CHAPTER 219 Silent Alarm

*Cristos*

The Buzzed Pub was a sanctuary of shadows, its dim lights casting long, jagged patterns across my office walls. The air smelled faintly of stale beer and cigarette smoke, a reminder of the raucous crowd chanting just outside my door. I leaned back in my leather chair, the creak of it barely audible over the hum of the surveillance monitors. My eyes flicked between the feeds, each one a window into the chaos unfolding across New Salem. The town was coming apart at the seams, and I had a front-row seat.

Liam’s speech had ended in a hollow roar of applause, but Joy and Kiki were already gone, whisked away by Big Mike and Tucker—just as planned. I watched Liam stumble through the same exit Joy had taken, his polished shoes echoing in the empty hallway. He was a man chasing a shadow, desperation etched into every line of his face. His hands raked through his dark hair, loosening the knot of his tie as he hesitated outside the women’s restroom near the west entrance. For a moment, he stood there, chest heaving, as if the door itself were a judge passing sentence. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, he pushed inside, casual as a man stepping into a boardroom.

When he emerged, phone pressed to his ear, his eyes darted toward the west exit. He froze, head snapping back like a hound catching a scent. Then he bolted.

Too late. Two figures—sharp suits, sharper strides—closed in from the opposite end of the hall. The man and woman moved like predators, their synchronized steps screaming *FBI*. They intercepted him at the push bar, pinning him with surgical precision. His arrest was silent, efficient, and devastatingly final.

“Damn it,” I muttered, my fist tightening around the armrest. One of our guys, Tommy, was waiting outside to snatch Liam. The FBI’s timing was a gut punch. Of all the nights, *why now*?

My gaze flicked to another feed, this one from the Sheriff’s station across town. Link was on his phone, mirroring Liam’s call. When Liam hung up, so did Link, his lips moving as he whispered something to Jack. The undersheriff’s face drained of color, his eyes wide with the kind of dread that only comes from knowing the walls were closing in. I leaned closer, willing Jack to make a move. And he did—gesturing sharply to Link before bolting out of the station. He sprinted toward his truck, parked in the shadows beneath a gnarled oak, away from the sodium glow of the streetlights. Moments later, his truck peeled out, tail lights vanishing into the night.

“I’ve got him, Primo,” Jake’s voice crackled through my earpiece, low and steady. “I’ll call when I ditch the truck.”

I allowed myself a thin smile. That was almost too easy. We had planned for Kiki to lure Jack out with a late-night call, all honeyed promises of a nightcap. But fear had done the job for us. Jack came out running, and we were ready.

“Dina,” I said, switching channels, “make the call. Pitch your voice high like a panicky teenager. Sell it. And tell Tommy to get the hell out. The FBI has that place surrounded."

"On it, Primo,” Dina replied, her voice already shifting into character.

“Lou,” I continued, “you got eyes on the delivery crew?”

“Just passed us with Domenico close behind,” Lou’s gruff voice came back. “Heading north on Route 17.”

“Get your boys on the highway once Dina’s done with the cops,” I ordered. “Keep them chasing their tails.”

To our surprise, Pete's security detail had bailed on him, leaving him exposed at the old pizza factory on the edge of town. But they hadn’t counted on the Colonel and his Blue Rogues—a rogue outfit of ex-military types who’d been itching for a fight. The night erupted in gunfire, muzzle flashes lighting up the feed like a thunderstorm. In the chaos, Xavier, Sam, and Max slipped into the factory, moving like specters through the rusted machinery. No one saw them. No one would.

Meanwhile, in the basement, Joy and Kiki had Pete cornered. The feed showed him trembling, his tailored suit now a crumpled mess as they forced him to strip. His hands shook as he chained himself to the wall, the clank of metal echoing through the damp, concrete room. Then he started talking—spilling everything. My grip on the chair tightened, knuckles white, as rage coursed through me like a wildfire.

It was Noah. *Noah*. Pete’s mysterious capo, the one who’d played the part of a low-level grunt while pulling strings from the shadows. The sickening plan—every twisted detail—had come from him. Xavier had warned us from the start, his instincts sharper than a blade. Noah should’ve been on our list from day one.

A single gunshot cracked through the speakers. Pete’s body jerked, then slumped against the blood-streaked mattress, lifeless. That slick weasel was finally done. One name scratched off the list.

“Kiki,” I said into the comms, my voice steady despite the heat in my veins, “torch the place.”

“Copy, Primo,” she replied, her tone cold as steel. “Consider it done.”

My eyes drifted to the feed from New Salem High. Liam was in cuffs now, the FBI dragging him out like a trophy. *Conspiracy to commit murder*. *Alleged mastermind of the Highland Oaks massacre*. For now, he was untouchable, shielded by federal hands. Whoever had ratted him out had steel in their spine.

Jack ran, so it wasn't him. Maybe Sheriff Combs or Dan? Lisa? But Liam going down would drag them all into the abyss. *Who, then*?

A blinking red light on my desk snapped me out of my thoughts. The silent alarm. Someone was outside my door. No time to check the feed. I hit a button, and a wall panel slid shut, swallowing the massive monitor and its damning feeds.

A knock. Sharp, urgent. I stood, smoothing my shirt, and opened the door. The roar of the pub—laughter, clinking glasses, and drunken chants—flooded in.

It was Dan. His face was pale, eyes wide with a fear that seemed to claw at his throat. *He knows about the FBI*? *How*?

“Chip, sorry to barge in,” he stammered, his voice shaking. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. Nicole’s… you know…”

“Come in,” I said, stepping aside, my smile practiced and warm. I closed the door, the noise of the pub fading to a dull hum. Dan hadn’t shown up on the hospital feed from St. Elizabeth’s after leaving the wedding. I’d suspected he’d gone to Hillcrest, to the clubhouse—one of the few places we didn’t have eyes. I had planned to lure him here with free drinks, but here he was, delivered to my doorstep. “Take a seat. Can I get you something? Wine? Cocktail?”

“No, thanks,” Dan said, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “Need to keep my head clear.”

I poured myself a glass of merlot, the dark liquid catching the light like blood. “Something’s eating at you,” I said, settling into my chair and leaning back. “What’s going on?”

Dan swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the floor. “I’m leaving town, Chip. Just for a bit. I need someone to check on my mom while I’m gone.”

*Running*. I kept my expression neutral, but my pulse quickened. “Leaving? When?”

“Tonight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His phone buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up his face. He ignored it. “I’m heading to the airport from here.”

“Sudden,” I remarked, sipping my wine. “Mind if I ask why?”

He shook his head, eyes flicking to his phone again. “Can’t say. Just… Chip, promise me you’ll look after my mom. Please. I’ve got a list—groceries, meds, toiletries. Bo can deliver them weekly, and she’ll pay him.” He slid a crumpled piece of paper across my desk, standing as if the room was closing in on him. “I’ll call to check in. Thanks, Chip.”

He moved toward the door, too fast, too nervous. I stood, slipping a syringe from my drawer, the paralytic glinting faintly in the barrel. “How long will you be gone?” I asked, my voice calm, measured.

“Couple weeks. Maybe a month,” he lied, his hand reaching for the doorknob.

I moved swiftly, closing the distance. As his fingers brushed the knob, I plunged the syringe into his neck and pressed the plunger. His body stiffened, eyes wide with shock, questions trapped behind his silent lips. He crumpled to the floor, staring up at me, betrayed.

“Playing a gay man was exhausting,” I said, kneeling beside him, a smirk curling my lips. “But it got me close to you, didn’t it?” I pried his phone and car keys from his limp hands, unlocking the phone with his face. “A red-eye to Chicago. Your little playground.” I spoke into my comms. “Dina, send Al in. I need him to drive Dan’s car. It’s out front.”

“Copy,” Dina replied.

Minutes later, a knock. Al stood in the doorway, his face unreadable. I handed him Dan’s keys, phone, and jacket. “Power off the phone once you’re out of New Salem. Drive to Bismarck airport, park the car, and vanish. No prints.”

“And him?” Al nodded toward Dan’s slumped form.

“He’s taking a nap in the bathroom,” I said. “Chained to the toilet. Get moving. Silver Subaru SUV.”

Al nodded, slipping out the back. I dragged Dan’s body into the office bathroom, propping him against the cold porcelain of the toilet. I snapped cuffs around his wrists, securing him to the pipe. His eyes pleaded, but no sound came.

“Pray, Dan,” I said, my voice low, venomous. “You’re gonna need it.”

I shut the door and returned to my desk, waking my laptop with a tap. The feeds flickered back to life, a mosaic of the mayhem.

“Dina,” I said, my voice sharp. “Find Noah. *Now*.”

My eyes glanced at the feed coming from right outside the pub. I smiled.

*Lisa's here*.