Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I glanced toward the hallway, where Sayla and the kids had gone with Lindee.
“Just make sure none of that blowback hits her or the kids.”
“It won’t,” Ned promised. “I’m going to bury this bastard, Roque. And anyone standing next to him when the shit hits the fan.”
Ned had just closed the folder when his phone buzzed on the table.
He picked it up, checked the screen, and breathed sharply through his nose. “And there it is.”
“What?” I asked, already sitting forward.
“Griggs just made a move.” He tapped the screen and turned it so I could see. A surveillance shot—timestamped five minutes ago—showed Griggs getting into a car outside a strip mall two towns over. He wasn’t alone. Another man was with him, partially obscured behind the windshield, but the posture was on guard.
“We’ve been running surveillance feeds through facial recognition software,” Ned explained. “He’s ditched his usual car, but we’ve now tagged the plates on this one. It belongs to one of his personal security team—who should be broke right now unless they just got paid in cash.”
“Which would be dumb,” Judd muttered, leaning over my shoulder. “Because now they’ve officially tied themselves to criminal funding.”
Ned nodded. “Exactly. That’s the leverage we needed. He’s panicking, which means he’s vulnerable.”
“Where’s he heading?” I asked.
Ned’s security guy was already on one of the laptops nearby, typing fast. “Looks like he met with someone in that parking lot—short exchange, no physical hand-off. We’ve got a tail on him now, keeping a distance.”
I frowned. “He’s meeting people in broad daylight?”
Ned’s voice dropped a notch. “Desperate men make messy decisions.”
Hurst stepped closer to the table, arms crossed, his presence as steady as ever. “He knows he’s being watched now, there’s no way he doesn’t. This means he’s either bluffing for power or running out of time.”
“Or both,” I added.
The room fell quiet as the screen updated again—a new photo, this time of Griggs stepping into a second vehicle in the back lot of a run-down hotel on the edge of town. The security guy tapped his keyboard, and it turned out that this one wasn’t registered with any of his known associates.
Ned stared at the screen, his fingers tapping once against the edge of the phone. “If he’s making contact with someone off-grid, it’s either to disappear or strike first. And if he’s foolish enough to go after Sayla and the kids again—”
“He won’t get that far,” I cut in.
He wouldn’t. I’d burn the whole damn county down before I let him get close to her or the kids.
Ned looked at me, and all the sharp politician polish dropped for a moment. “We’re going to finish this, Roque. But I need to know something—if he runs, are you ready to cross the line if it comes down to it?”
I met his gaze without hesitation. “I already was the second he took her.”
Ned nodded once. “Then let’s box him in.”
By midday, the trap was set.
Griggs had moved again, this time to a private airstrip on the outskirts of a neighboring town—remote, low-traffic, often used by people who wanted to avoid being seen. He’d ditched his backup vehicle and was now traveling with just one man—lean, military build, sunglasses that didn’t hide the fact he was scanning for a threat.
It was too late for that.
Judd, Keir, and I moved out with a three-person unit from Ned’s trusted security. The Rangers were already active, following up on a list of officers tied to Griggs—names we'd fed them through Ned’s clean FBI contacts. So far, two were already in custody. Two more were missing, but the Rangers had their addresses and weren't the kind to knock gently.
We didn’t wait for Griggs to board a plane.
He was twenty feet from the stairs, phone in hand, when Keir’s voice crackled over comms. “Target confirmed. Go.”
I moved first.
We came in from both sides—Judd flanking left, Keir on the right, two of Ned’s men fanning out behind. One quick, sharp order— “Hands where I can see them!”—and the man with Griggs reached for his waistband.
Bad call.
Keir dropped him with a shot to the shoulder—non-lethal, but it took him out of the fight fast. Griggs froze, arms lifting slowly, his mouth working like he couldn’t believe we’d actually shown up. I got in close and slapped cuffs on him myself.
Up close, he looked older and smaller, his false confidence stripped away. “You have no idea what you’ve just done,” he hissed at me.
“Sure I do,” I shrugged, tightening the cuffs until he winced. “I just took away your runway.”
Back at the ranch, Ned’s team confirmed the arrest. Sayla and the kids were kept safely inside while the last threads were pulled tight.
Then came the second name on our list.
Vincent Russo, the man who’d taken Sayla and worked under the radar with a federal clearance that should’ve been stripped years ago.