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CHAPTER 147
"I gave him the recording," Deacon confirmed. "He said it was the best thing he'd ever heard. And then he said it wasn't enough to just turn it in, because the government would take months to do anything with it, and Kane would walk around the yard like nothing happened." "So how did you all end up with murdering the poor lady in cold blood," Reeves said. "He said we needed something that would take everything from Kane at once. His private cell, his visits, his comfort. All of it. And the only thing that does that fast is a body." Deacon's voice dropped. "A dead woman tied to Kane. The recording says he wanted her out of the way. If she turned up dead, they'd connect it. He'd be the obvious suspect, and he'd lose every privilege he'd ever had." For a few seconds, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation. "You killed an innocent woman," Castellano said, "to ruin a man's cell assignment." "I didn't kill her." Deacon's he
CHAPTER 146
They watched Deacon from the shadows of a borrowed van parked across from the penitentiary's staff lot, Reeves in the driver's seat with a thermos wedged between his knees, Torres in the back with a long lens trained on the gate. The surveillance team had tracked him through the night. He'd left his apartment at five, bought a pack of cigarettes and a prepaid phone at a gas station, then spent ten minutes sitting in his car, staring at the dashboard without starting the engine. Twice, according to the feed, he had picked up the burner and put it down again, as if the thing were hot. "He knows," Torres murmured. "Doesn't he? Somebody told him." "Or he's a man who hasn't slept in days because he's afraid of exactly things that might end up going wrong for him," Reeves said. "Guilt looks the same as knowing, from the outside." The overnight shift let out at six. A column of tired men in gray uniforms filed through the gate, some laughing, some silen
CHAPTER 145
"Describe him," Reeves said. "Everything. And don't give me the lazy version." Colby let his head fall back against the wall, a bruise already swelling dark along his temple, and stared at the ceiling tiles like they might hold the patience he'd run out of. "Mid-thirties," he said at last. "Skinny. Uniform hangs off him like he borrowed it from a bigger man. Chews his nails down to the quick, and smokes like it's a second job. Left-handed. I know because he passed me the envelope with his left, and his thumb never stopped tapping the lighter in his other hand." He paused. "Little scar splitting the right eyebrow. Talks fast when he's scared, and he was scared the entire time." "Where did you meet him?" Castellano asked. "A rest stop off the interstate. He gave me the name, an address, and a down payment. That was it." "You're sure you'd recognize him again?" "I'd recognize that thumb in my sleep." Colby's eyes dropped to Castellano's, flat
CHAPTER 144
They reached the on-ramp in a spray of sparks as Colby’s undercarriage scraped the concrete. The sports car surged onto the open highway and opened up. The speedometer in Reeves’s SUV climbed past ninety, then one hundred. The other two FBI vehicles struggled to keep formation. One clipped the guardrail hard enough to tear a long scar of metal. The driver fought for control and dropped back. Colby’s car danced between the sparse evening traffic like it was playing a game. He cut across three lanes at once, forcing a minivan into the shoulder. The minivan’s driver overcorrected and spun, the tires smoking but Colby didn't even look back for a second. Thirty minutes of pure violence on asphalt. The highway stretched ahead under sodium lights. Castellano’s radio crackled with updates from the other units—positions, attempted intercepts that failed, requests for aerial support that would take too long to arrive. Then, almost sudden
CHAPTER 143
The interrogation room had been modified over the course of the afternoon, its thermostat quietly disconnected from the building's central system and replaced with a portable unit wheeled in by a technician. By the time Jonathan was escorted back in, cuffed hands behind his back, the room already carried a slight, unnatural warmth, that made him pause and look back. "I already told you," Jonathan said, dropping into the chair across from Reeves. "I'm not giving you a name. The other guy that was here thought he could threaten me and get the name out of my mouth." "We're aware," Reeves said, unbothered, rising from the table. "We just wanted to make sure you understood the terms before we left you here to think about it." "Terms?" Jonathan's brow furrowed. "What terms?" "Oh, won't you see," Reeves said simply. "You won't be getting anything you request for unless you give us a name. We are trying to be nice to you, but if you wanna play it your way it's f
CHAPTER 142
The footage, when they finally recovered it, was grainy but usable — a single, static angle catching the shop's back entrance, and there, clear enough to work with, the face of the man who had handed Magnus the cash. Running it through facial recognition returned a match within the hour: Jonathan Winnings, a career criminal with a record stretching back over a decade — assault, extortion, two prior suspected homicides that had never resulted in conviction. It took three more days to track him down, finally locating him at a roadside diner on the edge of the county, a man covered in faded scars and heavy ink, hunched over a plate of eggs in a corner booth. The bell above the diner door jingled as the two agents stepped inside, scanning the room until their eyes landed on the corner booth. Jonathan looked up from his eggs and his face shifted the instant he clocked the badges clipped to their belts. "Jonathan Winnings," Reeves called out, already drawi
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