out here without a loud boom and crumbling building, the more this felt like a hoax.

“Our objective is to clear the building of explosives.” The team leader crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Not protect your office.”

“Even if that bomb threat might have to do with one of our cases?” He leaned in, dropping his tone. “I’ve got three suspicious deaths. Someone tried to kill me yesterday. How many people in this building can say that?”

What a thing to claim as bragging rights.

The team leader assessed him with narrowed eyes. He held the look.

“Follow me.” The team leader led him toward the robot operators and directed one of them to send the robot to his office.

It took several precious minutes for them to get the robot to the third floor and into the OIG offices.

The camera panned the office space. Chairs rose out of the empty space, distorted by the camera’s low angle.

“Where to?” The operator didn’t remove his eyes from the screen in front of him as he navigated the robot forward.

It all looked so different from this angle. “Offices are along the outside wall, so go past all these desks.”

The conference room door at the end of the hallway bounced closer as the robot advanced. Jordan’s tense fingers jerked as he fought the irrational urge to grab the joystick and make the robot move faster. Instead, he plunged his hands into the pockets of his chinos and forced even breaths.

No point in giving these guys a reason to regret helping him.

As it neared the door, he leaned closer. “Okay, now go to the right.”

The image blurred before his eyes as the robot turned and the camera tried to refocus on its surroundings. Once the picture crystallized again, he nodded, as if doing so would advance the machine down the hallway. “My office is the next one.”

The robot moved forward.

Natural light spilled out of the open door of his office, growing closer with each second. At the doorway, the operator turned the robot and advanced it into the room, then stopped and slowly panned the space.

No sign of movement.

His breath leaked from him in a low hiss. What he’d been expecting, he wasn’t sure, but he’d hoped they’d catch the guy red-handed.

Instead, it looked like they’d missed him altogether.

“Maybe he’s hiding behind the desk.” The idea sounded lame even to his own ears. “He could’ve heard the robot coming.”

The camera panned the room once more, taking in even the furthest corner, before rounding the desk and looking beneath.

Empty. As he’d feared.

He expelled a sigh. “He must’ve left while we were trying to get the robot up there.”

“Or maybe there was no one there to begin with.” Irritation lined the team leader’s words. “I told you there was no way you saw anything from way down here.”

Jordan bit back his argument. Not like he could prove what he knew he’d seen. Once he got back into his office, sure. The man likely had messed things up enough that he’d be able to see evidence of an intruder, but right here, looking at it through a camera lens? No way.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we still have a lot of space to clear.” The team leader’s tone left no room for argument.

He swallowed back his excuses and with them, his pride. “I appreciate you checking.”

No reply came, nor was one needed.

Jordan turned and crossed the street again.

Despite the lack of evidence and what the team leader thought, he knew what he’d seen. A guy had been in his office, one wearing a blue striped shirt and sporting an S tattoo on his forearm. That tattoo was his best lead to finding out who that man was and he emblazoned the image in his mind.

He wouldn’t let this go. He’d figure out who had been in his office and why.

Fourteen

“We’re beginning our descent.” The pilot’s voice broke into Dalton’s concentration as he felt the jet slowing.

It was a little strange being the only passenger on Lincoln’s jet, but after the events in Portland, he and the rest of the security detail had decided it would be much safer for them to stop in Kansas City and send everyone home than for Lincoln and the rest of the team to make the trip to Charlotte. Given that Kansas City was between Portland and Charlotte, it hadn’t even required any massive detours to accomplish.

He felt better knowing Lincoln and Vanessa were safely tucked away at their home.

The plane landed smoothly, taxiing to a stop at a private terminal on the outskirts of Charlotte’s bustling airport.

As the engines shut down, he rose and met the pilot at the entrance to the cockpit. “I’ll be back within the hour. Can we be ready to roll by then?”

The pilot nodded. “I’ll see that she’s refueled and all systems are go.”

“Thanks, man.” He tugged a Kansas City Chiefs cap down over his head and slipped on sunglasses. While both were practical defenses against the bright late afternoon sunshine, they were also defensive mechanisms.

That bounty The Shadows had placed on his head couldn’t be taken too lightly.

The co-pilot, the only other person on this leg of the journey, had already opened the door and lowered the staircase.

After a careful perusal of the surrounding areas – as much as he could see anyway – Dalton descended the stairs and strode toward the waiting rental car.

Given what had happened to Tari yesterday, he hadn’t really trusted anyone but himself to get her to the airport. The Shadows had people everywhere. Why not in the private transportation sector, too? Calling for a taxi or other contracted driver was simply far too risky.

Even the rental he now drove had been reserved under the name of one of the newest guys on Lincoln’s security team. While he had no doubt that The Shadows were monitoring his movements, and Lincoln’s, he also wouldn’t be surprised to find that they were monitoring Lincoln’s core security team as well. Hopefully the new guy, who’d started a week ago, hadn’t been there long enough to make their radar.

GPS directed him to Tari’s house, one she’d inherited when her dear friends and coworkers had been murdered by The Shadows fourteen months ago.

He pulled up to the gate, slowing beside a keypad with built-in communication box.

The security system hadn’t come cheap, but it’d kept her safe. So far.

He was about to push the intercom button when the gate chugged open. Appeared the motion sensors, positioned further back on the driveway, had done their job, too. They were supposed to sound an alert when a vehicle passed by, which would allow Tari to access the camera feeds and see who approached.

Although he was a bit disappointed that she had assumed he was the one in the rental car. Yes, he’d called her from the airport to let her know he was on the way, but she needed to be more careful.

He pulled inside the fence and watched as the gate closed behind his bumper, then proceeded toward the house a few dozen yards ahead. Beyond the house, the sun glimmered off the water of Lake Wylie. The lush green lawn sloped down to the water.

He’d forgotten how picturesque this place was, although in fairness, when he’d been here before he was either being shot at or seeing the aftermath of that battle.

He pulled the car around the circular driveway, parking as close to the front door as he could so that loading up would be easier and less risky.

The front door opened as he stepped from the car. Tari looked diminutive in the doorway of a house that had always seemed far too large for such a petite woman. Her black hair was caught behind her head in a messy bun and the cream colored short sleeve top made her caramel complexion glow. Bare feet poked out beneath her long skirt, which was an abstract print in a variety of greens.

She met him on the stoop as he rounded the trunk of the rental car and pulled him into a hug. Even with him on the ground and her on the step, the top of her head didn’t make it past his nose.

They were sitting ducks out here. Sure, the tree cover would make it hard for anyone to sight on them, but a good sniper could still do it. “Let’s get inside.”

His words cut the hug short as she pulled away. “Of course.”

He pushed the door closed behind him, twisting the deadbolt even though they should be walking back out in a few minutes.

“You really didn’t have to come out here personally to get me.” Tari’s words contained a hint of mock-scolding, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t upset.

“It’s been a crazy couple of days. The tactical side of me couldn’t let that go.” He studied her for a moment.

A purple hue lingered beneath both eyes and abrasions, likely from the airbag, stood out as angry red spots on her nose, forehead, and high cheekbones. But the smile she wore was genuine, as was the joy reflected in her eyes.

The Shadows kept coming, but they couldn’t steal the peace she had in Jesus.

He’d do well to remember that for himself, as it seemed that their enemies wouldn’t back off anytime soon.

“It’s good to see you.” The words caught in his throat. He’d come pretty close to never seeing her again, at least not this side of heaven.

“You, too.” She gestured toward two large suitcases that waited by the door. “I know it’s a lot, but I wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone.”

While he wanted to offer reassurances, he wouldn’t do so falsely. “It may be a while. You packed whatever you’ll need for your podcast, right?”

“And some basics to continue my research.” She shook her head slowly. “Although without access to a full lab, I don’t know how much I can do.”

Yeah, he hated that part of this arrangement. Not only did Tari love what she did, she was good at it. Lately, in her off time, she’d been working on counter-measures to some of the various toxins and serums they’d recovered as they brought down members of The Shadows.

If The Shadows ever decided to launch a massive poisoning, Tari’s research could prove invaluable to saving lives.

“I’m sorry. I know what you’re doing is important.”

A hint of sadness crept into her smile. “It is, but I do have a contact that I’ve been working with who can help keep things going in my absence.”

Good. Something told him they’d be needing that someday soon. “You ready to go?”

“Yes, let me just turn off the water and gas.”

Never a bad plan when being gone for an extended period.

“Do you need anything? Something to eat or drink?” She threw the words over her shoulder as she headed toward the garage.

What he needed was to get her away from this place and under the team’s protection. “Nope. The plane is stocked.”

He turned back to the front door and opened it, surveying the trees and surrounding area before turning to retrieve her suitcases.

Sheesh. These things weighed a ton. What had she packed in them, bricks? How had she even managed to get them downstairs?

He lugged them to the trunk, popped the lid, and slid them inside.

“Here’s another one.” Tari’s voice came from his right and he accepted the hard-sided metal case she offered him. “That one contains some of my supplies.”

He didn’t know much about her supplies or what she needed, but the carry-on sized container couldn’t hold too much. He deposited it in the trunk, then turned to her. “Is this it?”

“Isn’t that enough?” She arched an eyebrow as a grin quirked her lips. “Yes, that’s it.”

“Let’s get going then.” He watched as she darted back inside, punched in a code on the alarm’s keypad, then grabbed her purse with one hand while pulling the door closed behind her with the other. He opened her car door, his eyes moving around the treetops while she settled herself in the seat.

No sign of a sniper, although the really good ones, the type that The Shadows would likely be sending out now, knew how to hide in plain sight.

As he put the car in gear and navigated back down the driveway, his breathing settled slightly.

They exited through the gate and he waited until he saw it close behind them before moving forward.

“Please stop by the keypad so I can arm the perimeter.” Tari rolled down the window. “I usually do this through the app on my phone, but that phone… well…”

Yeah, it was no longer functional. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure it had been retrieved from her car but if it had, it was likely locked up as evidence.

As they approached the bridge, Tari stiffened. “There’s no chance that they can hack into this car, right?”

“Nope.” He jerked his head behind them. “I’ve got a signal jammer in my bag back there. They’d have to hardwire in to mess with the systems and, well, it’s a rental that we booked today under a different name.”

An airy laugh escaped. “Of course. I knew you’d take precautions.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m sure that was terrifying.”

Her lips trembled. “You have no idea.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that now. You’ll have some of the strongest security in the nation around you twenty-four seven going forward.”

“Thank you, Dalton. For everything.” She seemed to force herself to relax against the seat. “How is Lincoln’s search for a running mate coming along?”

Ugh. Not exactly the light topic he’d choose to discuss. “He’s, uh, got someone in mind. They’re discussing it.”

He felt her gaze like a razor’s edge and fought the urge to look at her. Crazy as it seemed, he couldn’t shake the idea that she’d see the truth in his eyes if he looked her way. Although, would that be such a bad thing?

“I take it you’re not in favor of this selection?”

Why did she have to be so discerning? “I’m not convinced he’s the right choice.”

Silence lingered for a moment. “I’ve been praying for Lincoln in this decision and have sensed the Spirit telling me that Lincoln’s choice is at El Roi’s leading. Maybe you need to trust that both God and Lincoln know what they’re doing.”

The words hit him like a bullet in the chest. Was he failing to trust God, and Lincoln, to make the right call? Could he be allowing his fear to keep him from obeying?

Well, if there was anyone who he trusted heard from God, it was Tari. Maybe it was time to follow Lincoln’s advice and bring Tari in on the secret. She might be able to speak God’s truth to him in a way that no one else had.

The light ahead changed to red and he eased to a stop, then turned his head to look at her fully. “You might be right, but I never saw myself as a politician.”

The words dropped between them. Her lips parted and her eyes widened as she stared at him.

Well, if he’d been looking for confirmation that she didn’t know Lincoln had asked him to be Cliff’s replacement, he now had it. The shock was real.

He chuckled, turning his attention forward as the light changed. “That’s pretty much how I felt when Lincoln brought it up. Still think it’s God’s leading?”

“Absolutely.” No trace of hesitation in that single, immediate response. “More now than ever.”

“Then maybe you can pray that God makes that clear to me, because I feel like the least qualified guy in the room for that role.”

“And that’s what makes you perfect.” Her fingers feathered across his bicep. “It’s those who think they are qualified and capable that refuse to let God lead them. God has always done His mightiest works in people who know they aren’t able to do it on their own.”

“Oh really? Like who?”

“How about a group of uneducated fishermen who walked with Jesus for a few years, then changed the world when the Holy Spirit came in? Or a carpenter’s son who grew up as Jesus’ half-brother, didn’t believe in Him, then later became a respected church leader? There are countless examples, both in scripture and all around us.”

“Or maybe an Egyptian immigrant who fled to the U.S., started a podcast, and is sounding the alarm?”

A small laugh filled the space. “Perhaps. I hope that God is using me to do His work.”

“You don’t have to hope. He is using you.”

“And maybe this is how He wants to use you.” She fell silent for a few seconds. “Lincoln has always had special trust in you. How much more so now that you are led by the Spirit of our Lord?”

He bypassed the main airport entrance and drove down the small drive leading to the private air terminal. “Lincoln needs someone who can play the games and generate support. I’m not that guy.”

“No. Lincoln needs someone he can trust. You most definitely are that man.”

He parked the car and shut off the engine, but made no move to get out. “I hear you, but I’m not convinced.”

“Then maybe ask yourself what’s holding you back and give that to the Lord. I’ll pray that He makes His call clear.”

“Thanks.” He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face her. “We haven’t told anyone, not even the security guys, about this.”

“No one will hear about it from me.”

Good. “We better get in the air. It’ll already be a little late by the time we get back to Kansas City.”

Not to mention that it had been a long day. The constant security concerns, first with Lincoln, then Tari and himself, were mentally taxing.

If he agreed to Lincoln’s offer, this is what his life would look like. All day, every day.

Could he live like that?

But if God was calling him to it, how could he say no?

₪   ₪   ₪

Pain pulsed behind Jordan’s eyes.

What a day.

After all that waiting, there never was an explosion. Not that he was complaining about that or anything, but it had meant most of the day was wasted while they stood outside and waited for the building to be declared safe.

The SWAT team leader had suggested everyone go home, but many of them had remained, hoping that they’d receive clearance to reenter and resume normal work activities.

He and Sean had set up at a coffeeshop down the street where they’d consumed too much caffeine in exchange for use of the shop’s free Wi-Fi. They’d taken turns going down the block every hour or so to see if the building had been cleared.

Now, finally, at a little after five p.m., the building had been deemed safe and whoever hadn’t already paid for a ride home could go back inside.

As anxious as he was to get home and see Allison – and learn the results of the pregnancy test – he had to see his office. He hadn’t imagined that man up there, no matter what everyone else, including Sean, thought.

He was pretty meticulous about his workspace, so there should be evidence of tampering.

What he’d do with that evidence remained unclear, but he wanted to see it, if for no reason other than to convince himself he wasn’t losing his sanity.

“If there’s nothing there, you owe me another day on the lake, don’t cha know.” Sean’s teasing didn’t help the tension coursing through him.

“Like you aren’t welcome on the boat anytime already.”

Sean jiggled his shoulders in a mock shrug. “Jus’ sayin’.”

Jordan paused at the threshold of his office, allowing his eyes to trace the space. At first glance, everything looked neat enough. The intruder clearly hadn’t ransacked the office.

Maybe it wasn’t about what someone took out. Maybe it was more about what he left behind.

Next step was to sweep for bugs.

The blinds still hung at an odd angle, as they had when he’d first seen the intruder from the street level.

He moved into the room and rounded his desk. Well, he knew the man had done something with the credenza. While the desk had probably also been rifled through, he’d start with the credenza and work his way backward.

The picture on top of the credenza sat at a slight angle, but he wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t how he’d had it.

He used the hem of his shirt to pull open the top drawer. Not that they’d likely get any prints, if anyone even bothered to dust for them, but he’d do what he could to preserve the scene.

The files in the drawer looked neat and intact at first glance. It’d take a decent amount of time to go through it to make sure nothing had been stolen, time he didn’t feel like devoting after such a long day. The bottom drawer didn’t send up any red flags, either.

He moved to the desk, pulled open the top drawer, and paused.

This one felt off.

Pens and highlighters were in the right place in the plastic desk organizer. A pad of yellow sticky notes sat atop a small notepad as usual. Stapler, scissors, and tape dispenser… check, check, and check.

An empty slot snagged his attention.

That wasn’t usually empty. In fact, that was where he usually had three thumb drives. The neat drawer left no hiding places. They were definitely gone.

He knew those had been there earlier. In fact, he hadn’t pulled them out of the desk in a while. He pressed his lips together, his molars clenched so tightly his jaw ached.

This confirmed it. Someone had been in here.

The joke was on them. Those thumb drives were empty. All the files that had once been on them had been uploaded to the appropriate case folder in the system and the drive cleared for future use.

But what had the intruder been after? And once he found out those drives were empty, would he be back?

He pushed the drawer closed with a little more force than necessary, but the solid thud of it slamming into place felt satisfying. A quick check of the rest of the drawers didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary.

But, again, he wouldn’t be able to definitively say that nothing else had been taken until he could go through each file in depth. Thankfully, he didn’t keep a lot on paper anymore, but it would still take time to review the limited files.

First, though, he’d request that his office be fingerprinted. While his prints would be all over the place, he didn’t want to disturb any fresh prints that might be on top of them.

Maybe they could get in here and process things while he was meeting with Dalton and Tari tomorrow morning. That’d be ideal.

He’d put in a request and see where it went.

For now, he was heading home. Sean had already left, and none of the rest of the team had come back in the building, so he turned off lights as he exited the workspace.

He rode the elevator down to the garage, crossed the nearly empty parking area to where his rental waited, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Silence enveloped him and for a moment he embraced it. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

What a day.

And it still wasn’t over. When he got home, he had a little more to do, including requesting the processing of his office.

A ring punctuated the silence. His heart seized and he jumped, his knees banging the steering wheel as the offensive sound of his cell phone ringing continued.

The last thing he wanted to do was answer that call. Even so, his fingers groped around the cup holder where he’d dropped his phone.

He opened his eyes and accepted the call from an unknown local number. “DuBois.”

“A-agent DuBois?”

He sat up straighter at the deep male voice. Hesitation marked the cautious pronunciation of his last name.

“Yes, this is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Jordan DuBois.”

Why he felt like he needed to use his full title and name, he wasn’t sure, but it rolled out as if recorded.

“My name is Rick. I’m… I was Ellen Morse’s legal assistant.” The baritone voice shook, fear creating a vibrato that trembled into Jordan’s ear.

With everything that had gone on the past few days, he hadn’t had a chance to follow up on the lawsuit. Fortuitous that the deceased lawyer’s legal assistant was calling him now… or was it more than that? “Yes, Rick… sorry, I didn’t catch your last name.”

“I’d rather not say.”

Well, it’d be easy enough to find later, if this guy truly worked for Ellen Morse. “What can I do for you?”

“I-I found your card with Ellen’s things. In the Ramon Zapato file.” The words rushed out. “She didn’t die in an accident. She was silenced.”

While he suspected the same thing, both he and this legal assistant knew that effective cases were built on proof. “Can you prove that?”

“No. But I know it. It was because of the Zapato case and I’m afraid I’ll be next.”

No mistaking the fear in the man’s voice. “Have you been threatened?”

“Not yet, but Ellen didn’t receive threats either.” A sharp inhale punctuated the words. “I want to give you a copy of her notes. I figure the only way I’ll survive is if someone can catch these guys.”

“I’m not investigating her death.” Not that he didn’t want the files. He did. But something about this didn’t feel quite right.

No lawyer, or legal assistant, would ever hand over copies of their notes. Not without a court order.

So why was Rick doing this?

Could be a set-up. Or maybe the guy was so terrified that he thought giving Jordan the notes would keep him from being killed. The fear he heard in the man’s voice would support that theory, even though it would tank Rick’s career if anyone found out.

After that shootout at the farm Monday and the guy in his office today, he couldn’t afford to take foolish chances.

“No, but you can dig into the Zapato case. Look.” Rick’s voice hitched. “I think Ellen trusted you. She had good instincts and didn’t trust a lot of people. Do you want the files or not?”

“Yes.” The word flew from his lips without thought. “I’ve already been digging into this. I’d appreciate knowing what you all learned as well.”

Might not be the smartest admission, especially since his boss had ordered him off the case, but this guy wasn’t merely apprehensive. He was terrified. That kind of fear couldn’t be faked, which led Jordan to trust that he was on the level.

“You’ve gotta pick it up now. I’m headed out of town tonight.”

Now. The word echoed ominously in his mind.

He didn’t like the immediacy of this. It didn’t allow time for him to plan or line up backup.

Maybe this was a trap after all. A way for someone, most likely not the cartel, to finish what the guy at the Zapato farm had started two days ago.

Still, if this was legit, and he was inclined to believe it was, it might be his only shot to get his hands on the documents.

He was a trained law enforcement officer. And he was armed. He’d take his chances. “Where are you?”

If the guy tried to lead him to some secluded place by the river, where a body could be easily disposed of, he’d back out.

“Meet me at Burrows Sports Bar in ten minutes. If you’re not there in fifteen, I’m out.”

Burrows Sports Bar was only about a five minute drive and would be populated enough that they’d both be safe. No doubt that was why Rick had chosen it. “I’ll be there. How will I find you?”

“I looked you up. I’ll find you. Just go inside and sit at the bar.” The line went dead.

Jordan set his phone aside and pulled in a breath. So much for heading straight home, but he couldn’t let this opportunity slip by. He started the car, backed out of the parking spot, and headed for the garage’s gated exit.

As the grate closed behind him and he navigated up the ramp to the street level, a figure pushed off the wall beside the end of the ramp. Sunlight shone off auburn hair.

Malachi.

Huh, he hadn’t given that guy another thought all day, but somehow wasn’t surprised to find him waiting. Even better, now he’d have someone with him, someone who could sound an alarm if things went south when he met with Rick-with-no-last-name.

He stopped beside where Malachi waited and unlocked the doors.

Malachi climbed into the seat and flashed a smile. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got a stop to make first. You good with a detour?” Didn’t really matter if Malachi was or not. Unless he wanted to find another ride home, he’d have to go along.

“Always.” Malachi buckled his seat belt. “Some of God’s best blessings come out of detours.”

Well, he sure hoped this meeting was a blessing from God.

He merged into the heavy after-work traffic clogging the streets and navigated toward Burrows. “I actually have a favor to ask. I’m meeting a source right now. I’d like you to wait in the car and if I’m gone more than ten minutes, you call Sean.”

It was a flimsy safeguard, as he could be killed in less than a minute, but it was better than nothing.

“I can do that.”

He felt Malachi assessing him and glanced over to find those green eyes locked on his face. “I don’t think you’ll have to make that call, but I’m going into this a little blind.”

“Let’s pray about it.” As Malachi’s heartfelt prayers filled the space between them, the knot in Jordan’s gut slowly unclenched. Peace filtered into his frantic thoughts.

The risk still existed. Death could easily find him tonight.

Yet, God’s Spirit reassured his soul. No matter what happened, God had him.

In spite of the fact that he’d been so lackluster in his spiritual walk as of late.

The light in front of him turned red and he eased to a stop. Two blocks ahead, Burrows’ sign glowed amber in the shade of a tall skyscraper.

As Malachi’s prayer continued, asking God to give Jordan discernment and clarity, he felt something shift in his mind. Not related to the Zapato case, or the upcoming meeting, but about himself.

For the first time in a long time, he saw himself clearly.

Malachi had been right. His spiritual life wasn’t merely lukewarm, it was rancid. Like a stagnant puddle of water after a storm, swarming with mosquitos and disease, his soul languished on the verge of decay.

The light changed and he accelerated on autopilot, even as he felt like a dagger had pierced his heart.

Forgive me.

The prayer, the most genuine one he’d prayed perhaps all year, filled his being in an anguished cry.

Wake me up, Lord.

“Amen.” Malachi’s prayer ended on an almost triumphant note, ringing with the confidence of one who knew he was heard by the Lord of all.

Amen indeed.

He turned into the parking lot surrounding Burrows and hunted for a spot in the crowded space. It was a popular happy-hour hangout after work, with or without any sort of local sporting event going on.

While he knew he had some work to do spiritually to get back to where he should be, he also knew his Savior had heard his prayer.

God would help him get where he needed to be, and he was willing to put in the effort on his part to find his way back. For now, though, he needed to focus on the upcoming meeting. Allowing himself to be distracted by what he needed to do spiritually could end in disaster.

He sent up a prayer for guidance as he pulled into an open spot and shifted into park. Killing the engine, he turned to Malachi and handed him his cell phone. He’d already cued up Sean’s contact information. “Ten minutes. Then call Sean.”

Malachi nodded solemnly, evidently picking up on the seriousness of the situation. “For what it’s worth, I sense God telling me this is from His hand.”

“That’s worth a lot.”

He only hoped Malachi was hearing God correctly. This wasn’t the day, or the way, he wanted to die.

Fifteen

The seat at the end of the bar afforded Jordan a good view of the entire room. At a little after six, about two-thirds of the tables were filled and a steady stream of people came and went through the bar’s double glass doors on the opposite side of the room.

A skinny kid in tailored slacks and a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up meandered around the tables, slowly approaching his location.

Was that Rick?

The guy looked nervous and he could see damp spots on the shirt around the man’s armpits. His head moved side to side as if loosely connected and his hands plunged deep into his pants pockets.

He pulled out a barstool near where Jordan sat and stared straight ahead. “Jordan?”

The question mingled with the blare from the televisions spaced throughout the bar and the din of the crowd, but Jordan heard it nonetheless. It was definitely the same deep voice he’d heard on the phone. “Yeah. You Rick?”

The man’s eyes angled toward him, even as he kept his face set straight ahead. “That’s me.”

He didn’t see any files. Unless the guy had an envelope stuffed inside his shirt – unlikely, given the shirt’s tailored cut – this man hadn’t brought anything with him.

“Files are in my car. Head on outside and I’ll follow in a minute.”

He clenched his teeth and fought the urge to slug the man. Seriously, did this kid, who barely looked old enough to have graduated college, think they were spies or something? “I really don’t think all this cloak and dagger stuff is necessary.”

“Yeah, well it’s not your life on the line now, is it?” Rick’s jaw twitched and his hands, which were clenched on top of the bar, jerked. “If you want what I’ve got, we do this my way.”

If that’s how he wanted to play it, fine. “See you out there.”

He rose from the stool and wove his way around tables to the main doors. Part of him wanted to look back to see if Rick followed, but he resisted the urge.

If Rick wanted to pretend he was some sort of super spy, that was his choice. Jordan would play along to get the information, but he wasn’t going to act like enemy agents were out to get them.

He blinked as the afternoon sun assaulted his eyes, then walked down the side of the building a short distance to wait.

A glance across the parking lot toward his rental car found Malachi watching from the front seat. Jordan gave him a tight nod. Hopefully Malachi was astute enough to read that everything was okay so far.

A few minutes passed before Rick stepped through the double doors. He slowly surveyed the parking lot – looking, no doubt, for a black SUV with windows tinted darker than the legal limit and two muscle-bound goons sitting in the front seat. His attention landed briefly on Jordan, followed by a barely perceptible head-jerk, then he strode across the lot to an older sedan parked in the back corner.

Jordan took a slightly circuitous route so it wouldn’t be obvious to those who most certainly were not watching, then met up with Rick by the car.

Rick opened the trunk.

Tension ripped across Jordan’s back and his fingers twitched. His service pistol was at his hip, should he need it, but if Rick pulled out a semi-automatic, the man could kill him before Jordan would be able to draw his own gun.

Jordan edged around the front of the car, ready to drop to the ground at the first sign of a weapon.

The trunk slammed, the noise echoing off the building beside them, and Rick held up a thick manila envelope.

A breath leaked from Jordan’s lungs and he forced his shoulders to relax.

Rick held out the envelope.

The weight of it surprised him. While he could see that the ten-by-thirteen envelope looked stuffed, he hadn’t thought it would be so heavy.

Or maybe it was more the weight of his expectations that weighed his hands down.

The contents could blow the case wide open. At least, he hoped that would be the outcome. If Rick was right, and the man’s suspicions weren’t merely paranoid delusions, then the contents of this envelope had been worth killing Ellen Morse.

“I hope this helps.” Rick’s gaze didn’t stop moving, his eyes darting from one end of the lot to the other. “You didn’t get it from me.”

“How can I reach you if I have questions?” Jordan tucked the envelope under his left arm, keeping his right hand free to grab his gun if the trouble Rick anticipated should suddenly find them.

“You can’t. This is all I can give you.” Rick’s dark eyes landed briefly on Jordan’s face. “I’ve taken leave at work and am getting out of town tonight. I’ll be back when and if it’s safe.”

Without another word, Rick spun toward the car, unlocked the driver’s door, and dropped behind the wheel.

Jordan stepped aside as the engine fired to life.

The car accelerated, pulled a hard right out of the lot, and disappeared from sight.

He hoped Rick would be okay. No, he’d do more than hope. He sent up a quick prayer for the man, then crossed to where he’d parked the rental.

Climbing behind the wheel, he dropped the envelope behind the passenger seat and looked over at Malachi. “Thanks for providing back-up.”

A hint of playfulness touched Malachi’s grin. “For someone who’s not in law enforcement, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve provided ‘back-up’.”

“Probably your own fault for putting yourself around people like Dalton and me.”

“No doubt.”

Jordan glanced at the dash clock. Oops. It was well after when he should have been home and he hadn’t thought to text Allison to let her know.

He dug out his phone and shot over a quick text telling her he and Malachi were on the way, then put the car into gear.

“Looked like you had quite a day today.” Malachi’s words drew his attention.

“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”

“I saw a lot of action around your office building. Police vehicles, people evacuating, barricades.” Malachi chuckled. “The belltower provides a good view of the area.”

“Wait, did you say belltower?” He whipped around to see if Malachi was messing with him, but Malachi didn’t seem to be joking.

Instead, Malachi pointed to a tall steeple peeking around several skyscrapers. “Yes. The good reverend and I spent much of the day up there, cleaning up after some vandals.”

So that was the church Malachi had been spending his days at. In fact, he’d often heard the bells at that church chiming when he and Sean walked to lunch, but didn’t remember hearing them as they stood outside today. “Why would someone vandalize the belltower?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to stop the music from drawing people to Jesus.”

“Did you guys get it all fixed up?”

Malachi shook his head. “We cleaned it up, but professionals are going to have to come out to service the bells to get them back to working order.”

Too bad. That church was a historic landmark downtown, those bells having chimed for about two centuries, although at some point they’d been converted from manual to automated.

“So tell me about what happened today.” Malachi’s words, though not a question, sounded more like an invitation than a directive.

He filled Malachi in on the bomb threat and seeing someone in his office. “I know this is going to sound self-centered, but I can’t shake the feeling that the bomb threat was designed to get me out of the office so that guy could search it.”

“You could be right. At least God directed your eyes at the right time to see him in your office.”

God directed his eyes. That phrase felt hauntingly accurate.

In fact, the odds of looking up at the right time to see that man felt almost as incredible as the super-vision he’d developed to make out that tattoo on the man’s arm.

Super vision. Like Britt’s super hearing, and Charae’s command of the clouds, and Jade’s control of water?

His throat dried as he remembered the conversation that had occurred in the penthouse suite in Dallas when he’d last seen everyone for the funeral of Ephraim’s late wife. He’d thought the conversation so crazy at the time.

Now it felt like he’d developed a supernatural gift of his own.

Well, there seemed to be one guy at the center of all these strange occurrences and he happened to be sitting in the passenger seat.

He slanted a look at Malachi. “So, something really weird happened today. When I saw that guy, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, but it was like I could make my eyes zoom in and see him clearly.”

“Is that right.” No hint of surprise in Malachi’s voice, as if talking about impossible things was commonplace to him.

“Yeah. I mean, have you seen the thickness of my glasses? I’m legally blind without them. My wife has been trying to get me to have Lasik surgery for years, but I’ve got this eye phobia. I mean, I get nauseous when they put dilating drops in my eyes. No way I’d be able to have them do surgery on my eyes while I’m wide awake.” His stomach lurched at the thought and he tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. “Anyway, I saw it so clearly, like the guy was inches from my face. I even saw the tattoo on his arm. It’s crazy, right?”

“‘I will once again astound these hypocrites with amazing wonders. The wisdom of the wise will pass away, and the intelligence of the intelligent will disappear.’”

What the…? Of all the responses he might have anticipated, that sure wasn’t one of them. “Come again?”

“Isaiah 29:14. God often works in ways that defy human logic to accomplish His purposes.”

Well, today’s events most certainly defied human logic. “You think it’ll ever happen again? Or was that something God did so I’d know that the guy had been in there?”

“I never presume on what God will or won’t do, but all your friends have had their gifts when they’ve needed them most. If you need it again, I have no doubt God will show up.”

God will show up.

Those words touched something deep in his heart, something long dormant.

Yes, God would show up. He believed that, too. “Thanks. I needed that reminder.”

“Reminders are always helpful, especially when we’re so prone to forgetting God in the day-to-day.” A pause lingered, feeling weighted by something unsaid, before Malachi spoke again. “Have you thought any more about the message God had for you?”

How did this guy do that? It was almost like Malachi was inside his head sometimes. “I’m working on some changes. God has become more of an add-on in my life than the central focus, but He’s stirring me to change that up.”

Admitting the words out loud both hurt and soothed at the same time.

As scripture so often stated, there was something about confession that felt good. The burden of that, now shared with Malachi – a man he’d only known two days yet already felt so safe – seemed lighter.

Tonight, he planned to talk to Allison about it. He knew that God’s place in her life had dwindled, too. They’d grown lukewarm together, but maybe they could also draw closer to God together. That was one of God’s purposes for marriage, after all.

“I’m happy to hear that, my brother. I’ll be praying for you as you work through this. The enemy will fight your efforts to shake off spiritual apathy, but our God will give you strength.”

The enemy will fight your efforts.

The words echoed in his head. They sounded ominous, but he knew God was stronger than Satan. So let the devil bring his worst. God could get him through it.

“I’d appreciate your prayers for Allison, too. We’re in this together.”

“I’m already praying for you both.”

Good. He wasn’t sure how Allison would take the truth about their combined spiritual state, but this was an area where they both needed to change. He saw that now.

The journey might be rough and the enemy might come at them, but this was a matter of life and death. For both of them.

₪   ₪   ₪

Arthur closed the door to his study behind him. It was good to be home, where he could speak without fear of being overheard.

The text from Niles had come through twenty minutes ago, but he’d been in a heated conversation with his publicist about how to handle the blackmail photos and hadn’t been able to extricate himself until now.

He pulled out his Shadows phone and brought up Niles’ number. “I hope you have good news.”

“I found the source.” Niles sounded exorbitantly pleased with himself.

“That was fast. How certain are you?” While he wanted to believe it, he couldn’t afford any false sense of security.

“Hundred percent.” Not a hint of doubt colored the words. “The account is for a Swiss bank account, but we’ve got a guy on the inside there. He was able to trace it. The guy behind it tried to cover his tracks, but our guys are better.”

“Who is it?”

The name Niles gave sent fiery knives through his bones. That man was on his personal security team. No wonder he’d known where to set up to get the best views of his balcony. “You’re sure?”

Yes, Niles had already answered that, but he needed to verify before ordering one of his security guys eliminated.

“Oh, yes. We dug into his personals and found that he’s one of Salah’s followers and has spouted some very anti-Shadows rhetoric online.”

His stomach plummeted. “So he knows who I am?”

“We haven’t found any evidence of that, but because he knows that Kingsley is trying to take us down, we believe he’s aligned himself with Kingsley and wants to see him win.”

Yet the man continued to accept the salary Arthur paid him? The nerve.

That would be the man’s final mistake. “Did he take the pictures himself or does he have an accomplice?”

“His wife. She was booked in a hotel down the street. I sent someone to the room reserved under her name and had them take pictures of your balcony. The angle is a perfect match, confirmed by computer software.”

He clenched the phone. Both of them would die for this.

His mind raced with scenarios, then one solidified. “Okay. Here’s how we’ll play this. I want you to get a sniper, the best we have. I have a rally tomorrow night. There’s going to be an assassination attempt, but sadly the sniper will miss me and kill one of my bodyguards instead. The poor man’s wife will be so distraught that she’ll take her own life. Maybe it’s an overdose on a prescribed medication or maybe she slits her wrists in the bathtub. I don’t care. Just make it convincing.”

“You got it.”

It was always funny to him how little premeditated murder bothered Niles. The man headed up an elite law enforcement agency, but plotting to kill their enemies? No problem.

“And make sure that whoever you send to take care of the wife takes the camera, the computer, and any evidence of this fiasco.” The last thing he needed was someone else stumbling across those photos.

“Consider it done.”

The call ended and he set the phone on top of his desk and eased out a breath. This nightmare was almost over, but it could’ve been a lot worse.

He’d have to be more careful from now on. No letting down his guard, not even if it felt safe.

Their enemies were everywhere, evidently even in his own inner circle.

₪   ₪   ₪

Allison had been in good spirits throughout dinner, laughing and keeping up a steady stream of conversation with both him and Malachi.

Of course, with Malachi there she’d said nothing about the results of the pregnancy test, which Jordan was certain she’d taken before he and Malachi had arrived home.

After dinner, Malachi had turned in early, leaving him and Allison alone in the living room.

With the TV on to some inane sitcom, she settled on the plush leather sofa beside him, snuggling into his side when he put an arm around her shoulders.

He pressed a kiss into her hair, relishing the light floral scent of her conditioner.

She still hadn’t brought it up.

He couldn’t take it any longer. “So?”

“Negative.” She angled her face up to look at him, assessing his reaction. “Disappointed?”

Was he? He paused to consider it. “Maybe a little. I don’t know. We hadn’t planned it.”

She nodded. “I get it. I felt the same. I mean, I do want kids. But I want it to be at the right time.”

“And we’re not in a hurry.” Honestly, he was more relieved than disappointed. Kids would be a huge change.

“No, but the window is narrowing. I turn thirty-two this year. And you turned thirty-five. Maybe we should consider it.” She rested her cheek against his chest again. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it a lot the last few days, obviously.”

“Makes sense that you would.” This wasn’t really the conversation he wanted to have right now, not with the spiritual matters hanging over his head.

“I think maybe we should consider this a wake-up call. You know, a sign from God. Maybe it’s time.” Her fingernails curled on his chest, lightly scratching against his shirt. “My annual exam is in a few months. I could have the IUD removed at that time and we could see where things go from there.”

His breaths labored and his lungs felt tight. Kids, now?

With his job potentially on the line, well, the time felt wrong.

Because he was more convinced than ever that he needed to stay the course. Investigate this. No matter the cost.

He kept those thoughts inside, though. Allison wouldn’t want to hear them and it’d probably spark an argument.

“Let’s pray about it.” That felt like a safe enough answer for tonight. He had a few months to come up with a better one.

“I don’t have to pray about this to know. Jesus loved kids. And kids are the heartbeat of the family, right?”

“Jesus is the heartbeat of the family.”

She waved a manicured hand in the air. “Well, yeah, sure. But kids are part of the design.”

How had they gotten here? So complacent about Jesus and the faith they shared? When they’d first gotten married, Jesus had been at the center of their lives. Now, it seemed they had assigned Jesus a place on the sidewalk, not even allowed to cross the threshold.

Silence lingered for a few moments, broken up only by the canned audience laughter on the sitcom.

He’d have to let this conversation go for now.

Besides, he had a more important topic to broach, one related to spiritual well-being, not merely family or finances. “So, Malachi’s an interesting guy, isn’t he?”

She laughed softly. “That’s putting it mildly. But I like him.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He tightened his arm slightly around her shoulders. “But he, uh, told me he had a message from God. For me. I didn’t like it at first, but he was right.”

“Malachi’s, well, he’s a bit fanatical. I don’t think we should take a lot of what he says too seriously.”

“He also hears from God in a crazy way. Honestly, I could stand to be a bit more like him.” His heart thrummed wildly and he fought the urge to jump up and pace to release the sudden surge of energy charging through him. “I’ve started to feel God speaking to me again. Like He used to. And it’s clear that I’ve gotta make some changes.”

Allison’s body stiffened and she pulled back to look him square in the face. “What do you mean?”

“God’s blessed us with so much.” He gestured to the house around them. “But I’ve come to see that it’s led to self-satisfaction and spiritual apathy.”

Her face pinched. “I don’t think I agree with that assessment. We’re Christians. We believe in God.”

Rubbing a hand down his face, he tried to figure out how to word things without riling her. “We do, but I feel like we’re Christians in name only. I haven’t been in scripture much lately. I’ve spent even less time praying. I live like I’ve got life under control and don’t need God, but He’s showing me that I need Him now more than ever.”

She rolled her eyes. “What, because we aren’t in church every Sunday, now we’re complacent?”

Yes. He held the word inside. It wouldn’t win him any points, nor would it get him far in this conversation that was rapidly escalating to an argument. “You remember the days when we were in church every Sunday? When we were in a small group, studying the Word with other couples and growing? When we prayed together?”

Why they had stopped, he wasn’t sure. Life had gotten busy, probably, and something had to give.

Unfortunately, they’d chosen that “something” to be their walk with the Lord.

“I remember how much time that took.” She scooted a little further away so she could face him more fully. “Our calendars are crazy. Sunday is literally the only day we get to sleep in and relax. God understands that. He called it a day of rest, remember. That’s what we’re doing. Resting.”

“It’s a day set aside as holy, not a day to satisfy the flesh and sleep in. There’s a difference.” He raked a hand through his hair. “If we want to sleep in, we can do that on Saturday.”

“I have Zumba Saturday mornings. You and Sean go to the gym. Physical health is important.”

“So is our spiritual health.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “My spiritual health is fine.”

It wasn’t and they both knew it, but he wouldn’t make this about her. Maybe, if he set the example, she’d follow in his steps. “I can’t speak for you, but my spiritual health is anemic. I have to make some changes. Starting with Sunday mornings.”

Her lips pressed tightly together and her narrowed eyes regarded him from beneath her well-shaped light blonde eyebrows. “Do what you want. Sunday is the only day I have to sleep in and I’m taking it.”

The statement hit him like a blow to the chest.

He’d really hoped she’d be on board with this.

He swallowed hard. “I’m also going to join a small group again. I was hoping you’d come, too.”

“I told you. My spiritual health is fine. And my schedule is full.” She spat out each statement. Ice sparked in her blue eyes.

“Babe–”

“It’s been a long day and I’m tired.” She stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

She stormed from the room without waiting for a reply.

That had been a disaster. Had he approached it wrong?

Or was she simply not ready to hear the truth? He sure hadn’t been when Malachi had first told him. Maybe her reaction was from the sting of conviction, as his had been.

As the TV droned in the background, he buried his head in his hands and prayed.

Allison was his wife. He wanted her to join him on this journey.

But only God could bring her to the same place he was, a place where she recognized what she’d once had and what was now missing from her life.

Because until they got their walk with the Lord on solid ground, he couldn’t even fathom starting a family. They needed the foundation that God alone would bring before they added another human to the mix.

His throat closed up as he remembered the zeal they’d once had for Jesus, then he prayed that God would open Allison’s eyes so that she, too, would see what he had. That they were both, as Revelation so clearly stated it, wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked.

₪   ₪   ₪

Good assistants were so hard to find.

Gretchen rubbed her eyes as she looked away from the laptop screen, her gaze passing over the décor in her home office and the blackness outside her window. While she didn’t usually spend her evenings working, she’d needed to confirm her suspicions.

And she had. The camera she’d hidden in Chase’s workspace yesterday afternoon told the story.

He’d been snooping.

While she didn’t know for certain that he’d snooped into yesterday’s report, the innocuous report she’d had sent over today had caught his eye. He’d skimmed through it briefly before replacing it in the envelope and delivering it to her. It stood to reason he’d done the same with yesterday’s much more confidential report.

The big question was if he’d known the importance of what he saw. He was a smart man, so it was possible.

Pity. He’d been a good assistant. And certainly improved the scenery.

Now, she’d need to find a replacement.

Maybe he could be persuaded to remain loyal. Everyone had a price. If his wasn’t too high, it was possible he could be retained.

“Mom, there’s someone outside.”

Gretchen jerked at the sound of her daughter’s voice and looked up to see Delilah standing in the doorway. Delilah’s light brown hair, so like Arthur’s, brushed the shoulders of her lace-trimmed sleep tank top. Her long skinny legs poked out of matching shorts.

Concern crinkled the corners of her hazel eyes, which darted to the shades covering the window behind Gretchen’s desk.

Gretchen rose. “What do you mean there’s someone outside?”

“I saw him. At least, I think it was a guy. He looked big, you know?”

Delilah was generally pretty honest, at least with her. She’d carefully cultivated an open relationship with Delilah since she was a little girl.

Add to that the fear oozing from her daughter and Gretchen had no doubt she’d seen someone.

She rounded her desk. “Show me.”

Delilah led the way upstairs, where their bedrooms were located in the two-story townhouse, and entered her darkened bedroom. Approaching the window from the side, she edged toward it.

Gretchen joined her, standing right behind her shoulder.

“There.” The word was whispered as if Delilah feared the man would hear her through the closed window. “Across the street and behind the tree in front of Mr. Wood’s house.”

Gretchen focused her gaze there.

At first she didn’t see anything, then a shadow moved.

She watched. The shadow shifted and an orange glow indicated that the person smoked a cigarette. A car drove by, the headlights sweeping the tree enough for her to see the shape of a broad person. Most definitely male, as Delilah had stated.

“Why is someone watching us?” The words trembled as Delilah turned to look up at her, her glistening eyes imploring Gretchen to deny it.

But she couldn’t. The evidence stood right in front of her.

“I’m going to make some calls. I’m sure there’s a good explanation.” She pulled Delilah into a hug. “It’s okay, sweet bug. You know we’re locked up tight and the alarm is on. You’re safe.”

“You promise?”

“On the tip of your cute little nose.” She tweaked Delilah’s nose for emphasis. “Now get some rest. You have school tomorrow.”

Delilah trudged to the bed as Gretchen closed the curtains.

“Love you, bug.” She kissed Delilah’s forehead, then turned for the door.

“Can you leave the door open? Just for tonight?”

“Of course. Don’t worry. I think I know why he’s here and he’s keeping an eye on us to make sure we’re safe.” Actually, she suspected he’d been hired by Arthur to keep an eye on her, but there was no explaining that.

“Why?”

Logical question, but given that Delilah didn’t know her father was running for president, or that he was the leader of a massive underground organization, there was no good way to explain it. “I’m working on some really important stuff right now. I think they’re concerned that someone might try to steal it.”

Delilah stared at her for a second, then gave a solemn nod.

She offered her daughter a reassuring smile, then headed back downstairs. Waves of anger burned through her veins with every step.

If Arthur thought he could have her followed, monitored, he’d better think again. It was harassment and she wouldn’t stand for it.

By the time she reached her office, her hands shook and she’d worked herself into a near rage.

She’d let him know exactly what she thought of his monitoring. And if he wanted her to keep some of the things she knew quiet, he’d call off the dogs. Immediately. Starting with the goon across the street.

She brought up his number and waited as it rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Arthur better answer or so help her…

“Gretchen? Is everything okay?” The question sounded more perfunctory than concerned.

“You call him off right now or I will tell everyone that you have a daughter that you’ve tried to keep hidden for over a decade.” The words snapped sharply in the still office.

Silence ensued for a moment, then Arthur cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the man watching my house right now. Call. Him. Off. Or I will make calls of my own, starting with the national news networks.”

“I don’t have anyone watching your house.”

Did he think she was that naïve? “I see him. In the shadows across the street right now, smoking a cigarette. Delilah’s seen him as well and she’s freaked. I will not have our daughter intimidated by your goons.”

“Listen to me. I do not have anyone watching your place.” Arthur’s voice held a note of gravity. “Call the police. Now.”

Her anger dissolved, replaced by a wave of fear.

She knew Arthur well enough to tell when he was lying. This was the truth. He hadn’t hired this guy. Besides, if this guy worked for Arthur, he wouldn’t encourage her to call the police. “If not you, then who?”

“I don’t know, but we both have a lot of enemies. Hang up and call the police. You have a gun, right?” Urgency tightened Arthur’s words.

“Yes.” The word came out on a breath. “I’ll call them now.”

She didn’t wait for a response before hanging up and dialing 911. As she relayed the situation to the dispatcher, she hurried upstairs to her bedroom where she kept her gun locked in the safe.

The dispatcher assured her that the police were on the way and she positioned herself at the top of the stairs. If that man made the mistake of coming inside, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

No one would get close to her daughter.

As seconds dragged into a minute, she couldn’t stop the questions from running through her mind. Who was he? Why was he here? And what were his intentions?

Sixteen

Thursday dawned clear and hot, promising another muggy summer day.

Humidity cast a damp blanket over Jordan as he crossed the parking lot to the coffee shop where he was to meet Dalton and Tari in about an hour. The envelope given to him by Rick the previous evening was tucked under his arm. While he’d intended to dig into it last night, the argument with Allison had driven all thoughts of the envelope from his mind.

No matter. He’d have some time to review the contents before Dalton and Tari arrived.

Sean was at the office, overseeing the guy being sent to fingerprint the space. While he hadn’t told Sean exactly why he wouldn’t be there to oversee it in person, he’d let him know that he was investigating a lead and would be out most of the morning.

After ordering the largest coffee the place offered and an omelet, he settled in a booth far from the front windows with his back to the wall.

No chance anyone could sneak up behind him, which brought both safety for him and privacy for the packet Rick had felt he was risking his life to deliver. He waited until he had the coffee and omelet before opening the file and withdrawing a stack of papers.

Everything in the file was a copy. No surprise there. The law firm wouldn’t take kindly to Rick removing the original documents. Honestly, if they knew Rick had provided Jordan with copies of the file, there could be repercussions for that as well. He’d make sure that the fact he’d even received this file remained under wraps.

He skimmed through documents detailing Ramon’s side of the story.

It read like some sort of espionage adventure. Ramon claimed that he’d endured shadowed threats, sabotage, unexplained crop failure, and increasingly aggressive buyout attempts. Ramon claimed that Sustaining Life Farms was behind the whole thing, a notion that Ellen didn’t seem to buy into based upon the notes she’d made.

None of that seemed to be the basis for the case she’d agreed to represent. No, that was based solely upon the tainted seeds Ramon had received from the two USDA mandated seed providers, seeds that would surely spell death for Ramon’s farm.

And, potentially, countless consumers.

He studied the reports from the two independent labs Ramon had sent seeds to for testing. Tari’s report he had already seen, but he set it adjacent to the other report.

The data on both reports matched up and the scientific conclusions agreed. The seeds were bad news.

The next few pages showed the law firm’s research into the two seed suppliers. He skimmed the document, his attention locking on two words. Shell corporation.

He read that part more closely.

Ellen had questioned the legitimacy of the smaller of the two seed suppliers, Amazing Grow Seeds, LLC. The supplier had a real headquarters, a seemingly legitimate leadership team, and paid their taxes, but she had found questionable connections between it and its competitor Vida Immortal Farming.

A print-out of the executive leadership team, likely from the company’s website, showed that it had four officers: a chief executive officer, chief financial officer, chief operations officer, and chief research officer. A smiling face accompanied each title, complete with a brief dossier of the officer’s background and accomplishments.

It all looked good on paper. But next to the CEO, a handwritten note questioned figurehead?, next to the CFO another note questioned background?, and next to the COO another note said fabricated?.

The CRO appeared to be the only person she hadn’t questioned. Or maybe she simply hadn’t gotten that far.

He flipped to the next page, where he found a similar group of executives for Vida Immortal Farming. The faces were different, as were the names and backgrounds, but the positions – CEO, CFO, COO, and CRO lined up.

Not so surprising. The two companies would probably have similar leadership structure and run along similar models, given that they were in the same, very limited, industry.

The next page he encountered was a snapshot of the executive leadership team for Sustaining Life Farming. He was familiar with the leadership there. There had been numerous complaints from small farms all across the country over the past few years as the corporate farming conglomerate bought up all the available farmland.

Movement in his peripheral brought his head up at the same time that a female voice spoke. “Is this seat taken?”

Tari approached, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Hey…” The greeting died in his throat at her bruised jawline and the plum rings beneath both eyes. Abrasions crisscrossed her forehead and cheekbones.

He rose and gave her a hug, then pulled back and examined her face. “What happened?”

She slid onto the bench opposite him as he retook his seat. “I was in a car accident.”

“If you call an intentional attempt on her life an accident.” Dalton’s scowl left no room for interpretation as to how he felt about the not-so-accidental incident. He scooted in beside Tari. A Kansas City Chiefs cap snugged on his head hid his hair and shaded the top part of his face.

“Sounds like I need to hear more about that.”

As Tari recounted the harrowing events that almost took her life, his jaw clenched. This was crazy. That The Shadows would make such a brazen attempt on her life, in public where other people could be hurt, showed their desperation to shut her up.

Too bad he knew she wouldn’t listen.

“I take it that’s why you’re here. In Kansas City, I mean.”

She slid a glance at Dalton. “Let’s just say that a mutual friend of all of ours who has extensive security around him at all times made me an offer. It seemed prudent to take him up on it, at least for a while.”

Dalton arched an eyebrow beneath the brim of his cap. “A long while.”

“We’ll see.” Her non-committal response clearly didn’t make Dalton feel any better than he did.

Turning his attention to Dalton, he nodded at the cap. “In disguise?”

Not that he’d spent a lot of time around Dalton, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen the other man wear a hat before. He’d also caught brief glimpses of Dalton on the news, always in the background of pictures featuring Lincoln, and the man never had a hat on.

Dalton’s relaxed posture felt forced as his gaze traveled the part of the room he could see. “When you learn that there’s a bounty on your head, you decide to keep a low profile when out in public.”

A bounty. What kind of trouble were his friends getting into these days?

“And, since my back is to the room, I’m trusting you to keep an eye out for trouble.” Serious eyes bored into him as Dalton waited for a response.

“Comes with the badge, right?” He held Dalton’s gaze with his own. “I’m always watching.”

He gathered the papers spread out in front of him and stacked them, but Tari’s hand dropped onto the one with the executive team at Sustaining Life Farms.

“This man. He’s a Shadow. Tier One. I revealed him a few days ago.” Her soft words carried across the space between them.

He followed her pointing finger. The CEO? “You’re sure?”

Stupid question. She knew who she had called out.

“Yes. He’s the CEO of Sustaining Life Farms. He’s also a silent member on the board of directors for Vida Immortal Farming Products. They provide seeds…” She shook her head slowly, her black hair brushing her high cheekbones. “But, of course, you know that.”

Dalton’s jaw twitched. “So The Shadows have a tier one leading this country’s largest food grower?”

“Looks that way.” The omelet settled in his stomach like a brick.

The barista dropped off two steaming cups, stalling conversation for a moment until she moved far enough away for them to continue without fear of being overheard.

“It makes sense.” Dalton’s fingers curled around the cardboard cup. “I mean, The Shadows are all about power. What greater power than controlling the food supply?”

Tari sipped from her cup. “So those seeds I tested, they came from Vida Immortal?”

“Some of them. I’m still reviewing everything, but if what Malachi says can be believed…”

“Malachi’s here?” Dalton scanned the dining area as if expecting to see Malachi pop out from under a table.

“Yeah. I ran into him at a farm up north. He wanted to come back to Kansas City with me and I ended up offering him a place to stay.” He shook his head. “Still not sure how that happened or why, but here we are.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” A half smile curled Dalton’s lips. “He’s a good guy.”

Somehow he felt like that was high praise coming from Dalton. “He is. Allison wasn’t thrilled about having an unexpected houseguest, but I think she’s come around.”

Most of the time.

It’d been a chilly morning in his house, although that had less to do with Malachi and more to do with their conversation the previous evening.

If Allison thought the cold shoulder would change his mind about recommitting to his faith, she didn’t know him as well as she should after five years of marriage.

“Anyway, you were saying something about Malachi?” Dalton’s prompt pulled his thoughts from Allison.

“Malachi says that they sent you seeds from both suppliers.” He nodded at Tari.

Tari pushed her cup to the side and leaned in. “What’s truly interesting is that all the seeds I tested had the exact same chemical makeup.”

Malachi had said the same thing. It was possible, he supposed, but he found it unlikely that there wouldn’t be some minute differences. “Does that strike you as odd?”

“It does. If they were being produced by two different companies, I would expect some differences. Especially in light of the fact that they contained contaminants that shouldn’t be there. It’s, well, I’d be surprised if it was coincidence.”

“Especially since you don’t believe in coincidence.” Dalton lightly elbowed her.

“Yes, there’s that.” Tari nodded at the file in front of him. “May I?”

While he knew what he should say, Tari’s expertise could prove invaluable. His career was already on the line here. What was one more questionable choice?

He flipped through the pages until he found the results, then slid them across the table.

While Tari reviewed the findings, he looked at Dalton. “You said that you’d found a connection between all this and something you’d been working?”

“I was following up on a lead Tari found, one that was supposed to expose a tier two Shadow. Instead, I stumbled upon a smuggling operation at a farm in Nebraska. They were smuggling a lot of the same chemicals on those reports.” Dalton nodded at the sheets of paper in front of Tari.

Interesting. It was possible that the two incidents were unrelated, but that was an awfully specific list of chemicals. For them to be found at a farm, no less, struck him as too specific to have no connection to the tainted seeds.

Nebraska would also be a pretty key location for moving illegal goods, as it was near the center of the country. Smugglers could move things in any direction a lot faster.

“How common are these chemicals?”

Tari glanced up at his question. “They have numerous uses in pharmaceutical, personal care, and even cleaning supplies. Most of them really aren’t that uncommon, however the big concern is in how they are combined. Some of these, when mixed together, create a toxic combination, which is what I found when I examined the seeds.”

He followed her finger as she pointed to several of the chemicals listed on the report.

“These in particular are concerning. This one has been linked to cancers, while this one is thought to adversely impact cognitive function, which is particularly concerning with children and the elderly.” Tari held his gaze with her own. “A few of the chemicals Dalton found at the warehouse are highly regulated due to their toxicity. I found trace amounts of those same chemicals in the seeds.”

“And I found evidence that shipments of those same chemicals have been steadily disappearing in transit. Reported as stolen, with no recovery ever made.” Dalton’s low tone drew his attention to the former investigator, whose eyes stared at him with penetrating intensity.

“So, it’s possible,” Jordan glanced back and forth between the two of them, “that the chemicals you recovered were bound for Vida Immortal or Amazing Grow’s labs.”

“Most definitely, based upon the scientific findings.” Tari’s lips pressed in a grim line. “The fact that the farm was connected to The Shadows and that Sustaining Life’s CEO is a high ranking Shadow makes me want to say that it’s not only possible, but likely.”

He couldn’t say he disagreed. “Did the investigation into that farm turn up anything concrete? Maybe something that ties the farm to Sustaining Life, Vida Immortal, or Amazing Grow directly?”

“No. The guy arrested was killed in lockup.” Dalton’s face twisted in a scowl. “Seems to happen a lot to members of The Shadows who get caught.”

Sounded like there was a story there, but right now he was only interested in getting to the bottom of this. And hopefully keeping his job in the process.

“What’s next?” Tari neatly stacked the two papers together and handed them back to Jordan.

“I think it’s time for me to pay an official visit to Vida Immortal and do an inspection of their facilities. Maybe Sustaining Life Farms, too, if I can get there before I’m stopped.” The thought twisted his gut as his boss’ reaction hung over him like the clouds before a storm. “I’ll have to move quickly, though. I’ve been ordered to leave this alone, so I’m sure I’ll be blocked if my boss catches wind of it.”

Sharp eyes assessed him from beneath the brim of Dalton’s cap. “Is that common? Your boss ordering you off a case?”

“No. I can’t remember it ever happening before, but I’ve been ordered to drop this one.” Jordan scanned the area around them to make sure no one could overhear. Although, really, he wasn’t sure what he expected. His boss to suddenly stop beside the table and fire him? “More than that, my boss sounded scared. He was special forces for about a decade. I’ve never seen him afraid of anything.”

Dalton’s finger tapped absently on the table in front of him. “I think that’s worth digging into. What’s his name?”

He gave Dalton his boss’ name, watching as Dalton tapped it into his phone. “We’ve always gotten along and he’s never been one to back down from a lead. He’s gone head-to-head with senators and argued before Congress. He drilled into me that we follow the leads, no matter where they go or who they impact. Now? He tells me to drop this one because ‘some directives are bigger than me’, whatever that means.”

“Sounds to me like The Shadows have gotten to him.” Dalton set his phone aside. “Maybe he’s one of them, or maybe they’re threatening him, but I’m certain they’re involved in all this.”

Tari nodded. “I’ll look into the executives for both seed suppliers. See what connections I can find.”

The bruises on her face were a stark reminder of the danger she was already in. “Maybe you oughta let us take it from here. You’re a civilian, not an investigator.”

Although, technically, so was Dalton since he no longer worked for the Special Assignments Bureau, but at least he carried a gun and had the training.

“I may not be an investigator, but I am a scientist.” Tari’s smile contained a spunk that defied all she’d endured in the past year. “I know how to conduct research.”

That was certainly true.

He let the argument drop. At least he knew she was safely tucked into Lincoln’s entourage. That should be one of the most secure places for her.

“Where is Vida Immortal headquartered?” Dalton asked.

“Omaha, Nebraska.” He was already planning the trip in his head. He could be there in under three hours, traffic permitting. Maybe if he left early tomorrow morning, he could arrive not long after they opened and take them by surprise.

“And Sustaining Life?”

He looked at Dalton. “That one’s a little trickier. It’s in California.”

There would be no sneaking that trip in, not if his boss was watching his movements. The airline ticket purchase alone would send up red flags. Add to that the fact that it was in another OIG’s jurisdiction and there’d be no good way to explain that.

“How would you like some backup?” Dalton leaned back in the booth. Anyone watching them would think the man’s posture was completely casual, but there was a controlled tension in his body.

“I can’t take non-OIG personnel with me.” Although, for the first time, he wished he had the option to take in someone of his choosing. Dalton would be an asset, of that he was certain.

“I’m thinking more like someone on the outside. If there’s something shady going on there, your presence could cause some panic. I might see something that would warrant further investigation.”

It was an interesting thought. While he’d witnessed people scrambling when he showed up for surprise inspections before – once, he’d even caught an assistant shredding documents while her boss tried to stall him – he’d never had the benefit of having someone watch from outside the facility.

“I’m planning to leave around five tomorrow morning.” The plan, only seconds old, now cemented in his mind.

Dalton grinned. “Catch ‘em as they’re arriving for work. I like it.”

“Better than catching them at the end of the day, right?” He’d tried both methods before and found that the beginning of the day not only allowed more time, but also reduced the number of people available to try to cover things up.

Especially if he could arrive a little before eight a.m.

“Where do you want to meet?” Dalton’s question proved that the early hour didn’t deter him.

He was liking this guy better all the time.

He mentally routed the trip in his mind, factoring in Dalton’s approximate location. While he didn’t know precisely where Dalton lived, it was certainly going to be close to Lincoln’s residence, which he knew was on the Kansas side of Kansas City.

There was a shopping center right off Interstate twenty-nine that should be a good location for both of them.

Dalton nodded his agreement at the suggestion. “I’ll be there by five.”

Which meant he’d need to leave his house by a little after four-thirty. Jordan wanted to choke himself. What had he been thinking, setting the meet that early?

But it would be better to get that early start than leave later. Omaha was roughly a two and a half hour drive and they’d likely arrive in time to hit rush-hour traffic. The earlier they got started, the less likely they were to get stuck in the thick of it.

“Oh, and if Malachi asks to come, be sure to say yes.”

He jerked back as Dalton’s words registered. “Why would Malachi ask to come?” Honestly, he hadn’t thought about telling Malachi, although he supposed Malachi would need to know that he wouldn’t be able to give him a ride downtown tomorrow.

“I’ve learned to expect just about anything where he’s concerned.”

Only time would tell, but he didn’t see that having Malachi tag along would carry any benefit, no matter what Dalton said.

“I’ll pull the last inspection reports for both distributors today.” Jordan gathered all the paperwork and inserted the pages into the manila envelope. “Compare the findings with these reports to see what variances exist. Hopefully my office is clear for me to get back in.”

“What happened at your office?” Tari’s dark eyebrows drew together.

“There was a bomb threat at the building yesterday. We evacuated and I saw someone going through my office while we were waiting for them to clear the building.”

“Did you recognize him?” Dalton laced his fingers together and leaned in.

“I never saw his face, but he had a tattoo on his forearm that I’m going to run through the system. Maybe he’s been arrested and is in the database.”

“A tattoo on his forearm?” Dalton exchanged a look with Tari that felt weighted.

His pulse kicked up. This meant something to them, he was sure of it. “Yeah. Some kind of S.”

“The mark of The Shadows.” Tari’s soft words froze the air in his lungs.

“This supports the idea that The Shadows are neck-deep in all this.” Dalton’s attention landed on the envelope on the table in front of them. “I wonder if that’s what he was looking for.”

“I didn’t have this yet.” His mind raced as he thought about the few random pieces of information he did have on the case.

The seeds. Could The Shadows know that he’d taken seeds from Ramon Zapato’s farm?

He had no doubt that Tari and Dalton would answer that question with a resounding yes. And, since he’d sent seeds off for testing, there was a record in the system that he’d had them at one point. If The Shadows had someone on the inside, like his boss, then they would definitely know he had those seeds.

A buzzing started in his head.

He’d retained some of the seeds as evidence. They’d been in his office when they all evacuated yesterday. Were they still there?

He didn’t recall seeing them when he’d looked around last night, but maybe he’d overlooked them.

He hoped he’d overlooked them.

“I need to get back to my office.” The urgency inside drove him to his feet.

“We’ll find out all we can today and I’ll brief you on it tomorrow.” Dalton also rose, sliding out of the way so Tari could exit the booth.

Tari looked up at him. She seemed even smaller standing between him and Dalton. “Be careful, Jordan. The Shadows will stop at nothing to achieve their goals.”

He knew that much to be true. “You, too. I don’t want you,” he shifted his gaze to encompass Dalton as well, “either of you, to get caught in the crossfire.”

Dalton clapped him on the back. “We’re already there.”

“Then it’s a good thing that God has a habit of showing up in the fire, isn’t it?” Tari placed a hand on his arm. “Be wary, my friend. Our enemy is sly, but our God is stronger.”

True as that was, God didn’t always keep His people from entering the flames. Or from dying by them.

As the three of them exited the coffeeshop and headed their separate ways, he prayed that they would survive the storm that most certainly was coming for them.

₪   ₪   ₪

Gretchen’s hand jerked, sending a stream of creamer-laced coffee racing across her desk, as doorbell chimes echoed through the silent townhouse.

After the events of the previous evening, she’d decided to work from home. She’d also kept Delilah out of school so she could watch over her.

The police had caught the man last night, but last she’d heard he wasn’t talking.

With no idea who he was, why he was there, or if he had accomplices who were also watching her and her daughter, she’d felt that the risk of leaving her place was much too high today.

That confrontation with Chase would hold until tomorrow. Everything else on her agenda – the meetings, reports, and data reviews – could be done remotely.

She grabbed a few tissues from the tissue box on her desk and dropped them on the periphery of the coffee flood as the bell chimed again.

Pulling up the doorbell camera’s feed on her phone, she saw the detective who’d taken her statement the night before. She activated the microphone. “Just a minute.”

His responding nod indicated he’d heard her.

With another glance at the coffee lake on her desk, held back by a flimsy wall of tissues, she pushed up from her chair. That mess would have to wait.

She disarmed the alarm and let the detective in, locking the door behind him before leading him into the living room. Good thing Delilah was upstairs playing video games. She didn’t need to hear this conversation.

“You have news?” She gestured to one of the wingback chairs before sinking into a matching chair that sat opposite the detective.

“His prints were in the system.” The name the detective gave meant nothing to her. “He’s a low-level thug with a string of petty convictions. We’re waiting on a warrant for his financials, but his history tells us he’s the type who is hired, not the type to mastermind crimes on his own.”

That meant someone had probably hired him to watch her place, didn’t it? “But you don’t know who he’s working for.”

The fact that the detective hadn’t mentioned a name answered that question even before he shook his head slowly. “Anyone you can think of who might want to threaten or scare you?”

“I’m the chief research officer for Vida Immortal Farming. I’m sure you’re aware that our group has been the target of numerous threats.”

“Sure, but this threat didn’t find you at the office. It found your home. Feels more personal than professional.”

The words chilled her. Or maybe it was the air conditioning kicking on and pumping cold air through the vent by her feet. Either way, a shiver rocked up her spine. Someone had hired that man to watch her place. That indicated resources, which likely meant he – or she – would try again. “My life has been devoted to my work. I don’t know who would want to threaten me personally.”

The detective’s gaze landed on a framed photo of Delilah hanging on the wall. “What about her father?”

“He’s not in the picture. Hasn’t been since before she was born.” Really, he hadn’t been even before that. Arthur had never wanted children. Her decision to secretly go off her birth control had been the nail in the coffin of their decaying relationship.

The detective nodded as if expecting her answer. “That would’ve been over a decade ago. Maybe he’s had a change of heart. Have you had any contact with him?”

What was the best way to play this? If she said no, he’d want to know who Delilah’s father was so he could contact him personally. If she said yes, he’d still want to know so he could follow up on the lead and verify her story.

“Ma’am?”

She shook her head lightly, as if trying to clear the cobwebs. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Understandable. About her father.”

“Yes. He and I speak occasionally for business-related matters. He has never once asked for any type of visitation or contact.”

The detective’s face gave away none of his thoughts, but her answer didn’t seem to surprise him. “I’d like to confirm his whereabouts to eliminate him as a suspect. What’s his name?”

That was one question she would never answer. “I’m sorry, but I will not disclose that.”

His eyebrows lowered into a glower. “You realize that withholding information could lead to your stalker’s release.”

“I also know that, as a victim, I am not legally required to answer questions.” Gretchen straightened her spine and stared at the detective. “His name is recognizable. When we separated, we both agreed that we would keep our previous association secret, for both our sakes, as well as Delilah’s. I’ll not break that silence now and risk ruining my daughter’s life.”

The detective blinked, whether surprised by her candor or by her refusal, she wasn’t really sure. “We exercise discretion, but this could be critical to moving your case forward.”

Critical or not, that was the most information he was going to get from her on the matter. “Again, I can assure you it wasn’t him. Focusing there would be a waste of your time and departmental resources.”

His gaze bored into hers.

If he thought that his stubborn refusal to accept her answer would sway her, then he had grossly underestimated her own stubbornness. “It appears we’re at an impasse then. I can have my assistant prepare a list of known threats based upon our current projects and recent hate mail, but I will not disclose information that is private and will lead nowhere.”

Several seconds ticked by, then he offered a tight nod. “That would help, but I can tell you that threats and intimidation often come from those who are closest to the victim.”

“That may be the case in most circumstances, but not here.” If he had nothing further to tell her, then there was no reason to continue this pointless discussion. She rose, indicating that the meeting was over. “I will have Chase gather the information and send it over today.”

The detective opened the front door and paused on the threshold. “It’s likely that whoever is behind this will hire someone else. Watch yourself. If you see anything that feels off, you give us a call.”

“I will.” No worry about that. She would not put Delilah in harm’s way.

“And if you change your mind about telling me your ex’s name, you know how to reach me.”

That would never happen, but she simply nodded.

The detective stalked off and she closed the door, engaged the lock, then reactivated the alarm.

While Arthur had been her initial suspicion last night, she’d heard the fear in his voice. Something had spooked him enough that he’d actually been concerned for her, and possibly Delilah’s, safety. He may not be father of the year, but a part of him did care for his daughter, even if he wanted no part of being a father figure.

Aside from that, the two of them had a rather tenuous understanding. He could incinerate her life and career and she could do the same to his.

The balance of power had served them both well and she was certain he kept as wary an eye on her as she did on him.

Neither would do anything to disrupt that balance, especially not now, when The Shadows were so close to achieving their goals and her work was such an integral part of their plan.

But the unsettled question remained. If not Arthur, then who?

Seventeen

Jordan stepped into the OIG offices, spotting Sean at his desk. If Sean was at his desk, that must mean they were done processing Jordan’s office.

A glance at his open office door confirmed no one was inside. The window next to the door gave a pretty clear view of the interior. He veered toward Sean to get an update.

“Well, guess I owe you an apology.” Sean leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. “They found a bug in your office.”

That guy had placed surveillance gear in his office?

While he shouldn’t be surprised, he was. He was also glad that he hadn’t had any conversations in there between the time the man had been in there and now.

“And prints?”

“Pulled a bunch of ‘em, don’t ‘cha know. But most of ‘em will probably be yours.” Sean rocked in his chair. “I still can’t believe you saw him from the street.”

That made two of them, but he couldn’t explain. Sean would have him committed.

He was almost ready to have himself committed.

“I’ll credit that to God, I guess.” If there was a topic that would shut Sean down in a hurry, it was God.

Sean assessed him. “So where were you all morning?”

“Meeting with some experts on those seeds.” He’d given Sean few details on the Zapato investigation, mostly because there wasn’t supposed to be an investigation any longer, but Sean knew that the seeds had been tested so that topic was safe enough.

He still hadn’t told Sean they’d been ordered off the case.

“Did you learn anything?”

How much should he tell Sean? They weren’t supposed to be working this case, not that he had any intention of dropping it, but telling Sean details could make him complicit in the investigation. It was better for Sean if he swept this all under the rug. At least for now.

“Not much.”

Sean arched an eyebrow. “Uffda.”

The slang, common in Sean’s home state of Minnesota, told Jordan all he needed to know. Sean wasn’t buying his explanation.

“You’re a horrible liar, bro. Always have been.” Sean crossed his arms over his chest. “Wanna try that one again?”

The laptop bag in his hand felt weightier the longer he stood here, although he suspected it had more to do with the psychological weight of the manila envelope than the actual laptop.

There were too many ears out here.

He jerked his head toward his office. “You’re sure they got all the bugs out?”

“Yes. They used an electronic sweeper and were very thorough. They were here for hours.”

While that should have reassured him, it didn’t. “Let me put this down, then we can take a walk.”

He detoured to his office, his gaze roving the space. Still looked the same, but knowing someone had been in here, and had bugged the place, made it feel foreign. That would probably pass eventually, assuming he still had a job by the time he saw this through.

He deposited his bag under the desk, then rejoined Sean outside the door. They left the office space, the door clicking shut softly behind them.

The balcony looked empty. That should be a good place to talk, hopefully without being overheard.

He led the way toward it. Each floor had a balcony, which was shared by all the offices on that floor. For the most part, it was used by smokers, although he’d occasionally see people sitting outside on their lunch breaks, too.

At ten-thirty in the morning, it was a little too early for lunch, but must have been after the smokers took their break.

He stepped outside and sniffed the damp air. No trace of smoke. Hopefully that meant the balconies above and below them were vacant also.

“What’s with all the secrecy?” Sean dragged a chair across the concrete surface of the balcony, the scraping sound bouncing off the glass at their backs.

He positioned a chair close to Sean and leaned in. “We’ve been ordered to drop this case. I can’t do it, but I’m giving you the out, if you want to take it.”

Sean’s hazel eyes widened, all traces of humor dissipating. “Ordered?”

“From the top down. Moving forward could come at the cost of your career. You sure you want to go deeper?”

For a moment, Sean stared at him as though not comprehending the words. A sigh burst out and he glanced around like he expected to find the top brass rappelling down the building to bust them. “Man, if we’ve been ordered to drop it, you should comply. You’ve worked too hard to get where you’re at to throw it away on something that may not even be a case.”

The words hit him like fists to the chest.

Of all people, he thought Sean would have his back. Maybe not want to put himself on the line for this, but that he’d encourage him to follow his gut.

Instead, Sean thought he should drop it? After people had died and they suspected contamination in the nation’s food supply?

“I can’t, man. This is the food supply. If we’re right, billions of people might become sick. Or die.”

Sean averted his eyes, studying the city stretching below them. “If the brass says to stop investigating, they must’ve already vetted it, right?”

“Or they’ve been bought, or threatened.” Jordan pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. How were they even having this conversation? “Okay then. Forget I mentioned it.”

“You’re going to drop it, right? I mean, this is your career.”

No way was he dropping this. And Sean knew it, too. “We better get back to work.”

Sean planted a hand on his shoulder. “What did Allison say when you told her about this?”

He pressed his lips together, remembering Allison’s argument that he couldn’t risk his job, and their lifestyle, on a career ending mission.

“That’s what I thought. Listen to your wife, man. Take it from me. You don’t want to lose her.”

He swallowed hard. Sean’s divorce three years ago had been rough. If there was one thing Sean knew that he didn’t, it was the pain of a failed marriage.

While he heard what Sean was saying, it wasn’t that simple.

He had a duty to do what was right, especially since lives were at stake. And, no matter how Sean tried to justify it, he knew there was something sinister going on.

An uneasy silence wrapped them as they went back inside, separating to go to their respective work spaces. Jordan unpacked his laptop and plugged it into the docking station, then began a more in-depth analysis of his files.

Now that he no longer needed to worry about disturbing prints, he could see if anything in his files appeared to be missing.

Really, there was only one file he was truly concerned about right now. The small file he had on the Zapato case.

He dug through the drawer, but saw no trace of the file.

It had been here yesterday morning. He was sure of it.

In case he was losing it, he checked all the drawers. Nothing. The remaining seeds were gone as well.

He blew out a breath.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting out to Sean, who focused on his computer monitor. Still think there’s nothing to this, Sean?

Not that he’d ever ask that question out loud. Sean wanted out. He couldn’t fault him for that.

It was treacherous ground he traveled.

He opened his email. As if highlighted in neon, he saw two messages from the testing facilities. That was fast. Sure, he’d said it was high priority, but they’d turned it around in less than twenty-four hours.

His cursor hovered over the first email.

What if there was a camera hidden in his office? If he opened this, maybe whoever had broken in would see what was in the email.

Then again, it was possible that they already knew.

He clicked on the first message before he could talk himself out of it. The brief email message echoed Tari’s conclusions.

The attachment detailed the findings.

He pulled out the envelope and shuffled through the pages until he came across the previous test results.

All three matched.

It didn’t matter what the other test revealed. He now had three conclusive independent tests that confirmed the seeds contained a number of harmful chemicals.

Even so, he checked the other email. It, too, supported the findings of the other tests.

He leaned back in his chair. Four separate tests all said the same thing. And since his boss didn’t want to hear it, there was no one he could go to with these results.

He could go over his boss’ head, but the way his boss had ordered him off the case made him think the cover-up went much higher. Maybe all the way to the top.

Who could he trust?

Besides, without those seeds, he couldn’t even prove that they’d come from Vida Immortal or Amazing Grow Seeds. He had nothing.

The surprise visit to Vida Immortal tomorrow felt more important than ever. He needed to turn up something concrete.

Without it, it was his word against a major USDA-approved corporation.

The investigation would die. And, if Monday’s attack was any indication, he might die with it.

He rose and paced toward the windows overlooking the downtown.

The sun reflected off the glass and metal landscape in front of him, waves of heat shimmering off the cold and impersonable surfaces.

His vision wavered and pain sparked behind his eyes.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. The stress must be getting to him. He didn’t usually have this much trouble with his eyes.

He opened his eyes.

The world in front of him gelled. The blobs of shapes and colors formed into distinct images. The buildings that were far off and would be relatively indiscernible, even with his glasses, zoomed into sharp focus.

Buy white garments from me so you will not be shamed by your nakedness, and ointment for your eyes so you will be able to see.

The verse from Revelation chapter 3 lodged in his mind, spoken in a soft voice that he hadn’t heard in a long time but would know anywhere.

So you will be able to see.

The final line of the verse stuck in his mind, repeating as if echoing between the downtown high-rises.

He closed his eyes briefly. Okay, God. What is it I need to see?

When he opened his eyes, he half expected the world to be back to its unfocused state, but the clarity remained.

He scanned the buildings, systematically starting with the ones furthest to his right, then moving left.

In his peripheral, the sun reflected off something.

He swiveled toward it.

Images ticked into his mind rapid-fire.

A building one block away with a flat roof that stood about one story higher than his office. A man wearing a black cap. A rifle, steadied by an arm with a S tattoo.

The rifle sighted on him.

He dropped to the ground, rolling toward the outside wall. Glass shattered. Shards rained over him, pricking the exposed skin on his forearms and neck.

From inside the office, screams echoed.

“Everybody down!” His shout seemed loud to his own ears, but he wasn’t sure anyone else heard him above the chaos.

A sharp crack retorted, followed by a thud as the bullet lodged in something solid in his office.

But not in him, or anyone else. That was what mattered.

The brick building at his back should provide protection from the bullets.

Another crack. His monitor shattered, eradicating the report that had moments before screamed the truth about those seeds.

Not that destroying the monitor would erase the email itself, but it sent a clear message, at least in his mind. They wanted him to back off.

Silence descended. From outside the obliterated window, sirens sounded in the distance.

If the shooter was smart – and Jordan had no reason to believe the tattooed man was stupid – he was already making his way off the rooftop.

Still, Jordan didn’t move.

His vision blurred, swirling the room into an indiscernible mass of neutral colors.

The shooter was gone. He sensed it in his spirit. Just like the super vision God had given him to see the danger, the shooter had vanished.

Now, where were his glasses?

“Jordan!” Sean’s voice came from the direction of the doorway and he angled his face toward the sound.

“Bro, you okay?”

He sat up, being careful not to shift onto any of the broken glass littering the industrial-grade carpet around him. “Yeah. Hey, you see my glasses anywhere?”

He couldn’t even remember where they’d been when all this started. Had he set them down on the credenza? Had they still been in his hand?

They sure weren’t in his hand now.

He chased the memories of what he’d done right before the shooting.

After removing his glasses, he’d set them on the credenza in front of the window. He was sure of it. That’s where they should be now, probably surrounded by shattered glass from what had once been a window.

Sean’s footsteps approached, his shoes crunching the glass that must be everywhere.

After checking around his feet to make sure that he wasn’t going to step on his glasses, Jordan slowly rose. Part of him expected a bullet to the back any second, but logically, he knew the shooter had fled. The sirens sounded like they were right outside the building now, so unless the shooter wanted to get caught, he would’ve booked it by now.

“Uh, don’t think these things are gonna do you much good.” Sean held the glasses in front of his nose so he could see the condition of his eyewear.

He took the proffered glasses.

Only a few jagged shards remained in the right lens. The left lens was completely gone as well. The bent wire-rimmed frame brought back memories of the time he’d taken a tumble on his bike and mangled his frames.

“You got your back-ups here?” Sean was well aware how little he could see without his glasses.

“No. They’re at home.” And he couldn’t see well enough to drive himself to get them.

Not that the police were likely to let him leave any time soon anyway.

How had his glasses taken so much abuse? He was sure that he hadn’t knocked the glasses off the credenza. He most certainly hadn’t stepped on them in his dive to get out of the way.

Ice shot through his veins.

Had the shooter shot out his glasses? If so, the guy was a crack shot, to be able to hit such a small target from so far away.

He turned his attention to the top of the credenza, noting a long track in the wood. From a bullet, perhaps?

That’d be for the crime scene techs to decide.

For now, he’d need to see about getting his glasses replaced.

He set the worthless glasses on the credenza and shook his head, then his shoulders and arms, in an attempt to get the glass off. No doubt he still had pieces all over him, clinging to his clothes and stuck in his hair, but for now it’d have to do.

Maybe he could find a little broom to brush it all off.

He moved away from the window, just in case, and exited his crime-scene office.

Sean stopped beside him. “Trouble’s sure got your number this week.”

He pressed his lips together. That was an understatement. His gaze traveled the office area, not that he could see which employees were present and if anyone was injured. “Everyone’s okay?”

“Yep. Appears you’re the only one with a target on your back.”

“It was the guy from yesterday. The one who was in my office.” The words popped out before he thought them through.

Sean’s eyes widened. “What makes you think that?”

“I saw him.” Or, more specifically, that distinctive tattoo. Although if what Tari and Dalton said was true, all Shadows members sported that same tatt.

Still, the chances of multiple Shadows targeting him in the space of twenty-four hours seemed slim.

“How the heck could you see him from that far away?”

A commotion at the door saved him from answering. Probably the police, not that he could see well enough to confirm that. “The police here?”

“Yep.” Sean lifted his hand in a slight wave to draw their attention. “Looks like the same guy you spoke to yesterday.”

Swell. That team leader had already written him off as a loon.

Although, maybe having the same guy wasn’t a bad thing. This attempt on his life would confirm that his story yesterday had validity. The fact that they’d found a bug in his office would add additional support.

“You again?”

While he couldn’t see the team lead, he recognized the man’s voice. “Believe me, I wish it wasn’t.”

The man chuckled. “I bet. Walk me through what happened.”

He turned to Sean. “Hey, would you mind texting Allison and asking her to order replacement glasses from that one-hour eyeglass place up the street?”

The blur that was Sean’s head bobbed. “You got it.”

The mangled glasses sitting in his office came from that place, so they should be able to replicate them easily enough. At least he’d be able to see in about an hour or so.

Turning back to the detective, he recapped what had happened. He didn’t have to see the detective’s face to feel his skepticism, but the evidence spoke for itself.

He no longer had any question that the bomb threat was because of him.

The guys after him were escalating. And it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt.

₪   ₪   ₪

Arthur’s grip tightened on The Shadows phone as Niles updated him. “What do you mean you don’t know who the guy is?”

After Gretchen’s phone call the night before, he’d grudgingly told Niles about Gretchen and Delilah. Niles had been surprised to know he had a daughter, but had promised to look into the guy currently in police custody.

“The guy is a ghost. His identity is too clean to be real.” Niles grunted. “I know a fabricated background when I see one and that guy’s identity is as fake as they come.”

He slammed his fist down on the table in the converted dressing room at the arena where his rally was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes. “I need to know if they learned about my connection to her or if this is about Gretchen’s work.”

While he was only moderately concerned about Gretchen and Delilah’s safety, he was very concerned about the ramifications to The Shadows’ plans if something happened to either of them. Gretchen’s world revolved around their child. If someone hurt Delilah, Gretchen would spiral. And their plans would spiral with her.

“I’m not convinced this has anything to do with you.” Niles’ mild words captured his attention. “We’ve been tracking a number of growing threats against both Vida Immortal and Amazing Grow in recent months. Gretchen herself has received a handful of credible threats, although we’ve intercepted most of them so she was never aware.”

“Do you know the source of these threats?” What he really wanted to ask was what Niles had done about them, but one question at a time.

“Some come from farmers being driven into bankruptcy. Some from your anti-corporate farming groups, and some from your standard wackos that see a conspiracy in everything.”

The irony was, in this instance, that the conspiracy might actually have some kernels of truth. “And there’s no indicator which of these groups this guy belongs to?”

“My guess would be the conspiracy group, based upon his nondescript identity. It’s the type of genericness I would expect from someone who thinks big brother is watching.”

A light rap came from the door and Arthur turned as his head of security peeked in and gave him a five minute signal.

While the rally wouldn’t begin for nearly fifteen, his publicist liked to get them all together to review everyone’s position and role before they took the stage.

Like they didn’t all know their place already. They’d only done this dozens of times, but he went along with it because his publicist was good. It was worth the aggravation to keep the man happy and make sure that the rest of his team backed him up appropriately.

He nodded at his security head and waited for the door to close before turning his attention back to Niles. “We need this resolved quickly. Gretchen is freaking out, which is going to impact her work.”

He didn’t need to remind Niles of the importance of said work.

“I have guys digging into him. We’ll find out if anyone else is involved.”

“Good.” His thoughts moved to their plans for the evening. Shame to waste a perfectly good rally, but the publicity of a supposed assassination attempt would be worth it. “You have everything set up for tonight?”

“I do. We’ll let you get about halfway through before we strike. I have another guy ready to deal with the wife.”

Timing was important, as they needed the wife to die after her husband. A premature death could raise suspicions, if the police were able to figure out she died first.

“Just make sure they don’t miss.” The security guard was to be positioned slightly to the right of the podium. If the sniper missed, the chance that Arthur himself would be hit was very real.

Liz was also a concern, as her position was in a chair behind Arthur.

“He won’t. Trust me when I say he’s the best.”

The call ended and Arthur gathered his notes before exiting the dressing room. The two guards waiting outside his door, neither of which was the man marked for death tonight, fell into step beside him as they strode down the hallway toward the stage.

He joined Liz, the publicist, and the rest of the bodyguards and listened with feigned interest as the publicist ran through the evening.

Beyond the wings where they waited, he heard the dim roar of the crowd.

From somewhere in the crowd, a small group started chanting Topheth Haskins Topheth Haskins. The chant grew, sweeping across the arena, until the crowd roared his name like he was some sort of rock star. He exchanged a look with Liz, who grinned.

It was infectious. And more than a little exhilarating.

The roar rose to a crescendo as they took the stage. He waved and smiled to the sea of hands raised in what felt like worship.

Yes, these people adored him. He was their god, and they, his humble servants.

He and Liz each took their turn greeting the crowd from the podium, then Liz stepped back and sat in her assigned seat. Around him, his security team took their places. His gaze slid briefly to the dead man walking.

Slightly to his right as planned.

He forced thoughts of what was to come from his mind and launched into his speech. It was well rehearsed and rolled off his tongue like he’d been saying it all his life. The notes were really only a formality, in case he lost his train of thought, something which hadn’t happened yet.

But tonight’s rally was unlike any other. Not since Saul’s death had he faced a rally with such a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

It was an odd combination, and not one he particularly liked.

The crowd laughed at all his quips, booed whenever he mentioned his opponent, and cheered when he spoke of winning. Each line he delivered took him one step closer to the evening’s grand finale.

A loud crack silenced his voice.

Beside him, the guard fell.

He stared at the man as if in shock, only to be tackled to the ground a second later by one of his other guards.

Screaming started somewhere in the crowd, followed by the sound of footsteps stampeding toward the exits. Liz’s voice registered in the background, as did voices he recognized as belonging to the security team.

Hands roughly grabbed his biceps and hauled him to his feet.

“Keep your head down, sir.” His head of security’s voice came close to his ear.

He allowed himself to be rushed offstage, surrounded by his security guys on all sides. Once in the wings, they hustled him back to the dressing room he’d gotten ready in not an hour earlier. The door slammed behind him and he heard his head of security barking orders to the guards in the hall.

No doubt they had positioned several men, heavily armed, outside the door.

“Arthur.” Liz threw her arms around his neck and curled her face into him.

Huh. He hadn’t even noticed that they’d put her in here, although it made sense. Having only one target to guard instead of two would free up more of the team to watch for threats.

His arms went around her and he held her tightly.

Her body trembled violently against his chest. Sobs tore from her, tears drenching his expensive dry-clean-only shirt.

No doubt this had brought back terrible memories of the night she’d witnessed her husband, a man she cared about but didn’t truly love, get shot right in front of her.

He felt a little bad about resurrecting her PTSD from that day, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Shhh. It’s okay.” He whispered against her silky hair. “We’re both fine.”

“But… Fred…”

That she knew the security guy’s name wasn’t a surprise. That she felt badly about his fate even less so.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t muster up an ounce of remorse.

He lifted her chin and pressed a kiss squarely on her lips. Salt from her tears mingled with a hint of mint as she leaned into him, finding comfort in the physical connection as he’d known she would.

It’d been a traumatic evening for her, and would only get worse when she learned of the man’s wife taking her own life.

He felt a small smile curl his lips at how perfectly his plan had worked out.

This was what happened to all who crossed him.

Eighteen

The headache pounded behind Jordan’s eyes, brought on by the stress of the day and being without his glasses for a few hours.

His super vision hadn’t returned, no matter how much he’d wished it would, leading to eye strain that drained all his mental energy.

When security had called from the first-floor checkpoint and said Malachi was there to see him at a little after four, he’d decided to call it a day and head home.

He’d even willingly handed Malachi the keys when Malachi offered to drive them home.

At the moment, he didn’t care that it was against the rules for non-OIG personnel to drive official vehicles. Because of the inspection tomorrow, he’d left his rental at the building and swapped it for one of their official SUVs, emblazoned with the OIG emblem on the driver’s and passenger’s doors.

Reclining his seat slightly, Jordan closed his eyes against the bright sunlight streaming through the windows.

Oh, he needed to tell Malachi about tomorrow.

“Hey, you’ll have to arrange for alternate transportation tomorrow.” He didn’t open his eyes as he spoke, allowing the darkness to take the edge off his rapidly-forming migraine. “I’m heading out of town for an inspection early in the morning and won’t be going downtown.”

“I’d like to come.” Malachi’s voice sounded distant amidst the wave of pain.

That was exactly what Dalton had expected Malachi to say. He cracked his eyes to look at Malachi, who kept his attention focused on the road in front of them. “You don’t know where I’m going.”

“You’re investigating those seeds.” Malachi slid a glance his direction.

“Did Dalton tell you?”

“God did.” Malachi’s words, so matter-of-fact, were stated as if they made perfect sense. “But I’m glad to hear Dalton’s backing you up.”

He’d have rather had Sean as back-up, since Sean was authorized to be there, but it’d become clear Sean wanted no part of it.

After the events of the day, he couldn’t say he blamed Sean for that.

Dalton’s words rang in his head. If Malachi asks to come, be sure to say yes.

Dalton had known this would happen. And he wanted Malachi there. The big question was why.

Well, it really didn’t matter. This was his decision and a surprise inspection was no place for a civilian. Technically, Dalton was one, too, but at least he had a law enforcement background. As near as he could tell, Malachi was little more than a nomad who liked to do good.

“I don’t think that’s a wise idea, but thanks anyway.” Even as he said it, Dalton’s words repeated in his head. Say yes. Say yes.

Well, he’d said no. There was no logical reason to allow Malachi to tag along, only to have him wait in the car with Dalton.

He waited for Malachi to argue. Or persuade. Try to sell him on why he should accompany them.

“Have you asked God what He thinks about tomorrow?” Malachi’s question was far from the argument Jordan had steeled himself to hear.

He hadn’t asked God, as he suspected Malachi well knew.

It hadn’t felt like the kind of thing he should ask God about, although wasn’t that at the root of his problem? He was so used to taking care of things on his own that he failed to include God in anything.

“You’re right. Let me talk to God about it.”

“I will be up and ready at four-thirty tomorrow morning for when you change your mind.” Quiet confidence rang in his words.

Malachi really believed that God would direct Jordan to bring him along. More than that, he’d known the exact time Jordan planned to leave the house.

It seemed crazy, although he found that his crazy-meter was not as sensitive as it once had been. If God could give him super vision, and direct him to look out the window at the right time to see a sniper lining up a shot, then why couldn’t God tell Malachi about Jordan’s inspection?

Malachi pulled into the driveway and pressed the button for the garage door opener, then parked in Jordan’s usual spot.

With a sigh, Jordan put the seat back into its normal position and opened the passenger door.

Allison’s spot was empty, not that he was surprised. Her last appointment of the day was usually four p.m., so the chances of her finishing up and getting home before five were pretty slim.

He retrieved his laptop bag from the back seat and rounded the front of the SUV to where Malachi waited by the interior door.

A wave of nausea roiled through his stomach as the pounding in his head increased.

He needed to get upstairs, close the blinds, and climb into bed until this monster of a headache passed.

“I’m going to lie down. Make yourself at home.”

Malachi nodded. “I’m praying you feel better soon.”

He grunted his thanks, as forming words felt much too difficult, then stumbled into the house and dragged himself upstairs. Dropping his laptop bag on the bench beneath the window, he drew the blackout blinds and staggered to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for some pain killers. He swallowed them dry, then forced his feet to carry him to bed.

God, I need some relief here.

The prayer groaned through his soul as he curled into the fetal position and waited for the pulsing pain to subside.

It’d been years since he’d had a migraine of this magnitude.

Then again, today had hardly been a normal day.

He drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, lingering somewhere in a half-conscious state when he heard the soft click of the door opening and footsteps padding across the carpet.

The footsteps were ones he’d recognize anywhere. Allison.

She turned on no lights, no doubt knowing that the only time he’d be in bed at this time of day was if he was fighting a migraine, and crawled across the bed to where he lay.

Kneeling over him, her fingers feathered across his cheek, the touch soothing the microscopic cuts he’d sustained earlier in the day. A drop of hot moisture landed on his jaw, meandering down his chin and dripping onto the pillow beneath him. She curled over him, her hair brushing his face as she rested her cheek against his. More tears hit his skin, the salt burning the scratches on his face.

“I’m okay.” His murmured words seemed to spark a visceral reaction.

A sob broke out and with it, his name. “Jordan.”

He uncurled his body and rolled toward her, barely discerning her dim outline in the darkness. She readjusted so that she lay beside him, their bodies touching and their faces inches apart.

“It’s just a migraine. Stress… my glasses…” While the words might sound disjointed and incoherent, he knew she’d understand.

She moved in and showered him with light kisses. On his lips, his forehead, his cheeks, his neck. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’ve been difficult, and argumentative, and I’m sorry.”

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head against his chest and he felt a few shuddering breaths rock her frame.

Time passed in silence. His migraine, while still there, lessened.

“Please, please tell me you’re going to give up this investigation.” The begging tone in her voice nearly undid his resolve.

The findings of the reports paraded through his mind. Chemicals. Toxic. Mass casualties.

No matter the risk, he had to do this. “I can’t. Lives are at stake.”

“You’re right. Your life.” She choked on the words.

He didn’t know exactly what Sean had told her, but her reaction confirmed that Sean had blamed this incident on the forbidden case. “I couldn’t live with myself if I looked the other way and people died.”

The stiffening of her body told him that hadn’t been the answer she wanted. “And if you die?”

“At least I tried.”

“Tried? You were almost shot today. You can’t do anyone any good if you’re dead.” A tremor stole through her words.

“God saved me. I trust Him to do it again, if it comes to that.”

“God also gave you a brain. Use it.”

The pounding in his head intensified. He groaned. “Can we talk about this another time?”

Like maybe never?

“Of course.” Her hands cupped his face and she pressed another kiss to his lips. “I’ll let you rest.”

He heard her pad out of the bedroom, the door latching behind her, and willed his body to sleep.

But sleep remained elusive.

The words she’d so passionately whispered replayed in his mind like a bad recording. You were almost shot today.

He could be dead right now. Would have been, had God not cured his blindness and opened his eyes. Was he on the right path? There’d sure been enough trouble lately that he had to wonder. Was that level of opposition God trying to redirect him? Or was it adversity because he was getting too close to the truth?

₪   ₪   ₪

Dalton couldn’t tear his eyes from the news, as it replayed the moment one of Topheth’s guards took a bullet meant for him.

It was so hauntingly similar to what had happened to Saul Haskins last fall. Too similar? The only real difference was that Topheth had survived and one of his guards had been shot instead.

The news commentators spoke animatedly, speculating as to who was behind it, if the shooter had acted alone, and if the person – or people – would try again.

The clip replayed.

This time, he saw the terror on Liz Haskins’ face.

She seemed like a decent enough person. What a horrifying thing that must have been for her.

More speculation, then they played the clip again. He focused on Topheth’s face. The man looked startled at the gunshot and immediately looked to his right, at the fallen bodyguard.

Wait a second.

How had he known precisely who had been shot? There was always a lot of chaos when the bullets started flying.

He glanced over at Lincoln, who sat stiff and pale. “In Minneapolis, when that shooter tried to target you, could you tell where the shots came from?”

Lincoln blinked at the question. “No. I remember you tackling me and hustling me off the stage.”

“Watch Topheth next time they play the clip. I want to know what you see.” Maybe he was looking for something that wasn’t there, but he had this nagging feeling that it wasn’t right.

The broadcast went to a commercial break, but when it resumed, the newscasters were once again debating the shooting. They replayed the clip.

Dalton watched Topheth again. One second he was smiling and engaging the crowd. Then the shot rang out. He whipped toward his right and stood transfixed as he stared at the guard bleeding out nearby.

Satisfied.

The word dropped into his mind as he watched Topheth. Why he thought that, he wasn’t sure, but the feeling wouldn’t dissipate.

He needed to watch it again. In slow motion.

Retrieving his laptop, he quickly located the clip online and hit play, then slowed it down. He watched the guard fall.

Around Topheth, people instinctively ducked, their heads whipping side to side as if searching for the source of their fear. Liz Haskins crouched on the stage, covering her head as she looked around. It took her a full five seconds to see the fallen guard.

Not Topheth.

Topheth immediately looked at the guard.

There it was. More a glimmer of a micro expression, but he caught it. A hint of a smile. Not only was Topheth aware the guard was down, he was… glad?... about it.

He rocked back to find Lincoln watching him. “What’d you see?”

The truth was, he wasn’t so sure about what he saw. “I think Topheth wanted the guard dead.”

Which, in his mind, meant one thing. This had been an assassination all right, but one planned by Topheth himself in which the desired target was hit.

“Why would he want his own guard shot?” Lincoln’s dark eyebrows jumped.

That was the question, wasn’t it? “Maybe we need to learn a bit more about that guard.”

“I agree, but to what end?” Lincoln drummed his fingers on the wheels of his chair. “Even if we find evidence to support that Topheth knew the shot was coming or orchestrated the murder of one of his bodyguards, we can’t make such accusations. The public would view it as political espionage.”

“But if we have proof, don’t we have an obligation to act?” The team had been studying James chapter 4 earlier in the day and he remembered the verse saying something about knowing what you should do and not doing it being a sin.

“I’m not saying we turn a blind eye, but we have to be careful.” Lincoln sighed. “Can you imagine how they’d paint it if we went public with such accusations? They’d claim we fabricated the evidence and many would believe their lies.”

“Maybe you can’t do anything with the information, but I can.” Tari’s voice came from behind him and he turned to find her standing in the doorway, looking every bit as troubled as he felt. “I saw the same thing, Dalton. It truly looked like Topheth knew who had been shot well before he should have. I can put it on my podcast. Alert my listeners.”

Dalton frowned. “And make that target on your back even larger? Don’t think so.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “While I appreciate the concern, that’s not your decision to make.”

Actually, it kind of was. As head of security, it was his job to look out for the well-being of everyone here. Which, right now, included Tari.

Not that he could say that. If she felt forced to choose between what she felt she was called to do and being safe, he knew which option would win out.

How had all this gotten so complicated?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please think it through. If Topheth is The Shadow Master,” and he was pretty sure there was no if in that statement, “then cornering him will bring the whole wrath of The Shadows down on you and all of us.”

The color slid from her face as she looked around the room, which – at the moment – only contained Lincoln, Vanessa, him, and Tari. She gave a slight dip of her head. “You’re right, of course. I’m not used to my decisions impacting anyone’s safety but my own.”

“Hey, we’re all in this together.” He tried to keep his tone light. “We’ll bring The Shadows down, one way or another, but we have to be smart about it.”

“We do need to be smart about how our decisions impact others.” Tari’s expression intensified to the point that he couldn’t help squirming.

The heaviness hanging between them told him he wasn’t going to like what came next.

“And since I know everyone in this room is on the same page, I’m going to ask if God has said anything specific to you lately. Because things look very clear from where I stand.”

He fought the urge to shut down the conversation. After all, she’d taken his rebuke gracefully. The least he could do was respond in kind. “I’m praying, but there’s no clear answer.”

“Or maybe there is, but it looks different than your plans.” She crossed the space between them and leaned on the back of the sofa to look him in the eyes. “Sometimes surrendering our own plans and ideas is the hardest step we can take.”

“Hey, I surrendered my plans when I quit the SAB. When I gave my life to Jesus. I’m trying to do what He’s calling me to do, but I’m not convinced that’s it.”

“Remember that God did not speak to Elijah in the windstorm, earthquake, or fire. God spoke in a gentle whisper.”

He didn’t think he’d heard that story before. “Where’s that one found?”

“1 Kings 19. You might check that out.”

There was no censure in her voice, yet he felt the check inside nonetheless. Was he only looking for God to speak in a forceful manner? If so, he might be discounting the soft whispers.

Not that he thought he’d heard a soft whisper either, but by definition those would be easy to miss.

He pushed up from the sofa. “Well, it’s late and I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” He held Lincoln’s gaze. “I don’t feel right about skipping the Atlanta rally to tag along with Jordan.”

Lincoln waved his hand dismissively. “Go. I’ve got plenty of security and this is important.”

It was, but the assassination attempt on Topheth – if that’s truly what it was – could spark copycats. Lincoln had already been through that twice. Not that Dalton had successfully stopped the last one from claiming Lincoln’s mobility, but he felt like he should be there.

Ready to be the guy who took the bullet for his friend and boss, if need be.

It was hard, feeling like he should be in two different places at the same time. But Lincoln told him to go and Jordan was expecting him. He was committed to this course now.

He prayed it turned out to be a good use of his time.

And that Lincoln or Tari didn’t pay the price for his absence.

₪   ₪   ₪

Jordan pulled into the shopping center’s nearly empty parking lot and stopped beside a sedan with tinted windows.

That had to be Dalton.

In a few hours, this lot would be crammed with cars, but at five a.m. on a Friday morning, it was deserted.

The migraine had faded sometime during the night and while Jordan felt slightly fatigued from all that’d happened yesterday, he could function.

Dalton stepped out of the sedan, his trained gaze assessing their surroundings before he approached the passenger side of the SUV.

He opened the door and glanced in the back seat, grinning when he spotted Malachi there. “I knew you wouldn’t sit this one out.”

While Jordan hadn’t originally intended to bring Malachi, he’d woken up with the very strong sense that Malachi was supposed to accompany them. The fact that Malachi was up and waiting for him only reaffirmed that he wasn’t to leave the man behind, so no further mention had been made of Malachi staying in Kansas City.

Malachi simply grinned. “When God calls you to go, you go.”

Dalton climbed into the SUV and pulled off his cap, doing a double take as he caught sight of Jordan under the vehicle’s dome light. “I think you look rougher every time I see you.”

A smile teased the corner of his mouth. Talk about a compliment. “I should look worse. A sniper tried to take me out at the office yesterday.”

“I saw that on the news. That was you?” Dalton pulled the door closed, the dome light fading and plunging them in semi-darkness.

He put the vehicle in drive and headed for the lot’s exit. “Yep. But not before I learned a few things. Like the two tests I ordered? They matched the ones previously ordered, but the seeds I held back were stolen from my office during the bomb threat.”

“I’d hoped for better news.” Dalton reclined the seat a few notches and settled in for the ride. “We turned up some good information. Tari chased after Amazing Grow Seeds. She’d noticed the notes with questions about the executive team in that file you had. Well, long story short, she validated those notes. The guy who is supposedly the CEO used to be an actor. Now, they pay him a stipend to be the CEO, but it’s on paper only. Same with the COO.”

That was interesting. “Who’s actually running the group then?”

“She’s still digging into that. They’ve covered their tracks well.”

He merged onto the interstate headed north. “Do I want to know how she gets her information?”

Dalton’s teeth flashed in the dim pre-dawn light. “I never ask.”

That old saying about not asking questions to which you don’t really want to know the answers flashed through his mind.

“Meanwhile,” Dalton’s voice drew his mind away from Tari’s methods. “I worked on trying to connect Vida Immortal with Sustaining Life Farming. It took a lot of digging, and tracking a series of accounts all over the globe, but a buddy of mine finally tracked everything back to a single source. The founder of Sustaining Life Farming.”

Once again, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know all the steps involved in that investigation. Foreign accounts could be tough to get info on, so the fact that Dalton’s friend had located anything told Jordan a lot.

“So, to make sure I understand, the founder of Sustaining Life Farming owns both Sustaining Life and Vida Immortal?” While it wasn’t illegal for someone to own multiple, related businesses, the fact that the connection had been buried was suspicious. It also likely violated antitrust laws.

“It sure appears that way. He’s digging into Amazing Grow, too. I’m hoping he’ll have answers on that today, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find that all three companies trace back to the same source.”

“Is the founder also the CEO?”

“No. I had to do a lot of digging to find out who the founder was. The CEO obviously has a lot of power, but he ultimately answers to the founder.”

If the CEO was a tier one Shadow, as Tari had said, then was the founder also a tier one?

If it turned out that Vida Immortal and Amazing Grow were owned and run by the same person or people, that would be big deal. It’d be a monopoly on the USDA approved seed market.

Given the identical chemical makeup of the seeds, he was certain what they’d find, if Dalton’s friend could trace it back that far.

“Who’s the founder?”

The name Dalton gave didn’t mean anything to him. Probably some reclusive billionaire with too much money on his hands.

“Tari’s digging for a connection to see if he’s part of The Shadows, too.” Dalton’s tone indicated he was confident of what her research would reveal.

“If the seed suppliers ship bad seeds to the indie farmers, they could effectively drive them into the ground.” Jordan clenched his teeth as the implications sank in. “Sustaining Life has been buying up private farms left and right the last three years. They already produce over ninety percent of the food supply. It’s not so hard to believe they’d want to control it all.”

“But doesn’t Sustaining Life get their seeds from one or both of those companies, too?” Dalton’s question sounded more rhetorical than one seeking an answer. “Unless they have two types of seeds. One sent to Sustaining Life and one sent to farms they’re trying to buy.”

If that was the plan, it was wickedly devious.

And, clearly, quite effective.

“I had a guy on my team do some digging.” He paused to recall the details from Sean’s research. “He found that there’s been a rash of crop failures this year alone. All reported by small, independent farmers. It fits.”

Dalton shook his head slowly. “Forcing out the competition and driving down land prices, with no regard to the effects on the population. That’s evil in its purest form.”

An uneasy silence blanketed the interior as the ramifications of such a plot sank in.

While he had no conclusive proof, especially now that those seeds had been stolen, he felt in his soul that they were right.

And hopefully today they’d be able to prove it.

“So, Malachi. What’ve you been up to?” Dalton twisted to look at Malachi in the back seat.

“Following God’s leading. How’s your listening these days?”

Listening? Jordan looked in the rearview mirror. While Malachi’s words held a hint of teasing, his face looked pretty serious.

“Did you know that in Revelation chapters 2 and 3, Jesus closes each letter to the churches with an admonition? ‘Anyone with ears to hear must listen to the Spirit and understand what he is saying to the churches.’ I can’t help but feel that is especially relevant to you right now.”

A beat passed before Dalton let out a short laugh. “How do you do that?”

“I listen to our Father.” A gentleness lined Malachi’s words. “His call isn’t always the easiest path, but it’s always the best one.”

Dalton stared straight out the front windshield. The hazy pre-sunrise light seemed to highlight the indecision on his face.

About what, Jordan hadn’t a clue, but it appeared to be a doozy.

“But what if I don’t know what He’s calling me to do?” A slight hoarseness marked the words.

“Don’t you? God speaks in multiple ways. Through His word. Through prayer. Through that small voice that whispers inside. And often confirms it through His people.”

Jordan slid a look toward Dalton as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

For a few long moments, no one spoke. Instead, Jordan focused on the road and let Dalton work through whatever battle raged inside.

“And if I’m inadequate for the task?” Dalton raked his fingers through his hair. His legs twitched as if he needed to move, to physically work out the tension.

“Then you’re ready for God to work through you.”

Even though they were spoken to Dalton, the words settled over Jordan.

Wasn’t that essentially what Malachi had been trying to tell him? Revelation 3:17 came back to him like an echo that he couldn’t clear from his mind.

You say, “I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!” And you don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked.

He’d become so self-sufficient that he’d pushed God out. Relying on himself had blinded him to his need. Was it truly in his inadequacy that he’d learn who he was meant to be?

“You’re also in good company,” Malachi continued, seemingly oblivious to the thoughts running through Jordan’s mind.

Although if Malachi didn’t know that the words were hitting Jordan, too, that’d be a first.

“None of the prophets were up for the task to which God called them. Not on their own. It was a daily dependance on God, listening for His voice and obeying, no matter the consequences. A group of fishermen and outcasts weren’t capable of much, yet God sent His Spirit and these common, uneducated men changed the world.”

Dalton blew out a breath. “I hear you, but it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? God hasn’t changed, has He?”

Just what was God asking of Dalton for the man to be this conflicted?

Jordan pressed his lips together and focused on driving. Honestly, he felt like he was eavesdropping on a private conversation. No matter how much he wanted to dig for more details, he forced himself to remain silent.

Dalton groaned. “No. God hasn’t changed.”

“Then maybe it’s time you trusted that He knows what He’s doing.”

“I know I owe Lincoln an answer.” Dalton craned his neck to look back at Malachi. “But what if we’re hearing God wrong?”

He couldn’t take it any longer. Jordan glanced over at Dalton. “Can I ask what this big decision is?”

Hesitation silenced Dalton for a second, then he cleared his throat. “Lincoln’s running mate.”

It took a moment for the implication to hit home, but when it did, it dominated his thoughts. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? It was so obvious. “He asked you?”

Dalton swept his hand toward Jordan, even as his attention turned to Malachi. “See? Jordan gets it.”

“No, I’m asking myself why I didn’t see it sooner.” Jordan tried to focus on the increasing traffic on the interstate. “You’re a born leader. I saw it in Dallas. Tari follows your lead, and she’s highly selective. And Britt listens to you and he’s not one to fall in line. God’s gifted you.”

“I’m glad someone sees it, because I don’t. I wish God would make it clear to me.”

“I think He has. It can be easy to use waiting for God to speak as an excuse to not do what He’s called us to do.”

“Ouch.” Dalton clutched his chest as if wounded. “That hit home.”

“Beware of letting fear or doubt cripple you into inaction.”

It felt like advice he needed to take himself. He stood at a spiritual precipice. He could stay in the land of lukewarm… and be spit out of the Lord’s mouth.

Or, he could do something about it.

I correct and discipline everyone I love. So be diligent and turn from your indifference.

God gave him the solution, right there in Revelation chapter 3.

Those days of lukewarm inaction? Gone. It was time to be diligent with his walk with the Lord once again.

“What’s the plan when we get there?” Dalton’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I’m assuming the grounds are secured.”

“Most likely.” He’d been thinking about that all morning. “Way I see it, we’ve got a few options. I could let you out up the road and you can keep an eye through the fence–”

“Assuming it’s not a privacy fence or a wall,” Dalton pointed out the potential obstacle in that plan, one they wouldn’t know for sure until they arrived at the facility.

“Correct. Option two, you guys could hide in the back and we hope they don’t search the vehicle. Or option three, I say you’re my associates and hope that they don’t ask for ID.” He slowed as they approached a cluster of heavier traffic. “I lean toward that third option.”

“Me, too.” Malachi spoke up from the back seat. “I have a sense that it will all work out.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Dalton nudged Jordan’s arm. “Hang around long enough and you’ll learn to listen to this guy.”

Well, so far Malachi had been right about everything. From his own spiritual state to the situation with the seeds, the guy seemed to have an uncanny knack for getting things right.

He hoped that Malachi’s sense was right this time around.

Nineteen

“I’d like to speak with you. In my office.” Gretchen didn’t break stride as she passed Chase’s desk and pushed open the doors to her office.

Chase followed. If he was bothered by her brusque manner this morning, his congenial smile didn’t show it.

“Close the door.” She settled in her chair and waited until Chase took one of the chairs opposite her.

The closed door behind him provided the privacy this conversation required.

It was only a little after eight a.m., but she saw no point in putting off this conversation.

She folded her hands on the desk in front of her and stared at Chase, whose brow ruffled at her unusually severe manner. “I know you’ve been looking at the confidential documents before delivering them to me.”

Strain flashed into Chase’s smile, which slipped slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Please. Did he really think she was that naïve? She pulled the most recent envelope, the faked files she’d had sent for no reason other than to test him, from her top drawer and plopped it on her desk. “How about this for starters?”

“I delivered it to you. That’s it.”

“After looking inside.” She held up a hand to stop his protests. “I have proof. Video.”

His smile vanished and he swallowed hard. “You recorded me?”

“And that surprises you? We have cameras all over this campus.”

“But not in the offices.” His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together.

“There should be no expectation of privacy. Not with the importance of the work we do here.” She waited for him to make a pathetic defense, but he remained silent. A hint of defiance lingered in his eyes. Well, she’d be sure to quash that. “Tell me why. Are you spying for someone?”

Genuine shock crossed his features. “What? No way.”

“Then why? Why risk your job to view confidential files?”

He sighed, slumping back against the chair. “I was curious, okay? I mean, you have me type up all sorts of confidential documents, prepare reports for the board, and respond to inquiries and complaints. I wondered what was so special about those files.”

“You realize I could fire you for this.”

“But you won’t.” He leaned forward, his usual confidence returning. “It’d take you too long to find and train a replacement. I know the business, I know what projects we’re working on, and I know what you need me to do. Yes, I looked at the files, but that makes me more well-versed in what we’re doing here. Ultimately, that will help you out.”

Part of her wanted to fire him because of his arrogance. Could he truly believe he was irreplaceable?

But, the reality was that he was right, at least in part. It would take her weeks to interview a replacement. Months to train that person to be half as knowledgeable as Chase.

With the clock ticking on all The Shadows’ plans, she simply couldn’t afford that kind of distraction.

Besides, snooping aside, he hadn’t given her a reason to believe that his loyalties didn’t lie with them.

She allowed her displeasure to linger for a moment. “I’m not pleased that you snooped into matters which didn’t concern you. I trust you will keep with utmost confidence the things you have seen?”

“Don’t I always?” Chase flashed that grin, one that probably helped him get his way with the ladies, but didn’t work on her. Sensing her censure, he schooled his features. “Yes. Always.”

“Very good.” She waved him away.

He rose and headed for the door.

“And Chase?” She waited for him to turn to face her before continuing, “I expect it will not happen again.”

He dipped his head, then exited the office.

A sigh slipped out. That had gone better than expected, but she no longer trusted him. That was the true detriment. She needed people around her that she could trust.

Well, there was work to be done.

She turned to her computer and had barely started working through her inbox when a rap came from her door. Chase poked his head in. “There’s an OIG agent here.”

The words knifed her.

What was the Office of Inspector General doing here?

She had no idea, but it couldn’t be good. Did they have someone on the inside there? More importantly, did she have time to find out?

Waving Chase closer, she dropped her voice and hissed, “Is he out there?”

Chase shook his head. “No. Security let him through the gate and Hank’s going to meet him outside. Hank wants you there, because the agent specifically said he wanted to see our production facilities.”

She cursed. “I need to make some calls. If they happen to talk to you, you are to tell them nothing.”

Crossing her office, Chase exited and pulled the door closed behind him.

And that was an example why she couldn’t easily replace him. He knew her well enough to anticipate what she needed, like privacy.

She pulled out her Shadows phone and brought up the number of Sustaining Life’s CEO. If there was anyone who could understand the urgency of this and chase down someone they might have in a position to help them, it was him.

Mike answered on the third ring. Strain marked his voice, no doubt a result of Tari Salah’s stupid podcast exposing his identity in The Shadows earlier this week.

Well, she didn’t have time to empathize with that right now. The whole project was in danger.

After quickly outlining the situation, she paused so he could respond.

A hiss echoed across the line. “I know who it is. We warned him off this earlier in the week. Evidently, he chose not to listen.”

“Clearly.” She allowed disdain to drip from the single word. “How do you want to play this?”

“Stall for twenty minutes. I’ll get someone in place who can take care of him.”

Another body? While she couldn’t care less if this agent lived or died, another body tied to their operations, especially one that died on their campus, would invite too much scrutiny. “The Shadow Master is concerned about the deaths tied to this project.”

“This agent, do you think you can deter him?” Challenge laced Mike’s words.

“I think I should try before we take him out.” She pushed the bangs of her short pixie cut back from her face. “If he refuses to cooperate, I can signal our guy and he can act, but let me see how determined he is first.”

Silence lingered for a few seconds, then Mike agreed. “I’ll get the sniper in place. If you want him to take the shot, remove your jacket. That can be the signal.”

“Agreed. If I signal him, make sure he fires multiple rounds, ones that appear to be aimed at both Hank and me.” Her stomach flipped at the thought of someone even pretending to shoot at her. “Your operative, he’s good right? No chance he’ll accidentally hit someone other than the target?”

While she didn’t really care too much about Hank – the man was insufferable, anyway – she sure didn’t want to die today.

“He’s more than competent.”

That didn’t make her feel any better. She would’ve preferred to hear that the guy was a crack shot, an Army Rangers grade sniper who could take out a target from a thousand yards away in the wind.

But, clearly, she’d have to take what they could get. “Fine. I’ll take the agent through our lab, let him collect a sample of seeds to test if that’s what he wants to do, then escort him from the property. If I feel that this needs to be escalated, I will issue the signal when we are returning from the lab to the corporate office.”

If it came to that, she’d ensure to put some distance between herself and the target.

As much as she wanted to trust that the sniper could accomplish the task without any collateral damage, she wouldn’t take that risk personally.

She ended the call and rose from her desk chair.

This had already taken too much time and she still needed to swing by their secret lab to ensure things were properly concealed there.

While she had no intention of showing the agent that space, it never hurt to take precautions. Hank might be foolish enough to offer a full-building tour, especially since he was unaware of the special projects operating out of that supposedly unfinished office space.

She straightened her tailored navy jacket and smoothed the matching pencil skirt before crossing the office.

Now to see how quickly she could satisfy the agent’s requests and get him out of here.

₪   ₪   ₪

Dalton leaned back against the seat and sighed. He hated sitting on the sidelines.

A squat man, who walked like a penguin, had greeted Jordan and led him inside the brick and glass building in front of them. A fancy sign next to the walkway leading to the building stated “Corporate Office.”

Jordan had parked toward the back of the lot, in the shade provided by a tree, and he and Malachi waited in the SUV with the windows down.

A muggy breeze wafted damp air from the driver’s window out the passenger’s, but provided enough cooling that the vehicle wasn’t intolerable.

Yet. This afternoon, when the heat of the day really settled in, might be another story.

Hopefully they wouldn’t be here that long.

From their position, the corporate office sat directly in front of them. Another building, which appeared to be about twice the size and lacked the plentiful windows, sat off to the right. The sign in front of that one announced “Research and Development.”

No one was within sight. The guard booth was behind them, down a winding drive and behind some trees, so the guards didn’t know that only Jordan had gone inside.

He was still a little surprised that the guards had only checked Jordan’s ID and not requested to see badges from all of them, but he’d take that small blessing. Jordan’s visit seemed to have thrown the young guard off kilter, so maybe he’d simply been too distracted to think it through.

As he waited, staring at the lifeless landscape in front of them, Lincoln invaded his mind.

He’d promised Lincoln an answer before today’s rally. And now that he’d made his decision, a decision he wasn’t even remotely comfortable with, it was time to also make the call.

He sighed, the action deflating him, then glanced back at Malachi. “I guess it’s time for me to officially do this, huh?”

That trademark grin, one that was both mysterious and knowing at the same time, crossed Malachi’s face. “It’s always the right time to obey God, isn’t it?”

He pulled out his phone and brought up Lincoln’s number.

At almost eight-thirty, Lincoln would likely be finishing his breakfast and getting ready to leave for the airport. The flight to Atlanta was pretty short, but he wouldn’t want to get in at the last minute.

The other end rang once, twice, then a third time.

Maybe Lincoln wouldn’t answer. Then he could almost convince himself that God was blocking him from making the wrong choice.

“Dalton. Did you arrive okay?”

Well, so much for that theory. He pulled in a breath. “Yeah. Got here a little after eight. Jordan’s inside with the CEO now.”

“Glad to hear it.” Lincoln fell silent, no doubt knowing Dalton hadn’t called simply to check in.

He closed his eyes briefly. Time to irreversibly change his life forever. “If you’re sure this is what you want, and what God’s calling us to, I’m in.”

“I’ve never been more sure of a decision since I entered the race.” Lincoln sounded relieved. “So that’s a yes, right?”

“Yes. If you’re sure. I mean, I still say I’m not the guy who’s going to help you win new voters. Except maybe the aging surfer vote.” It was hard to believe he was even having this conversation. Yet, in the midst of his uncertainty, a strange peace had settled inside.

“And I still say that God’s got a plan bigger than both of us.” A serious tone deepened Lincoln’s voice. “Think about it. If the two-party system were still in place, whatever party I was with wouldn’t have even let me choose someone from the outside. And the timing. For Cliff to have run with me for this long, growing our support base, then he drops out not long after you start following Jesus… I mean, can you not see God’s hand in all this?”

When Lincoln put it that way, it was hard to argue. More than that, he couldn’t deny the calling he felt inside. Not anymore. “And God doesn’t make mistakes. I’m with you to the end and will not back out. No matter what.”

While he couldn’t fault Cliff for doing what he felt was best for his family, Dalton wouldn’t abandon Lincoln.

At least he didn’t have a wife and kids The Shadows could threaten. Hannah, his sister and her family, and his parents were all potential targets, but he’d take that one day at a time.

“I’ll announce it at tonight’s rally.” Lincoln’s words drew his attention back to the conversation. “I can tell the public that you’re in the middle of an investigation, which is why you aren’t present. That should garner instant support. We’ll have to arrange for you to get in front of people soon, but we can discuss that tomorrow.”

Get in front of people. His gut churned. What had he agreed to? “One more thing. I’m not a suit and tie kinda guy. If we’re doing this, I feel like I need to be true to who I am.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Lincoln’s admission sent a small measure of relief through him. “Honestly, it could appeal to a whole new crowd, one who sees you as a normal guy, not someone putting on airs. Although maybe we trade the cartoon t-shirts for a polo?”

Yeah, he’d already known that the screenprint tees would have to go. “I can get behind that.”

Their publicist would probably burst a blood vessel or two, but the man worked for Lincoln. At the end of the day, Lincoln had the final word.

“I need to get going. Lots to do before we fly out.” Lincoln cleared his throat. “Thank you. I’d prayed you would come to this decision and I’m so thankful that you’ve listened to the Lord.”

He sat holding his phone in silence even after Lincoln hung up.

What was his life going to look like from this point on? Speeches, publicity events, fundraisers, rallies, maybe even a debate against Liz Haskins? Who was he kidding?

Even at that, he couldn’t deny a peace that filled his core.

Uncertain – and scary – as this next chapter would be, he was following God. He knew it.

“You good?” Malachi’s voice came from behind him.

For a second, he’d forgotten Malachi was back there. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Feels good to be in God’s will, doesn’t it?”

Before he could respond, movement caught his attention. A woman, tall and curvy with short dark blonde hair, strode from the R&D building toward the corporate office. Her blue suit, not to mention the authority with which she held herself, told him she was in leadership.

He retrieved the binoculars from the floor by his feet and focused on her.

Unless he missed his guess, this was Gretchen Pierce, Chief Research Officer. He’d taken some time on the drive over to study all the executives, and while she looked a little different from the picture posted online, he felt confident it was her.

He was also confident that she was on her way to the CEO’s office to meet with Jordan.

She approached the corporate office building, but rather than turning right toward the main entrance, she continued on past. At the end of the building, she glanced around, then headed down a driveway that ran around the back of the building.

This was interesting.

He set the binoculars down and snagged his baseball cap. “I’ll be right back.”

He shoved open the door and hit the ground running. No doubt this campus had cameras all over the place, so it was likely security would see him, but maybe he could spot something before they stopped him.

Gretchen disappeared from his view, blocked by the building as she continued down the drive.

He raced down the front of the building, hoping no one would look out the windows as he passed each one.

But if they did, he simply had to be faster than they were.

He paused at the corner of the building. So far, so good. He swept the parking lot, but saw no sign of security rushing toward him. In fact, there was no sign of anyone in the lot, security or otherwise.

He peered around the corner of the building.

Gretchen approached a loading door. A small delivery truck parked in the single bay. No marking on the sides, so it wasn’t one of the regular shipping companies. Nor was it a truck that they appeared to want advertised as belonging to Vida Immortal.

He suspected that it was intentionally unmarked.

Gretchen approached a set of stairs nestled against the wall. At the top of the stairs, a windowless steel door sat in the brick wall.

Not much cover between him and the stairs.

Maybe, if he circled to the other side of the vehicle, he could see around the back of the truck and into the space. It was the best option he had.

A black dome toward the top of the building showed that the area was under surveillance. All he could do was hope no one was watching the feed right now.

He broke from the cover of the building and raced across the open space, glancing frequently to where Gretchen walked. Those high heels she wore slowed her down marginally, although her long legs ate up the distance to the stairs faster than he’d like.

He reached the front of the truck as she arrived at the base of the stairs.

His breaths came in hard bursts and his heart thudded against his ribs. But no one shouted for him to stop, nor did he hear her calling for reinforcements.

It appeared he’d escaped discovery. At least for the moment.

He slid down the passenger side. Ahead, he could see a narrow gap around the back of the truck.

This was nuts. Here he was, sneaking around like some kind of spy, and probably all he’d see was a delivery of copy paper and pens.

Still, he crept forward, staying low to avoid being seen.

He plastered his back against the wall beside the opening, then inched closer.

“Get all this cleaned up. And close that door. We can’t risk discovery.” A woman’s voice carried through the opening.

He peeked inside. Gretchen faced two guys in lab coats. Nearby, a guy lowered the foot plate of a hand truck. The three boxes stacked on the hand truck thudded to the concrete floor.

Bringing up his phone, he turned on the camera and started recording.

The scientists scurried around, moving things and closing cabinets. Next, they swung a section of wall around, effectively hiding a whole array of lab equipment. The slatted wood façade blended perfectly with the rest of the wall, disguising the fact that anything was behind it.

Sneaky.

The question was why anyone would go to so much trouble to hide lab equipment at a place that was known to have such equipment. It’s not like anyone would think twice about a research facility having lab equipment in its buildings, so why go to all the time and expense to create such an elaborate cover-up?

He could only think of one reason. They had something to hide.

He eased back as the delivery guy tilted the hand truck and wheeled it in a circle toward the truck’s cargo space.

He stopped recording, but kept his phone handy. Never knew when something might happen that warranted further recording.

No matter how he tried to hear what was going on inside the warehouse, all he heard was the sound of the hand truck’s wheels on the floor of the delivery truck. As the delivery guy reentered the warehouse, Dalton held perfectly still so as not to inadvertently draw the guy’s attention.

The guy had left the hand truck in the back of the vehicle. Must not be planning to move any more stacks of boxes.

A moment later, the delivery guy closed the back of the truck, then the loading bay door chugged down, settling on the landing with a resounding thud.

He leaned back against the wall. Okay, clearly he wasn’t going to learn anything further here. Now to text Jordan and make sure he saw this back area.

Because something told him it wasn’t part of the tour that the CEO planned to offer.

₪   ₪   ₪

Jordan tried to temper his impatience, but man, was it hard.

He’d been here for, well, it felt like an hour but the fancy clock on the wall said it’d only been ten minutes. How was that possible?

So far, all Hank Hartwell had done was expound on the many glowing reports the USDA and FDA had issued the organization. The CEO was a blowhard, but Jordan knew that the things he said were true, at least in part.

“I can give you the latest report. It’s from one month ago. The USDA gave us a passing score.”

He forced a patient smile. “Yes. I’m familiar with the report. As I stated previously, I’m investigating an anonymous tip that the report is not what it seems to be.”

Hank shifted and leaned awkwardly on the arm of his chair, which creaked beneath his weight. “Why… that’s, um, absurd. I mean, an anonymous tip? If it were legitimate, surely the person would give his or her name.”

“Unless they feared retribution.” Jordan said the words mildly, holding up his hand to stem off the coming objection. “Founded or not, people often fear that there will be consequences for whistleblowing.”

“Whistleblowing implies that there’s something untoward going on here. Which is nonsense.” Hank rocked slightly in his chair. “I mean, look around. We’re feeding people, doing good. We’re an open book.”

Look around? That was an invitation if he’d ever heard one.

He rose. “Thanks for the invitation. I’m ready to look around if you are.”

The color slid from Hank’s face. “I, uh, that’s not what I meant.”

Jordan paused by the chair, assessing Hank with lowered brows. “So you’re refusing to cooperate?”

“No, no. We’re happy to comply. But, uh, I need to wait for my CRO.”

“Ah, you mean Gretchen Pierce?” He’d ensured he knew the names of the officers at this place and the Chief Research Officer was a key one to know. Of all the people here, he’d bet that she was in this up to her neck.

Hank started slightly at the use of Gretchen’s name, but quickly nodded. “Yes. I’ve already called for her and I’m sure she’ll be here momentarily.”

After she finished shredding evidence, no doubt.

Still, he was on shaky ground here. Officially, he was investigating a complaint against the USDA, not Vida Immortal. He had no true jurisdiction here and they were under no obligation to comply with his investigation, unlike staff working for the USDA.

In fact, he was a little surprised that Hank hadn’t demanded he return with a warrant, but he’d take it.

Might be time to soothe things over a little before Hank shut the whole thing down. “As I mentioned, the complaint is with the USDA, not Vida Immortal, but it centers around their latest inspection and report. Your cooperation supports the assertion that the full blame lies with the USDA.”

His head bobbled like a plastic dog on a dash. “I assure you, if something questionable happened during that inspection, we’d like nothing more than for the truth to come out. We have nothing to hide.”

Said every guilty person in history.

Silence descended, a weighty awkwardness laced with suspicion hanging between them.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Well, since they were waiting anyway, he might as well check the incoming text.

“Excuse me.” He pulled the phone out and unlocked the screen, then opened the text Dalton had sent.

Be sure to see the loading bay in the Corporate building. Suspicious. Cabinets hidden behind the paneling.

What in the heck? What was Dalton talking about with hidden cabinets?

And how had he even become aware of such a thing? It might be another instance where he didn’t really want to know.

Too bad he couldn’t excuse himself to call Dalton and get full details, but he wasn’t going to give the CEO time to cover up anything in his absence.

Something told him that the CRO was doing enough of that on her own.

A tap came from the door behind him and he craned his neck as a trim woman, wearing what looked like an expensive and impeccably tailored suit that accented her figure precisely, stepped inside. “Forgive my tardiness. I was in the middle of something when the call came in.”

Jordan rose as she crossed the space, her hand extended.

“Gretchen Pierce, Chief Research Officer.”

He shook her hand, noting the nearly aggressive firmness of her grip.

This was a woman who was borderline arrogant in her power. “Assistant Special Agent in Charge Jordan DuBois, OIG. I’m sure you’re busy and appreciate you making the time.”

While he retook his seat, she leaned against the room’s other chair, assessing him cooly. “We’re always happy to assist the authorities, although I admit I’m surprised that an OIG ASAC would make a personal appearance.”

The prying unasked question nearly demanded an answer, but he simply nodded. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time, but I’m looking into a complaint involving the USDA’s last inspection and testing of this facility.”

It was time to bring out the reports and hit them with the facts.

He opened the briefcase he’d brought with him and withdrew two file folders, handing one to Gretchen and the other to Hank. He waited for them to open the folders and have a second to skim the lab results before speaking.

“What you’re looking at are reports from four independent labs. They tested seeds from this facility and the results are concerning, to say the least. They’re also vastly different than the results the USDA included in their last report.”

If Hank lost any more color, the man would fade into the white walls behind him.

Gretchen, on the other hand, had red creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. The hand holding the folder tightened, the knuckles whitening, and the folder jerked slightly in her fingers.

Hank was scared, but Gretchen was furious.

The oxygen in the room thickened. Who would respond first? If he were a betting man, he’d place money on Gretchen, as the CEO seemed too spineless to stand up against the implied allegations.

Gretchen dropped the folder on the corner of Hank’s desk with a soft thud. “This is preposterous. I’m not sure who your source is, or where he or she found such fabricated reports, but this is a work of fiction.”

If she thought he’d cave in the face of her defiance, she’d sorely underestimated him. “These labs are legitimate and have been a part of countless investigations.”

She harrumphed. “I know the chemical makeup of our seeds. The seeds tested did not come from Vida Immortal.”

“I personally found them in Vida Immortal packaging and sent them off myself.”

Hank inhaled sharply, erupting in a coughing fit. He grabbed a metal reusable water bottle from the corner of his desk and took a long drink, then returned the bottle to the desk with a tremulous hand.

“Then someone must have placed tainted seeds in one of our packages.” Gretchen crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him from her slightly elevated position. “That’s certainly a possibility.”

It was, but that wasn’t what had happened and they both knew it.

Getting her to admit it was a whole other problem, though.

He gestured to Hank. “Hank offered to walk me through your facilities. We were waiting for you, but now that you’re here, maybe we could proceed. The sooner I can verify for myself that the USDA report is right and the complaint we received is not, the sooner I’ll be out of your way and you can get on with your day.”

Gretchen’s narrowed eyes shot to Hank briefly before she rose and straightened her navy suit jacket. “Of course. I am more than happy to show you around our facility. I’m sure you’ll find everything exactly as it should be.”

Following her lead, he also rose. Hank, too, popped to his feet, like a jack-in-the-box that’d been too tightly wound.

Jordan gestured to his briefcase, which rested on the floor beside the chair. “I’m assuming I can leave this here until we return.”

“Of course. It’ll be safe here.”

Hank’s words did little to reassure him, but he’d locked the briefcase after extracting the folders. While someone could certainly pick the lock, there would be evidence of such a breach, which would give the nervous CEO even more to explain.

“Our seeds are processed in our Research and Development building across campus.” Gretchen stated, as if he didn’t already know that. “If you’ll follow me.”

Sure, he’d follow her. But after she wasted all their time showing him around the facility that he was certain truly did meet USDA standards, then he’d ask to see the back spaces of the Corporate building. They could decline, or demand he return with a warrant, but that would look like they had something to hide.

No, he was betting that they – or, more specifically, Gretchen – was arrogant enough to believe that she’d covered her tracks thoroughly.

And she probably had. He wouldn’t exactly be able to go around poking at the wall, looking for the hidden cabinets Dalton had so cryptically mentioned in his text.

He’d have to hope that they’d missed something and that he had the observation skills needed to see it.

If ever there was a time for God to activate the strange super-vision he seemed to occasionally have, now might be that time. He shot up a prayer for guidance, and for eyes to see what he needed to see, then followed Gretchen from the CEO’s office, Hank waddling close behind.

Little doubt remained that they planned to show him nothing of true interest, but God had a way of flipping man’s intentions around.

Even so, he couldn’t help feeling that he was in enemy territory here.

Sure, he had Dalton for backup, but Dalton might be too far away to really be much help. If things went south here, he could be on his own.

Twenty

It’d been nearly an hour since he’d watched Jordan enter the R&D building with the CEO and CRO.

Dalton suppressed a yawn. In that hour, absolutely nothing had happened. No one had entered or exited any of the buildings, nor had anyone else come on premises. If this was what the day promised, it was going to be a long day.

Even Malachi had fallen silent. Knowing him, he was praying.

His cell phone chirped.

Good. A distraction, albeit however small.

He opened the text from Tari. A single word – coincidence? – followed by a link.

The link brought him to an online news source, which reported a woman’s body being found inside her home in an apparent suicide. At first glance, he wasn’t sure why Tari would send this to him, but she must have a purpose.

He kept reading.

A phrase jumped out at him. Wife of the bodyguard killed protecting Arthur Topheth.

He sat back, his mind reeling with the implications.

Someone wanted everyone to think that this woman had acted in an impulsive moment of intense grief. Tari wasn’t buying it. Frankly, neither was he.

He’d suspected that the guard had been targeted, maybe even by Topheth himself. And now the wife was dead?

Sounded to him like someone had known something he shouldn’t.

Of course, the chances of anyone official reaching that conclusion were nonexistent. The Shadow Master would have ensured that the tracks were well-covered.

He started to punch out a reply to Tari’s text, then decided to simply call and discuss it.

“What do you think?” Tari’s question greeted him in lieu of hello.

“I think I agree with your assessment. Any idea why Topheth would want to take out his bodyguard and the man’s wife?”

“I’m digging into that, but I suspect we’ll never know. My best guess is that he overheard something he shouldn’t have and was killed to keep it quiet. His wife may have been killed as a precaution in case he told her something.”

Yeah, that tracked for him, too.

“So, Lincoln’s sure in a good mood today.” The teasing in her tone told him she knew exactly why.

Not that he’d expected Lincoln to keep it a secret. Especially not now that Dalton had made a commitment. “I’m sure he is.”

“You’ve made the right call, Dalton. I’m certain of it.” The confidence in her tone bolstered his own, in spite of his misgivings.

“I am, too, but that doesn’t make the changes that are about to come down any less daunting.”

“This won’t be an easy road.” At least Tari didn’t offer false assurances. “In fact, I suspect there will be some intense spiritual warfare headed your way. Our enemy won’t like that you’re following God’s path, especially one that could derail the enemy’s own plans.”

Great. So not only would he be dealing with The Shadows and their opposition, the political spectrum in all its jaded glory, and the media digging into every aspect of his life, but he’d be facing unseen enemies as well. “You couldn’t have told me something encouraging? You know, like ‘you’ve got this’ or something?”

She laughed, the sound rich and welcome in an uncertain future. “How about God’s got this, and He’s also got you.”

Okay, he could deal with that. Time for a new topic. “Are you going to the rally today?”

“No. Lincoln suggested I remain behind and I agree. It’s the most prudent course of action and this house is basically a fortress.” She made a small clicking sound with her tongue. “And to think I gave you a bad time about all the security at my place. Compared to this, my house practically has a welcome mat.”

“Precisely why we suggested you stay there until the threats against you subside.” If they’d ever subside.

“I’m not sure that will ever happen.” Her soft admission cut him.

He wanted to keep her safe. But this life didn’t always give him what he wanted.

Movement caught his attention. At the door to the R&D building, a squat figure emerged, followed by two others. The CEO, CRO, and Jordan.

Adrenaline dumped in him, flashing a wave of heat through his body. “Hey, I need to go. We’ve got movement here.”

“Be safe.” She ended the call before he could say another word, likely in an attempt to avoid taking any more of his time.

He set his phone aside and leaned forward, wishing not for the first time that he’d brought coms with him. Why hadn’t he thought to pack coms so he could be listening to the conversation?

“Enemies are close. We need to pray.” Malachi’s urgent voice echoed the ones in his head.

Malachi’s prayers filled the vehicle, imploring God to protect Jordan and give him eyes that see. Dalton threw in a few amens and nodded, but kept his eyes open and focused on the terrain.

He scanned the parking lot. No sign of any trouble, but his senses screamed that trouble wasn’t far away.

₪   ₪   ₪

The sunlight nearly blinded Jordan as he stepped across the threshold. He blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.

The tour of the lab was everything he’d expected it to be. Dry, boring, and full of the lies that Gretchen and Hank wanted him to believe.

Now to pull out the ace that Dalton had given him. “I’d like to see around your corporate office as well. Specifically, the loading bay?”

Gretchen stiffened, her gaze slowly assessing him. “Shipments come in and out of this building.”

He didn’t look back as she gestured to the building they’d exited. Yeah, he’d already been there. Saw exactly what they wanted him to see, too. “I know there’s a loading bay around the back. A truck’s in it, too. If you’re serious about proving you have nothing to hide and that the USDA complaint is a farce, you can prove it by showing me the back areas of the corporate building.”

They walked slowly toward the building in question, Hank huffing and puffing as sweat trickled down his temple.

The hairs on Jordan’s neck prickled. Something was wrong.

His vision blurred behind his glasses.

Was it happening again?

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, the world around him sharpened.

If God was giving him super vision, then something was happening.

He kept walking, but scanned the surrounding terrain.

The trees around the exterior of the property appeared to be right in front of his eyes. He could even see the bird’s nest in one of the leafy oak trees.

“I’m, uh, sure we could show you around the building.” Hank’s voice sounded anything but sure. “Much of it is unfinished space designated for future expansion, though, so there’s not much to see there.”

“Of course.” Gretchen sounded anything but accommodating. “My, but that sun is intense.”

He glanced over to see her shrugging out of her suit jacket, which she draped over her arm. Her pink, blue, and yellow floral blouse did look much cooler than that suit jacket, yet something about the gesture, and the timing, felt odd.

And the unsettled feeling in his spirit grew more intense than ever.

He returned to his perusal of the perimeter, tuning out Hank’s ramblings about the company’s future growth plans.

A flash of light caught his attention.

It was in the trees beyond the parking lot. In fact, the SUV he’d driven down here, where presumably Dalton and Malachi still waited for him, was pretty close to the tree that snagged his eye.

He fixated on the spot, bringing the tree into sharp focus. The form of a man manifested, followed by the long object held in his hands.

A rifle. Pointed at them.

“Shooter!” He put a hand on both Gretchen’s and Hank’s back and gave a small shove. “Run!”

He didn’t wait to see if they followed suit, but raced for the closest tree, a massive maple with a broad trunk and low-hanging branches.

A loud crack broke the mid-morning air. Dirt kicked up around his feet.

The sniper was shooting at him. After yesterday, he shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. The sniper had followed him here?

He dove behind the tree as a bullet smacked into the trunk, then scurried to a sitting position with his back against the bark. A glance out at the walkway, where he’d stood moments before, found it empty. Gretchen and Hank neared the corporate building.

Another shot. The bullet thudded into the wood at his back.

Thankfully, the trunk seemed thick enough to stop the bullets. He sent up a prayer, then pulled his gun and surveyed his surroundings.

While there were other trees within a reasonable running distance, it would be nothing more than moving from one potential shelter to another. There was no way he’d get to the shooter from here.

Nor was he close enough to shoot the man, not with his handgun.

Surely the guards at the booth had heard the shots. They’d call it in, and the police would show up soon.

So why didn’t he think he had time to wait for that?

Hold up. The SUV was close to the tree. Maybe if Dalton could sneak out unnoticed, he could get a shot at the sniper.

Before he could pull out his phone, it vibrated in his pocket. Dalton’s name flashed on the screen.

He answered. “Sniper’s in the tree behind you. Think you can take him out?”

“I’ll try.” Dalton’s abrupt response sounded almost as tense as he felt. “Sit tight.”

Like he had a choice. He slid the phone back in his pocket and adjusted his hold on the gun.

Okay, so he was stuck here. The least he could do would be to draw the sniper’s fire. Distract him so Dalton could locate him and take him down.

Okay, God. Keep me safe here. Keep both of us safe.

He pulled in a breath, then pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the tree. He edged to the left and peeked around the rough bark.

Dalton slid out the passenger side of the SUV, then crept toward the back. Jordan’s gaze flipped to the tree in time to see the rifle swing toward him.

A shot rang out.

He jerked back as the wood beside his face splintered.

Okay, now to keep this guy busy.

He whipped out on the other side, brought his gun up, and fired, then ducked back behind the trunk. Another rifle shot boomed, followed by a thud as the bullet embedded in the trunk.

A gunshot echoed, but it sounded different. Dalton’s maybe?

His phone vibrated. He looked at it to find a text from Dalton. Threat neutralized.

Now to deal with Gretchen and Hank. Although he’d never be able to prove it, he was convinced that one or both of them had orchestrated the shooter in an attempt to kill him.

He broke from the cover of the tree and raced toward the corporate office.

In the distance, sirens echoed.

From the sound of things, the police would be here soon. Then his investigation would be over as the police questioned them all and the day shifted from OIG investigation to crime scene.

Especially now, when Dalton had either killed or wounded the would-be assassin.

That particular event would probably take some explaining.

He slid the glasses into his pocket as his vision continued to be well above normal. At the main doors of the corporate building, he grabbed the handle and jerked. The door didn’t budge.

Naturally, this place probably went into lockdown when that first bullet flew.

He looked through the massive windows, but saw no sign of the receptionist who usually staffed the front counter.

Most likely, everyone had retreated behind the security door and were huddled in the windowless hallway where they’d be unlikely to be hit by flying projectiles.

He banged on the door, but no one was around to let him in.

Now what?

The loading bay. Maybe it’d be open, then he could see the shady operations for himself.

He raced down the length of the building and skidded around the corner. Toward the back of the building, a truck was parked in front of a loading bay. The rolling door appeared to be locked up tight.

Maybe the man-sized door at the top of the stairs would be open.

He doubted it, but it was worth trying. He slowed his pace, his gaze skimming the surrounding area, then the trees. Just because they’d taken down one shooter didn’t mean there wasn’t someone else hiding out there.

He froze as the door opened and a man wearing jeans and a black t-shirt stepped out.

The guy took the stairs two at a time and jogged toward the truck. The bulge at his back showed he was packing.

They were trying to move… something… before the police arrived. The idea slammed into him and felt too probable to ignore.

Oh no, they didn’t. Not on his watch.

He raced to head off the man at the truck, raising his weapon as he drew near. “Federal agent. Stop right there.”

The man pulled up so abruptly that he almost tripped, then turned to face Jordan. Beneath the brim of his baseball cap, dark eyes narrowed. A bearded mouth set in a grim line.

On his forearm, an S tattoo prominently displayed his loyalties.

Everything about this guy screamed non-compliance.

“Hands where I can see them.”

The man’s hands jerked and twitched as he slowly held them out, then the right one flashed toward his back.

A gun whipped around and leveled on Jordan.

Jordan pulled the trigger, then dove to his left, his arm and shoulder scraping the asphalt. He brought his gun back up, but the man lay prone on the blacktop, a dark puddle forming beneath him.

Pushing to his feet, Jordan edged toward the man. His gut churned. Man, did he hope he hadn’t killed this guy. He needed answers and dead men made lousy witnesses.

As he drew closer, he saw the man twitch, then a low moan echoed.

Okay, so not dead.

The man’s shoulder looked saturated, but the wound was too high to have done any lethal damage.

He jogged closer, then kicked the man’s gun away.

The sirens were practically on top of them now. They had to be out front.

He lowered his gun, but would keep it ready until the police arrived. Then he’d have a whole lot of questions to answer.

He looked around, spotting a security camera mounted high above the loading door.

At least there was likely to be video proof to support his claim of self-defense. It was going to be a long afternoon and his chances of looking around that loading dock felt like they were decreasing by the second.

But if he didn’t get a look behind those doors, he might never get the proof he needed to stop Vida Immortal from manufacturing toxic seeds.

If he couldn’t find the proof he needed, then all of this was for nothing. They’d continue to ship poisoned seeds to farmers, who would grow contaminated crops, which would then be shipped to consumers all around the globe.

He prayed that God would intervene, so that they could bring this evil to an end.

₪   ₪   ₪

This was a disaster.

Gretchen worked to keep the emotions off her face as the police swarmed their campus, but the level of failure at so many turns was almost overwhelming.

First, Mike’s sniper had failed to kill Agent DuBois. Then DuBois had stumbled across the delivery driver and shot him.

Arthur was going to be livid.

Well, at least she could blame the sniper fiasco on Mike. That’d been all his doing.

She still couldn’t understand how DuBois had seen the sniper. And without his glasses, no less.

DuBois’ earlier cordial nature had evaporated, replaced by a determined, hard-nosed federal agent on the scent of a big break.

Unfortunately, it was closer than he realized.

The police had already questioned each of them individually; now, she found herself with Hank, Agent DuBois, and two detectives who kept rehashing the same old questions.

Seriously, couldn’t they focus on collecting bullet casings or whatever and get out?

“So, I’m wondering why the driver pulled a gun on a federal agent.” The detective’s non-question seemed focused on her and Hank.

Well, she certainly didn’t trust that peabrain Hank to come up with a decent answer. “There’d been a shooting, then a man points a gun at him. I think anyone would pull their own weapon, don’t you?”

“I clearly identified myself as a federal agent.” DuBois’ intense eyes locked on her.

She waved her hand in an effort to downplay things, not that two men being shot on their campus was something that could be downplayed. “Maybe he didn’t hear you.”

DuBois clearly didn’t believe her excuse. Heck, she’d be surprised if anyone did. Still, she’d stand by it, because she couldn’t admit the truth – that the driver knew who DuBois was and wanted to finish the job the sniper hadn’t been able to complete.

“What I find most interesting is that he was trying to leave in the middle of a lockdown.” DuBois’ gaze shifted from her to Hank then back again. “I mean, most people would seek shelter inside the building when there’s a sniper outside, but this guy? He tried to run. Makes me wonder what’s in that truck that he’s trying to hide.”

Her heart thundered in her ears and her vision narrowed.

That was the precise question she did not need anyone asking. That question could lead to the right answer: that she’d tracked the driver down and ordered him to leave before the police arrived.

It would’ve worked if Agent DuBois hadn’t been back there at the wrong moment.

“I think that’s a mighty interesting question.” One of the detectives appraised her with fresh eyes. “You got any thoughts on that?”

“People do crazy things in times of stress. Maybe he panicked. Maybe he didn’t have a license for that gun. How should I know what he was thinking?”

“Still, I think it’s worth taking a look.” The other detective gnawed on a toothpick stuffed between his teeth.

“Then get a warrant.” The words snapped out before Gretchen could stop them, drawing the attention of both detectives, Agent DuBois, and Hank, whose complexion pasted at the ire in her voice.

The detective stared at her for a moment longer than necessary, then gave a tight nod. “I’ll put in a call for that now. In the meantime, you all will have to wait here.”

Great. Now she’d gone from victim to suspect.

At least she’d had the good sense to get the scientists out of the secret lab.

When the police got their warrant, and she had little doubt that they would, they’d discover nothing suspicious on the loading dock. All the equipment and tainted seeds were hidden behind the fake wall.

They’d conduct their stupid little search, come up empty, and leave with no one the wiser.

The seeds they’d find in the back of the truck would only be problematic if they allowed Agent DuBois to confiscate them. If that happened, he’d surely have them tested.

Pain pulsed inside her head.

She’d hope it wouldn’t come to that. If it did, they’d have to figure out who they could bribe or threaten to get the results erased or make the seeds disappear.

They’d worked too hard to get here. She would not let all their efforts dry up like crops in a drought.

The Shadows were too big and too powerful for this one stupid agent to dismantle them. If he retrieved those seeds, she’d make sure he never arrived home from this facility.

₪   ₪   ₪

The warrant had finally come through. Jordan’s stomach grumbled at the missed lunch, but if this panned out, it was worth the hunger.

Morning had burned into afternoon, but now they were finally on their way into the depths of the building, warrant in hand.

Gretchen grudgingly led the way, the two detectives followed, and they’d allowed Jordan to tag along.

She opened a door and flipped on a light, then stepped aside so the detectives and Jordan could enter the receiving dock.

It was a surprisingly small space, especially compared to its much larger counterpart over at the R&D building. The concrete pad was clear of boxes, supporting Hank’s assertion that this dock was rarely used.

But it had been used earlier today, and the truck was still parked in the loading bay.

Jordan’s eyes zoomed in on the farthest corner of the room, where the controls for the rolling door begged him to investigate the truck’s contents further. His vision had yet to return to normal, which told him one thing.

God still had more for him to see.

Now if he could only figure out what that something was.

He scanned the area, but remained behind the detectives. This was now their investigation, after all. Interfering would only serve to get him banned from it.

As the detectives moved toward the rolling door, he methodically surveyed the area.

Dalton had said something about a hidden space. The police had kept him sequestered inside the building all day, so he hadn’t had a chance to touch base with Dalton to learn more.

He knew the police had questioned Dalton, too. Dalton had killed the sniper, after all, but it didn’t appear that he’d shared what he’d learned with the police.

Maybe because he’d obtained the information in a somewhat less than legal manner.

Regardless, they were in here now. It was up to him to figure out Dalton’s ambiguous message and the secret that Gretchen clearly wanted so desperately to hide.

The electronic door whirred open and the police cut the lock off the back of the truck.

“Does your warrant cover the contents of that truck?” Gretchen’s strident question drew his attention to her.

Although she tried to hide it behind outrage, he sensed her fear. Whatever was in that truck wasn’t something she wanted them messing with.

“Yes, ma’am. It does.” The lead detective removed the broken lock and pushed the rolling door of the truck up.

The delivery truck wasn’t large, but the dozen boxes secured against the far end of the space made the cargo area seem massive. Those boxes didn’t require a truck this size to move them. Heck, they’d probably all fit in the bed of a full-size pickup truck.

So why the waste and expense of a small delivery truck?

The detectives entered the cargo space and unstrapped the boxes, then sliced a few open.

“Seeds.” The lead detective picked up a few boxes and examined them but didn’t state what kind of seeds they were.

Gretchen snorted. “What did you expect? We are a seed manufacturing company, after all.”

“Then why not let us look back here?” The lead detective abandoned the boxes and approached her. “Why make us go to the trouble of a warrant if everything’s on the up-and-up?”

Her sigh felt like it contained exaggerated long-suffering. “Because we have rights. You can’t simply go through our facility.”

“Well, we’ll be going through each of these boxes carefully to make sure there’s nothing besides seeds inside.”

She waved her hand toward the boxes. “Be my guest. You’re wasting your time.”

Those boxes would have seeds in them, all right. But what kind of seeds? He’d have to encourage the detectives to send them out for testing.

In the meantime, he continued his careful study of the space.

Hidden cabinets, hidden cabinets. What could Dalton have meant?

The wall furthest from them, on what must be the building’s outside wall, was decorated in slatted wood, a look that reminded him of the walls made out of old pallets that had been popular on and off throughout the years.

Kind of a fancy wall for a loading dock, wasn’t it?

He moved closer, his attention locking in on the seams. The boards were staggered, so there wasn’t a single solid seam to shout that there were hidden cabinets behind that section.

Yet there was something about the center of the wall that drew his eye.

He felt Gretchen shift to watch him.

Let her watch. Clearly, his examination of this wall made her nervous, which was all the more reason for him to pay closer attention.

He let his gaze travel the top of the wall.

Was it his imagination or was there a marginally larger gap at the top of the wall in the center than on either side?

He focused on the spot and his vision zoomed in.

He wasn’t seeing things. The gap was there. He looked downward. Yep, it was larger at the bottom as well.

Could that whole section of wall actually be some kind of door? It was only about six feet wide, so it was possible.

The air conditioning kicked on, the noise of the fan clanging into action making him jump.

He glanced around. The detectives were still in the truck, perusing the boxes. Gretchen stood in the middle of the room, her narrowed gaze locked on him.

Keeping her in his peripheral, he strode toward the section of wall he suspected was a door and put his hand on the boards, moving along the various seams to see if he felt any air flow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gretchen’s voice hissed from behind him, an unusual shrillness to the words.

He turned to spear her with a look. “How do you open the door?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, which did nothing to hide the small tremor in her hands. “What door?”

“The door to the secret space behind this wall.” He gestured to the slatted wall behind him.

She angled her head condescendingly. “I’m afraid you’ve watched too many mysteries. There’s nothing behind that wall.”

Sure there wasn’t.

He didn’t bother arguing, but kept feeling the cracks beneath the boards.

A breath of cool air brushed his palm. He’d found it. He felt the next closest crack and felt air coming through it as well.

This was out of his jurisdiction. He turned, keeping an eye on Gretchen, and called for the detectives.

Although he doubted that this woman ever got her own hands dirty, if she felt that her carefully created empire was about to crash down around her, there was no telling what she’d do.

The lead detective approached, a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

Jordan pointed at the crack. “Put your hand there and tell me what you feel.”

For a moment, the detective looked ready to argue, but then he put his hand against the crack. His body froze for a moment. “Why is there air coming through the wall?”

Gretchen’s face took on an almost gray pallor.

When she didn’t answer, not that he’d expected her to, Jordan spoke up. “I think there’s a storage area behind there that she doesn’t want us to see.”

The other detective joined them. The lead detective’s face tightened. “Open it.”

Gretchen made no move to comply.

“Either you open it or we’ll get in here with some crowbars and tear the whole thing apart. Your choice.”

Gretchen swallowed hard. “I think it’s time I brought in our legal team.”

“Maybe you oughta do that.” The lead detective nodded at his partner. “How about we take her out front where a uniform can keep an eye on her.”

The other detective nodded, escorting Gretchen from the loading dock.

Jordan turned back to the wall. There must be a release, or hidden handle, or something to open this door. They wouldn’t want it to be too difficult, not if they had to get back here regularly.

He gently pushed on the boards on either side of the seam, starting at around shoulder-level and going down to around waist level. While it was possible the release was up higher, or down lower, he’d bet that they’d keep it at a reasonable height that would work for most people.

Nothing on this side.

He went to the other end of the panel and repeated the process. A board around heart level gave a little when he pushed on it.

The resulting click sounded loud in the barren room.

The section of wall popped out a few inches.

He glanced back at the detective, who’d unholstered his service weapon. The detective nodded.

All right. Looked like he was the one opening this up.

He wedged his fingers behind the boards and pulled. The section of wall swung outward, exposing a dark space behind. While some light spilled in, revealing counters and shelves holding bottles, it wasn’t enough to give a full view of the hidden room.

He felt along the inside of the space, his fingers connecting with a light switch. Flipping the switch, he watched as florescent light flooded the area.

The room wasn’t deep. In fact, it only went back about ten feet, but it appeared to stretch the full length of the building. Counters ran along all the walls, broken up by a few shelving units and one refrigerated unit. Containers filled with seeds dotted the space, as did seed packets similar to the ones he’d found at Ramon Zapato’s farm.

Being on the outside wall, it was easy to not notice that the rooms on this side of the building weren’t as deep as they should be.

The detective pulled on a glove, then picked up one of the seed packets. “Why hide these seeds?”

“Based on my investigation, I’d say that all these seeds are contaminated with harmful chemicals.” He nodded at the detective. “I have reports from some other seeds I’ve had tested, but I’d suggest having a full chemical analysis done on these seeds to confirm they match. If they do, there’s a whole slew of charges we can bring against them.”

“I’ll do that.” The detective moved further into the space and surveyed the room’s contents.

Jordan’s vision fuzzed at the edges, then blurred.

He reached for his glasses. Looked like he’d seen all that God had wanted him to see. For now, anyway. Something told him that God wasn’t quite done revealing things to him and that this gift would return at a day and time when he’d need it again.

₪   ₪   ₪

“Are you watching this?”

Arthur only half-heard Niles Wilson’s voice coming through the phone on the table in front of him. Most of his attention was focused on the television, where Lincoln Kingsley’s rally was in full swing.

Kingsley had named his running mate and the news couldn’t be worse.

Dalton Fowler.

He swallowed hard. No, surely he’d misunderstood.

“Arthur.”

The use of his name on The Shadows designated phones snapped him out of it. “Watch it.”

“Yes, sorry. But Dalton Fowler? As Kingsley’s VP pick?”

Tingling spread throughout his chest and his limbs iced. The man who’d been a thorn in his side for over a year now was about to become an even bigger hindrance.

Only now he couldn’t have Fowler taken out without drawing national attention. There’d been far too many assassination attempts in this election cycle as it was.

He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat growing to mammoth proportions. “Call off the hit. In fact, make it clear to all that he is off-limits. We can’t have a bounty on his head now. It’ll draw way too much scrutiny.”

“I know.” Niles’ sudden silence was almost worse than the man’s blubbering moments before. “There’s one more thing you should know. Vida Immortal is under investigation. The police found the contaminated seeds and are having them tested. Gretchen’s been arrested.”

Arthur’s legs shook and he collapsed in his recliner before his suddenly frail limbs dropped him to the floor.

It was all falling down around them.

“And what of Gretchen’s daughter?” While he’d never taken an active role in her life before, the girl shared his DNA. That alone made him keep tabs on her.

“She’s with a family friend until bail is set.”

After that, well, it was anyone’s guess what would happen. If Gretchen was incarcerated, Delilah would likely go into foster care. Gretchen had no family, not apart from Delilah.

What should he do?

He’d never wanted to be a father. In fact, he’d been quite content to stay on the fringes of his daughter’s life when Gretchen demanded as much.

But to allow his own flesh and blood to be raised in foster care? That didn’t settle well.

He’d do everything he could to keep Gretchen out of prison and his daughter out of foster care. “Make sure she has the best legal counsel available. She’s one of us.”

While they’d often thrown lower ranked members under the bus for the good of the cause, Gretchen was a tier one. That alone earned her some privileges that other lower ranked members lacked. The fact that she was the mother of his child was irrelevant.

Or at least that was the story he’d stick to.

If he was elected, he could pardon her, but it’d be best if they could use the legal system to get her off.

“And if we have anyone on the inside who can make evidence disappear, I want them activated for this.”

“Right away.”

The call ended, but his mind remained fixed on Delilah.

What would he do if Gretchen went to prison? Should he step up and take the girl in? If it came out that he knew he had a daughter and let her go into foster care, the public would turn on him. Obviously, the election would be long over by then, but if he was elected, he needed to make sure he kept public favor.

That was a problem for another day.

He turned back to the television as Kingsley droned on.

Today’s issue was more dire. Dalton Fowler was now untouchable. But that didn’t mean he was out of reach.

₪   ₪   ₪

“I still can’t believe you came through this in one piece.”

Jordan grinned at the disbelief in Sean’s voice. It’d been one heck of a Saturday so far, with several calls with his boss, the USDA, and the FDA. The fact that the police had already tested the seeds recovered from Vida Immortal, and that the tests had backed his own findings, was probably the only thing that’d saved his job.

Sure, his boss had given him some spiel about a disciplinary mark on his record, but with the news already catching wind of this and hailing him as the hero who’d prevented unspeakable food crises, they could hardly fire him.

He never had figured out why his boss had told him to drop the whole thing, though. That was still a concern.

A concern he knew Dalton and Tari shared and were investigating.

Now, he, Sean, and Allison had just come back home from taking the boat out on the lake for a few hours of peace and quiet. He’d invited Malachi, but Malachi had opted to stay behind.

“I have a feeling that Amazing Grow Seeds will be feeling the heat, too. There’s a full scale investigation going on, but I have good intel that says that the two companies are owned by the same guy and that both were intentionally poisoning the seeds that are going to private growers in an effort to drive them out.”

Sean rubbed the back of his neck as they climbed out of the truck. “But why? I mean, what could they hope to gain?”

“Control of the food market.” He looked at Allison, but she’d heard him explain all this last night. “There’s reason to believe that the founder of Sustaining Life Farms is also the guy behind both seed distributers.”

Sean let out a low whistle. “That’s some high level corruption.”

“No kidding.” Jordan opened the front door of his house.

Silence greeted him. Not that Malachi made a lot of noise, but the house had an emptiness to it.

“Malachi? Yo man, we’re home. We picked up pizza on the way.”

No response to his call.

Sean pushed past him, pizzas in hand, and headed for the kitchen.

This felt wrong. Had something happened to Malachi? Jordan hurried down the hallway toward the guest room.

The door stood open. He hesitated briefly before entering the room.

The bed was neatly made. No trace of any of Malachi’s things, much less the man himself. A lined piece of notepaper drew his attention to the bed.

He picked it up, the simple handwriting clear and easy to read.

Thanks for the hospitality, brother. Remember God’s call on your life. Press in, hold fast, and ask God to give you eyes to see clearly. Until we meet again.

The note was unsigned, but there was no one else it could be from.

Malachi was gone.

It left a slightly hollow feeling inside. He’d really come to rely on that guy’s steadying presence in his life.

Well, now that he knew Tari, and Dalton, were currently living on the other side of the state line, maybe he’d have to make a point to get together with them regularly. God knew he needed more solid influences in his life.

He sensed Allison behind him.

“Where’s Malachi?” Surprise tinged her voice.

He handed her the note and waited for her to digest the words. “I think I’m going to miss that guy.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You know what? Me, too.”

“I’m getting back into church tomorrow. Join me?” He held his breath while he waited for her response.

She sighed. “I’m glad you’re doing what you think you need to do, but I’m not feeling it.”

“We used to go every Sunday. Attended a small group every Thursday. Volunteered when the church hosted community events.”

“We did.” She fell silent for a moment. “But that was a stage in life. I’ve moved into a different stage and I honestly don’t miss all that busy-ness.”

An ache settled in his heart. Could he get back into church on his own? Sure. Did he want to do it without Allison? Not as much.

But he would. This was important. And he would pray that in time, Allison would see that, too.

Epilogue

The man’s scream echoed in the darkened study.

Niles leaned against the wall by the door, watching as the former special forces operative stood over the middle-aged man tied to the wooden chair.

Blood oozed from the bullet wound in the man’s thigh, which had been strategically placed to ensure that the femoral artery wasn’t hit. A similar gunshot wound darkened the man’s shoulder. Several deep slices on the man’s face and neck coated his skin red.

The special forces man stepped back and looked at Niles, waiting for further instructions. Even from here, he could sense the man’s blood-lust. The operative was trained in torture. And clearly enjoyed it.

He gave a small shake of his head and the man backed away, arms clasped behind his back.

Normally, Niles loathed handling such matters in person, but this one had required a personal touch.

They’d flushed out the mole. Now to find out how much the man had given up.

He stepped closer, his glare leveled on the bloody man. “How much did you give her?”

The man spat. Or tried to. It was hard to appropriately spit out of split and swollen lips. A nearly incoherent response garbled out.

While it was difficult to make out most words, he deciphered enough to know it was exactly what the man had been saying since they arrived. Her who?

The man had denied everything, from the very first slice of the knife to this last gunshot wound to the leg.

Niles knew the man was lying. The evidence they’d been carefully planting all year had finally led them straight to the man’s door. Plus, as the widower of Oleander Eckman, a tier two they’d had to eliminate a year ago but whose online presence in The Shadows had never died, he had the required access to all the records.

The fact that this man had managed to keep his online activity hidden for so long spoke to his technical prowess and commitment to his cause. It was becoming quite clear that the man would never give up Tari Salah and his connection to her. The longer they remained here, the more likely someone would discover them.

While he had the connections to get out of pretty much any trouble they might find themselves in, it would be much simpler if they remained out of said trouble to begin with.

Time to end this.

He extended his hand to the operative, who handed him the gun. Pointing it at the man’s chest, he looked him in his swollen eyes. “Last chance.”

The man pressed his lips together and stared him down.

He pulled the trigger.

The man’s body jerked, then he went still.

The center-mass shot had been aimed straight for the heart. After the damage this man had already done to their operations, he’d take no chances that the man might manage to survive.

He handed the gun back to the operative, snapped a picture of the dead man, and jerked his head toward the door. Silence descended as they exited the room, then headed for the back door, outside of which they’d parked the rental car.

As they pulled away, the operative jerked his head toward the back seat. “The package you requested is in the back.”

Niles stared at the passing residential neighborhood as darkened houses flashed by. “Did you look at it?”

A snort. “What do you think?”

That was a yes. Not that he was surprised. The operative, who had eliminated the wife of Arthur’s blackmailer, was as inquisitive as he was skilled. “And I trust you will keep what you saw in utmost confidence?”

“Don’t I always?”

Yes, the man had always proven loyal to their cause. “Be sure that doesn’t change now.”

Niles glanced behind the seat, noting the laptop and plastic bag resting there.

Arthur thought all the images had been destroyed, but now he had control of the compromising photos. While he didn’t intend to use them, at least not at this time, it never hurt to have a little leverage.

Speaking of Arthur, he needed to provide an update. He pulled out his Shadows cell and brought up Arthur’s number.

Arthur answered on the first ring. “It’s done?”

“It is. He admitted to nothing, but he was definitely the guy.”

“So we don’t know how much he might’ve given her that simply hasn’t come to light?” Arthur’s voice sounded cross at the lack of information.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. She doesn’t seem to hold back for long.”

A grunt responded. “And you were… persuasive?”

“Very. He wasn’t going to give up anything.” Idealists were the hardest ones to turn. Those who believed in the cause they supported, especially when that cause had religious ties.

“I think we need to make sure Salah knows that her contact is dead and if she continues down this course, she’ll suffer the same fate.” Arthur ground the words out, clearly not thrilled at the lack of intel they’d obtained.

“I’ll take care of it.” In fact, he’d send her the photo he took with a well-worded warning.

It was time they turned up the heat on Tari Salah. She needed to be stopped. By choice or by force, it was up to her.

He hoped it’d be by force. He looked forward to the day he could look her in the eye and put a bullet in her head.

Watch for Terminal Shadow, book 7 in The Shadows series, coming summer of 2025!

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Dedication and Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to all of us who fight the spiritual lukewarmness in the day-to-day. Trust me, I am right there with you. Press in, stand strong, and don’t give up. Spiritual apathy may be the easier path, but a vibrant relationship with Jesus is worth the effort.

Thank you to my beta readers, who catch my typos, call me out on any errors, and make the book better – Linda, Jamie Lee Grey, and John E. Rock. Readers, if you enjoy end times fiction, be sure to check out Jamie Lee Grey & John E. Rock’s offerings – you won’t regret it!

Thank you to each of you who are reading this. I am so blessed that you invest your time and mental energy to read these stories that the Lord has given me. Your support of indie authors – like me – is invaluable!

Most of all, thank you Jesus. For the cross, for salvation, for eternal life, and for giving us right standing with God. Thank you for your limitless patience with me as I fail, get back up, then fail again. Your grace is more than sufficient for all my sin and weakness.

A note from the author

Thank you for joining me on Jordan’s journey! If you enjoyed this story, I would be so honored if you’d take a quick moment to leave a rating or review. Reviews are so critical to the success of independent authors and can also help your fellow readers know that a book is worth reading.

Watch for Terminal Shadow, book 7 in The Shadows series, available summer 2025. Keep reading for a sneak peek at that one! If you’d like to receive advance notice of new releases, you can sign up for my newsletter on my website, www.candlesutton.com.

As I’ve worked through the Revelation churches, I’d been dreading the story where I’d have to represent the church at Laodicea. Did you know that of the 7 churches, this is the only one that Jesus didn’t have a single positive thing to say to them? Every other church was commended for something – faith, service, growth, endurance – but this church? Not a single thing.

I’ve really had to work through what spiritual apathy looks like in our world… and my own life. It takes so many forms, that it can be hard to identify, yet if we’re honest, I think most of us would admit that there are often days or parts of our lives where we’re lukewarm. As I wrote this story, and worked through the complacency in Jordan’s life, I also turned the focus inward. It’s not always pleasant to shine the light of God’s word, particularly the rebukes, toward ourselves, but it is so necessary for spiritual growth. Apathy is a moment-by-moment temptation and we choose if we’re going to look to Jesus or relegate Him to a place outside our lives.

God has given us all so much that it can be really easy to think we’ve got it covered. Most of us in the U.S. can say that we have jobs, know how to do our job so that our employers stay happy and we remain employed, have money to pay for housing and food (even though the prices of all those things keeps going up!), and feel like we pretty much have a handle on life. It can be so easy to look to those things for our security instead of the God who gave us the ability to have a job, provided the place of employment, gives us the means to earn a living to pay for food and housing, and so on. The things the Laodicean church said really hit home when we look at it through the scope of the American lifestyle.

Yet, it’s really telling when we see how God viewed that church – it was exactly the opposite of how they saw themselves. I wonder what Jesus would say to the American church, if we had a letter written specifically to us as these 7 churches did? I suspect it would read far more like the Laodicean church’s letter than any of the others.

As I’ve worked through these churches, I can feel the Lord stirring in me. This church, in particular, while difficult to process has been probably the most transformative in my own life. Toby Mac’s song I’m Sorry has become the new cry of my heart as of late, particularly the bridge where he prays “wake us up, wake us up, wake us up, Lord.” If you’re not familiar and you want to check that song out, you can hear it here. I’d encourage you to pay close attention to the lyrics. They’re a little hard to take, but so true of where the Christian culture is at.

The church in general needs a wake-up call. Will you join me in praying for revival, not only in your church, your hometown, and our nation, but also globally? This world needs Jesus… and it starts with us.

Excerpt from Terminal Shadow

Prologue

The not too distant future…

Bang. You’re dead.

The words popped up in the suddenly black screen of his computer monitor, the boxy white letters reminiscent of the earliest computer language.

The words flickered, then flashed, creating a horror movie strobe effect.

Kennedy Kingsley clicked the mouse, then punched at the keyboard to clear the words. Nothing worked.

Instead, the words repeated. Row after row, filling his thirty-four inch computer monitor with a string of taunting letters.

He leaned back in his office chair as the text continued to populate.

Someone had taken control of his system. Not easy to do, given the firewall and his own skills as a cyber-security programmer. Whoever did this had coding knowledge that rivaled his own.

A threat? Maybe it was only a sick joke. It seemed like something that jerk Jonas might do.

Then again, with what he’d uncovered earlier in the day, was a threat so hard to believe?

Words kept replicating on the screen, but the first two dropped off, leaving one word to command his attention.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

A chill skittered down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the air conditioning pumping into the room. Sweat slithered between his shoulder blades and he pulled out his handkerchief and blotted at his forehead.

A door banged from somewhere nearby and he jerked toward the sound.

The open office space, containing half a dozen desks, had never felt more ominous. At nearly seven p.m., everyone else had left hours ago, but he’d been caught up quarantining a potential threat.

Now, he couldn’t shake the thought the greater threat was not in some online virus, but in a flesh-and-blood presence stalking him as he sat here alone.

The screen in front of him froze, the endless string of “dead” ceasing.

The curser, looking very much like a throwback to the 1980s, pulsed, then letters slowly appeared in caps, one at a time as if plagued by a bad connection.

I’M COMING FOR YOU.

The lights went out. The building had its own power source. For someone to cut the power, he – or she – must be inside.

Without electricity, the message disappeared from his monitor. But not from his mind.

This was no joke. He felt it in his core.

He had to get out of here. Now.

The back-up emergency lights flickered on, casting the area in an otherworldly glow.

He shoved his chair back and jerked to his feet. The extra forty pounds he’d put on in the two years since his divorce threw him off balance and he wobbled before finding his footing.

Simultaneously grabbing his cell phone and slamming the lid of his laptop, he mentally plotted the best escape route. Would the person on the other end of that threat expect him to go out the front? Or use one of the secondary exits?

The discoveries he’d made earlier, and the rabbit trails he’d chased in the subsequent hours, had the potential to ruin careers. People had certainly killed for less.

Lincoln.

He hadn’t talked to his brother in years, but if things didn’t go his way tonight, there was no one he trusted more to get to the bottom of this than his goody-two-shoes brother.

Shaking fingers unlocked his phone, then he brought up his texts and searched for Lincoln’s contact information. A voice carried on the sudden silence, but it was too far away for him to hear. Still, he didn’t have much time.

Project Tremulous. His fingers tapped out the message and he hit send before he could second guess himself.

A crash came from somewhere in the building. He started, dropping his phone on the industrial carpet beneath his shoes.

Time to get out of here.

After scooping up his phone, he dodged desks and headed for the open door. At the doorway, he paused.

No sounds came from the hallway, which somehow felt more ominous without the expected sound of approaching footsteps. He edged closer so he could peek into the darkened corridor.

No sign of movement.

He slipped into the hall and edged toward the corner. Security, and the main exit, would be right around that bend.

The thundering of his heart nearly drowned out all other noises. His breathing quickened until he felt like he was hyperventilating. The air seemed thick, his limbs heavy. He dragged one leg in front of the other.

His legs gave out. The world tilted, then darkened.

The cold tile jarred him into a half-conscious state as he lay, unmoving, on the unforgiving floor. Why couldn’t he get up?

A black military boot stopped in front of his face. The boot’s owner crouched, a milky white face, mostly hidden behind a gas mask, swimming in front of his cloudy vision.

“You never should have messed with us.” The words came out muffled and sounded far off, but he heard them nonetheless.

He felt pressure at his hand, then his cell phone hit the tile inches from his nose. The boot came down hard on it, crushing the device and sending bits of plastic scattering across the floor.

His brain screamed at him to hold his breath, to get up and run, to attack, but his body refused to obey. Instead, his lungs pulled in another long breath and the world faded.

Watch for Terminal Shadow, book 7 in The Shadows series, in Summer 2025!

Also Available by Candle Sutton

The Deadly Alliances Series

Book 1: Deadly Alliances

Book 2: Deadly Devotion

Book 3: Deadly Redemption

Book 4: Deadly Deliverance

The Fallen Series

Book 1: Silent is the Grave

Book 2: Broken is the Grave

Book 3: Empty is the Grave

Sinister Secrets Series

Book 1: Nameless

Book 2: Faceless

Book 3: Relentless

Shadow of the Storm

(Prequel to The Shadows Series)

The Shadows Series

Book 1: Midnight Shadow

Book 2: Avenger’s Shadow

Book 3: False Shadow

Book 4: Dead Shadow

Book 5: Raging Shadow

Book 6: Consuming Shadow

Book 7: Terminal Shadow (coming 2025)

Book 8: Final Shadow (coming 2026)