PART 2 FULL — THE MEN WAITING AT THE AIRPORT

“## PART 2 — THE MEN WAITING AT THE AIRPORT

The transport plane had not finished taxiing when the first sheriff’s cruiser turned on its lights.

No siren.

Just red and blue flashes cutting through the rain.

A warning.

Or a message.

They knew exactly which aircraft I was on.

Beside me, Sergeant Daniel “Rook” Mercer leaned toward the window. He had spent eight years kicking doors beside me in places that never appeared on maps. He was built like a concrete wall, with a scar splitting his left eyebrow and the permanently bored expression of a man who had survived too many people trying to kill him.

Behind him sat Miguel Santos and Aaron Pike.

Ghost Squad.

Once, there had been six of us.

Now there were four.

Rook looked at the cruisers.

“Friends of yours?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Pike glanced at my phone.

The photograph of Emily’s hospital room was still on the screen.

Someone had taken it less than an hour earlier.

“You call the hospital?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because whoever sent that picture wants me to panic.”

Santos nodded.

“And panicked men make mistakes.”

Exactly.

Every instinct inside me was screaming to get to Emily.

But twelve years in special operations had taught me something simple.

The obvious move was usually the move your enemy had prepared for.

The aircraft stopped.

Rain streaked across the windows.

Outside, two deputies stepped from the cruisers.

Then a third man climbed out.

Sheriff Nathan Cole.

I recognized him from Emily’s photographs.

Fifty-eight. Gray hair. Heavy shoulders. Campaign smile.

He wore no raincoat.

He simply stood in the rain staring at our aircraft.

Waiting.

Rook whistled softly.

“That’s confident.”

“No,” I said.

“That’s rehearsed.”

The rear ramp lowered.

Cold air rushed inside.

We walked down together carrying nothing except backpacks.

Sheriff Cole met us at the bottom.

Two deputies stood behind him with hands near their holsters.

Cole smiled.

“Master Sergeant Dean?”

“Blake is fine.”

“I’m Sheriff Nathan Cole.”

“I know.”

His smile tightened slightly.

“We need to speak.”

“About my wife?”

“About several matters.”

“My wife was assaulted inside her home by men identifying themselves as deputies.”

Cole sighed.

Like I was inconveniencing him.

“We’ve investigated that allegation.”

“That was fast.”

“There’s no evidence any of my personnel entered your residence.”

“I have badge numbers.”

“Numbers can be copied.”

“Vehicle plates.”

“Plates can be misidentified.”

“Hospital records?”

“Your wife suffered serious injuries. Nobody disputes that.”

“How did she get them?”

Cole spread his hands.

“That remains unclear.”

For one dangerous second, I imagined putting him through the hood of his cruiser.

Instead, I smiled.

His eyes changed.

He had expected rage.

Angry husband.

Violent soldier.

Perfect headline.

Decorated veteran attacks sheriff after domestic tragedy.

That was why the cruisers were here.

Maybe their body cameras were running.

Maybe someone was filming from the terminal.

They wanted me to swing first.

I stepped closer.

“Sheriff, am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“Am I being detained?”

His jaw tightened.

“No.”

“Then I’m going to see my wife.”

One deputy moved to block me.

Rook stepped forward.

Not aggressively.

Just enough.

The deputy looked up at him.

Rook smiled.

“Careful.”

Cole raised one hand.

The deputy backed away.

Then Cole looked directly at me.

“You should understand something, Sergeant Dean.”

“What’s that?”

“Richmond isn’t Afghanistan.”

“I’m aware.”

“You can’t come home and start acting like you’re at war.”

I stared at him.

“Sheriff, I haven’t done anything.”

“Not yet.”

There it was.

A threat disguised as prediction.

I moved past him.

Cole called after me.

“Your wife has been through enough.”

I stopped.

Slowly turned.

He smiled again.

“Wouldn’t want anything else happening to her.”

Rook went completely still.

Santos whispered, “Blake.”

I knew what he meant.

Not here.

Not now.

I looked at Cole.

“You should hope she remembers nothing.”

For the first time, his smile disappeared.

Because now he knew.

I understood something he didn’t want me to understand.

Emily had seen them.

And I believed she could identify them.

We walked toward the terminal.

Pike waited until we were inside.

“That last part was bait.”

“I know.”

“You think he’ll react?”

“I’m counting on it.”

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Another message.

TURN AROUND.

I didn’t.

Rook did.

Sheriff Cole stood outside in the rain.

Watching us.

Then my phone buzzed again.

YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED OVERSEAS.

I showed the others.

Santos frowned.

“That’s either the stupidest intimidation campaign I’ve ever seen…”

“…or they want evidence we can’t ignore,” Pike finished.

I looked through the glass.

Cole was climbing back into his cruiser.

Something felt wrong.

Men like Cameron Voss could be reckless.

Spoiled.

Cruel.

Protected by money.

But Sheriff Cole had survived thirty years in law enforcement.

A man like that didn’t send written threats to someone already talking to federal investigators.

Unless he believed no investigator would ever see them.

Or—

I stared at the message.

Unless somebody wanted me to think Cole was responsible.

My phone rang.

Restricted number.

I answered.

“Blake Dean?”

Female voice.

Professional.

“Yes.”

“Special Agent Rachel Monroe, FBI. General Hale gave me your information.”

Finally.

I moved away from the crowd.

“Where are you?”

“Do not say anything sensitive over this line.”

That stopped me.

“Understood.”

“Are you currently at Richmond International?”

“Yes.”

“Are Sheriff Cole or his deputies present?”

“They were.”

Silence.

Then:

“Leave the airport.”

“We’re doing that.”

“Do not travel directly to St. Jude’s.”

My stomach tightened.

“My wife is there.”

“I know.”

“Then you understand why I’m going.”

“Mr. Dean, listen carefully. We have reason to believe the hospital’s security network has been compromised.”

The photograph flashed in my mind.

Emily sleeping beneath white sheets.

Taken through the glass.

“Is she safe?”

“For the moment.”

“For the moment isn’t good enough.”

“We’re moving her.”

I stopped walking.

“To where?”

“I won’t tell you over the phone.”

“I’m her husband.”

“And someone knew your exact arrival time despite your transit authorization being classified.”