As they burst out onto a balcony, the shooter leaped off the edge, landing in the backyard below with a grunt. Jack followed, ignoring the pain in his head and legs as he landed and rolled to absorb the impact. He was close now, so close he could almost reach out and grab the man. But when Jack went to stand, his left leg gave out and he crashed the ground. He felt his lower leg for a break. It didn’t seem like anything had fractured, but the pain in his ankle was severe.

  The shooter, limping slightly from the fall, pushed through the yard and back into the street. Jack forced himself off the ground. He staggered forward, his ankle loosening up every few steps. He closed the distance, determined not to let the guy escape. They were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, where a thick line of trees marked the beginning of a wooded area.

  Just as the shooter reached the tree line, Jack saw his chance. He raised his pistol and fired, grazing the shooter’s leg. The man cried out, clutching his wound but not stopping. He continued to limp away, each step more labored than the last. Jack could see the blood seeping through the fabric of the shooter’s pants, leaving a trail of crimson droplets on the ground. The shooter’s pace slowed. His movements grew more frantic and desperate. He stumbled over a fallen branch but managed to stay on his feet.

  “Stop!” Jack shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. But the shooter, presumably driven by fear and adrenaline, pressed on, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Jack surged forward, closing the gap between them with every hobbled stride. The trees closed in around them, the dense foliage making it harder for them both to navigate.

  Jack pressed on. Branches whipped at his face, leaving stinging cuts across his cheeks, but he didn’t slow down. The underbrush tugged at his legs, threatening to trip him with every step. He ignored the pain in his busted ankle, gritting his teeth as he pushed through the dense foliage. Each step sent a jolt of agony up his leg, but he kept his focus on the shooter, who was now just a few yards ahead.

  The shooter glanced back, his eyes wide with panic. Jack could see the man’s desperation, the realization that he was losing ground. Jack surged forward. He could almost reach out and grab the shooter, the distance between them narrowing with every stride. He reached for his pistol and discovered it wasn’t there.

  Shit!

  He’d have to take the guy down with force. But then, just as he was about to close the gap, Jack’s foot caught on a hidden root. His ankle twisted painfully, sending him crashing to the ground. He let out a grunt of pain. He clutched his ankle as he tried to regain his footing. The shooter took advantage of Jack’s fall and limped farther away.

  Jack cursed under his breath and forced himself to stand despite the throbbing pain. He staggered forward, but the distance between him and the shooter had widened once more. The man was disappearing into the thick underbrush, his figure becoming a shadow among the trees.

  Jack clawed his way forward. He used the trees to steady himself and keep upright. His fingers dug into the rough bark, pulling himself along as his ankle protested with every step. He gritted his teeth and refused to let the pain slow him down. The dense foliage tore at his clothes, but he pressed on, his eyes locked on the fleeting figure ahead.

  Branches snapped underfoot, and the sound of his heavy breathing mingled with the rustling of leaves. Jack pushed through a particularly dense thicket, his hands and face scratched and bleeding, but he didn’t care. The shooter was getting away, and he couldn’t let that happen. He used every ounce of strength he had left, dragging himself forward, step by agonizing step.

  Finally, he reached a small clearing, his lungs burning and his legs trembling from the effort. As they emerged from the woods, Jack saw the shooter stumble toward a hidden motorcycle. The man’s movements were frantic, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys. Despite his injury, the shooter started it up and roared away, leaving Jack behind in a cloud of dust and frustration.

  Breathing heavily, Jack watched helplessly as the shooter disappeared into the distance. He clenched his fists, the image of that tattoo burned into his mind. He had a lead, and he wasn’t going to let this slip away.

  30

  Jack limped out of the woods, his body aching from the chase. He re-tied his left hiking boot, making sure to pull it tight around his ankle to help keep the swelling down. He couldn’t just rest for the next forty-eight hours. He’d have to power through.

  The forest was quiet now, the only sounds the distant rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of birds. The air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and earth, mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood from the cuts on his face and hands.

  He winced as he adjusted the boot, feeling the sharp throb of pain radiating from his twisted ankle. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the grime and blood from his earlier fall. He took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs. He steadied himself. The sun rose higher. He let it wash over him before pulling out his phone. He dialed Reese’s number, his fingers trembling slightly from the adrenaline.

  “Jack?” Reese’s voice was filled with concern.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I need you to come pick me up. I’m near the edge of the woods by Harris’ place. The shooter got away, but I’m okay.”

  “Hang tight, we’re on our way,” Reese said.

  Jack leaned against a tree, trying to steady his breathing. Within minutes, he could hear the distant hum of an engine as Reese and Ben approached in the Jeep. He straightened up, squinting against the glare of the morning sun, and walked toward the sound. Each step was a reminder of the grueling chase.

  Reese rushed up to him. She threw an arm under his and helped him to the Jeep.

  “Are you okay?” She looked him up and down, scanning his injuries.

  “I’ll live. Just a few scrapes and a twisted ankle.” Jack winced as he put weight on his foot.

  Ben helped him into the back seat of the Jeep. “We should get that looked at.”

  “I’ve survived far worse,” Jack said. “Can’t afford to take time away now. I’ll keep it wrapped tight.”

  As they drove away from the woods, Jack pulled out his phone again and called Tilley.

  “Tilley, it’s Jack. We had a run-in with Councilman Harris.”

  “What happened?” Tilley asked, his voice tense.

  “Harris is dead. We went there to confront him, get him to turn on Hennessey. A shooter ambushed us at his house and killed Tilley. I chased the guy through the neighborhood and into the woods, but he got away. I managed to get a good look at him. His face was concealed, but he had a tattoo, a distinctive one. We need to talk.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Where are you now?”

  “In the Jeep. Not sure where we’re headed yet, but I’ll let you know when we get there.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Jack disconnected the call and noticed Ben looking at him.

  “Describe the tattoo,” Ben said.

  Jack leaned back in his seat. “It was a serpent coiled around a dagger. Lots of color. Color that didn’t make sense for that piece. It was too bright. I know I’ve seen it before, but I can’t place where.”

  Ben looked somber. “I’ve seen a lot of tattoos like that, Jack. Are you sure about it?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Reese,” Ben said. “Take us to see Lacy.”

  As they reached the outskirts of town, they saw an ambulance and fire truck race by, accompanied by two police cars. Tilley drove one of them. He wondered if any of their evidence had been left behind. Wouldn’t be the worst thing, he supposed. Tilley would take care of it, even if the other cops with him were bought off.

  It was early, but the streets of downtown were lively, couples out for their morning walks and coffee. Kids on their way to school, which had reopened the day prior. Life went on as it did every day in Lewiston. Everyone either oblivious or uncaring about the evil undercurrent rushing through the town.

  They arrived at Lacy’s bar. The parking lot was empty. The sign turned off. The door locked. Ben pulled out his keyring and fished through the two-dozen or so keys it held. He slid one into the lock and turned it. Before pushing the door open, he looked back at Jack and Reese.

  “I don’t know how this will go down, so let’s all be ready for anything.”

  Jack raised a finger. “Hang on a sec.” He hobbled to the passenger side of the Jeep, reached in and opened the glove box. He retrieved the small Sig Sauer P938 9mm pistol he kept there. Not his first choice for a gunfight, but it was the perfect weapon for the bar should he need one.

  Ben opened the door and held it as Jack limped inside, supported by Reese. The bar was empty. The usual smell of bison burger failed to greet them. Instead, it smelled like bleach and beer, an off-putting odor after what they’d already been through that morning.

  Jack scanned the room in search of the piece of the puzzle he was missing.

  Then he saw it. A framed photo behind the bar. It was Lacy with a young man, her son. The young man had a tattoo on his arm—a serpent coiled around a dagger.

  The height, the build, the tattoo. It all matched the shooter and the mystery man at the hospital.

  Ben walked over to the photo and took it off the wall. He shook his head as he stared down at it. He flipped it around and said, “Jack, is that the tattoo?”

  Jack nodded. He thought about what to do next. Call Tilley? Marcus? Set out on their own to find Lacy’s son?

  Reese said, “We need to find him. Now.”

  “Find who?” Stepping out from the shadows of the hallway was Lacy. “What are you three doing in here?”

  “Still got a key,” Ben said.

  “Remind me to get that back from you,” Lacy said.

  Jack took a step forward, his eyes locked on Lacy. He had his doubts about the woman. She seemed to be at the center of a lot of the things going on. “We need to talk about your son, Lacy.”

  Her expression hardened. “What about him?”

  “We think he’s involved with Hennessey,” Jack said. “We’ve seen him at the hospital, and we believe he’s the one who shot Councilman Harris this morning.”

  Lacy’s expression dropped. “No. That can’t be. Danny would never do something like that. He’s a good kid. Hell, you’ve sat with him at this bar, Jack. All he does is joke around.”

  Jack pointed to the photo. “The tattoo, Lacy. I saw it on the man I chased this morning. It matches. Danny’s mixed up in this, whether you want to believe it or not.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Danny’s been through a lot. He’s made mistakes, but he’s not a killer.”

  Ben stepped in. “Lacy, we need to know where he is. If he’s in trouble, we can help him. But we need to find him first.”

  Lacy’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re wrong. He’s not involved. He couldn’t be.”

  “Lacy,” Jack said, “we need to know what’s going on. Where is he?”

  She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in days. He’s been staying away ever since...”

  “Ever since what?” Reese asked.

  “Ever since he beat up Ron at the cabin,” Lacy said, her voice breaking. “Ron was trying to convince him to stop working with Hennessey. Said it didn’t matter what Hennessey had on them, they needed to get out. Danny didn’t want to hear it. They fought, and Danny ... he lost control.”

  Jack exchanged a look with Reese and Ben. “We need to find him, Lacy. Do you have any idea where he might be hiding?”

  She shook her head. “No, but he has a friend. They used to hang out at the old warehouse near the river. Maybe he’s there.”

  Before they could respond, Ben’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Sam. Hold on.” He answered the call. “Yeah, Sam, what’s up?”

  Ben’s expression turned serious as he listened. “Hold on, Sam. What’s wrong?” He listened intently for another moment. “We’re on our way.” He ended the call and turned to Jack and Reese, his face pale. “Sam’s in trouble. We need to go, now.”

  Without another word, they rushed out of the bar and back into the Jeep.

  31

  The Jeep roared down the deserted streets, its tires screeching at every turn. Jack’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel as his mind raced through the possible scenarios they might face. Beside him, Reese scanned the surroundings, her hand hovering near her pistol. Ben sat in the back, tense and alert, ready for whatever lay ahead.

  The urgency in Ben’s voice during the call had set their adrenaline pumping. They knew they were heading into a confrontation. Jack couldn’t help wonder why Sam? He knew little about the man, but he didn’t seem tied up in everything. Was this just a ploy to bring Jack to them? A way for them to guarantee uneven footing?

  As they approached Sam’s house, the first light of dawn cast a soft glow over the neighborhood. Jack slowed down. He looked for any signs of movement.

  “There.” Reese pointed to the front door, which hung ajar. The frame was splintered, evidence of a forced entry.

  Jack parked the Jeep a few houses away. “This could get messy.”

  They exited the vehicle and crossed the distance as silently as they could. Jack led the way, signaling for Reese and Ben to follow closely. They stuck close to the neighboring houses to shield themselves from any lookouts. As they approached the house, the quietness heightened their tension. Jack nearly drew his sidearm when a nearby car started up.

  They reached Sam’s house. Jack peered through a side window. The living room was dimly lit. He could make out the figures of several men, and the faint sound of muffled voices reached his ears. He turned to Reese and Ben, nodding toward the front door.

  “Ready?” Jack mouthed.

  They both nodded in response.

  Jack pushed the door open and winced at the creak it made. They slipped inside, moving through the darkened hallway with the kind of practiced stealth they had developed over years in the field. Each creak of the floorboards beneath their feet made his heart race faster.

  The living room was close. The sound of a struggle became clearer. Jack held up his hand, signaling for them to stop. He peeked around the corner and took in the scene before him. Sam was tied to a chair in the center of the room, bruised and bloodied. Three of Hennessey’s men surrounded him. They hovered over Sam like they were intent on extracting information. Or beating the crap out of him.

  Jack’s gaze hardened. He glanced back at Reese and Ben and signaled them to get ready. They needed to take out these men quickly and efficiently.

  Jack stepped into the room, his pistol raised. “I’m the guy you want.”

  The men turned in surprise, but Jack didn’t hesitate. He fired two quick shots, each one hitting its mark, center mass. The men crumpled to the floor. The third man lunged at Jack, but Reese was faster. She drew her weapon and fired, hitting him in the leg. He dropped with a scream, clutching his wound.

  “Stay down!” Reese commanded, her gun trained on the injured man.

  Jack moved to Sam. He pulled a knife and cut through the ropes binding the man. “Are you okay?”

  Sam groaned, his head falling forward. “I’ve been better. But there’s something you need to know ... about Hennessey’s true identity….” His eyes fluttered and his voice trailed off as he lost consciousness.

  “Shit,” Jack said. They had come to rescue Sam, but it was clear their troubles were far from over. Jack turned back to the injured man on the floor, who was still clutching his leg and groaning in pain. “Who sent you?”

  The man spat blood and glared at Jack. “You’re too late. Hennessey knows everything. You’re all dead.”

  Reese stepped forward, her gun still aimed at the man. “Wrong answer.” She glanced at Jack, who nodded. They needed answers. They needed this guy alive.

  Jack holstered his gun and moved to the man, grabbing him by the collar. “Who is Hennessey? Where can we find him?”

  The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “You think you can stop him? You have no idea what you’re up against.”

  Before Jack could react, the man made a sudden move, reaching for a knife hidden in his boot. Jack was faster. He brought the butt of his pistol down hard on the man’s head, knocking him out cold.

  “Damn it,” Jack muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We needed him conscious.” He glanced back at Sam. “How is he?

  Reese knelt beside Sam and checked his pulse. “He’s stable for now, but we need to get him out of here.”

  Ben was already at the door. He checked outside for backup. “It’s clear. We should move. We don’t know if more of Hennessey’s men are on the way.”

  Jack and Reese lifted Sam, supporting him between them as they made their way out of the house. Ben took the lead. His pistol followed his gaze.

  The morning sun had crested the trees. Jack winced at the brightness.

  They reached the Jeep and loaded Sam into the backseat.

  “No loose ends,” Reese said. “We need to go back and get the other guy.”

  Jack and Reese hurried back into the house. The living room was quiet, the only sound the ticking of a clock on the wall.

  “He’s gone.” Jack searched for any sign of the wounded and saw a trail of blood leading out of the room. “He must’ve escaped through the back.”

  They rushed through the house, heading to the back door. It was slightly ajar, swinging gently in the breeze. Jack pushed it open and stepped outside. The backyard was empty, the fence gate wide open.

  “He’s gone,” Reese said.

  Jack cursed under his breath. “We can’t waste any more time. Let’s get back to Sam.”

  They returned to the Jeep. Jack took the wheel, his mind racing with the urgency of their situation. As they sped away, Jack glanced in the rearview mirror at Sam, who remained unconscious as he slumped against Ben. They needed answers, and they needed them fast. But first, they had to make sure Sam was safe. Then, they could figure out their next move.

 

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