CHAPTER 222 Miracle Worker
*Link*
The FBI office in Bismarck smelled like stale coffee and cheap air freshener, the kind that barely masked the sweat of nervous suspects. Flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on the gray walls of the interrogation room where Liam Cohen sat, his hands cuffed to a metal table. I leaned against the wall, playing the part of his attorney, my suit crisp but my patience thin. Liam didn’t want his family’s lawyer—too much risk of word leaking to New Salem’s gossip mill. So here I was, his hired shield, weaving lies to keep him free.
The Feds were circling like wolves. “We’ve got a witness,” Agent Harper said, tossing a file on the table. Photos of a gaunt man with wild eyes spilled out—Lester Morris, alias Demon. “Says Mr. Cohen paid him in drugs to slaughter the Highland Oaks protesters. The ones rallying against Ford Martin’s release.”
I snorted, flipping through Demon’s rap sheet. “This guy? Aggravated assault, robbery, drug trafficking, attempted murder. You’re betting on a junkie’s word against my client? Mr. Cohen's never had a parking ticket.”
Harper’s jaw tightened. “We’ve got texts. From ‘MC.’ Mayor Cohen. Ordering the hit.”
“MC?” I laughed, leaning forward. “Could be Michael Cunningham, Mark Campbell, hell, even Mitchell Clark from the hardware store. That phone’s a burner, not my client's. You’ve got nothing.”
“Mr. Cohen's car was seen at the gas station when Demon met ‘MC,’” Harper shot back, slapping down a blurry photo of Liam’s black BMW.
I didn’t blink. "My client gets gas there every week. Plus, he’s got a driver, Harper. You think he’s riding shotgun to meet lowlifes? That’s Demon’s turf—probably saw the car and spun a story to save his own skin.”
“What about the drugs?” Harper pressed, eyes narrowing. “Demon said it was payment.”
I smirked, crossing my arms. “Find any drugs? Mr. Cohen's fingerprints on a bag? Anything?”
Harper’s silence was my answer. The drugs were long gone, probably snorted by Demon himself.
“You’ve got a tall tale from a desperate man,” I said, my voice sharp. “Let my client go, or we’ll sue for harassment. Your call.”
Harper glared but nodded to the other agent. “Cut him loose.”
Liam swaggered out of the interrogation room, his smug grin wide enough to choke on. “You boys done wasting my time?” he said, loud enough for the whole office to hear. “I’m thinking a lawsuit might teach you some manners.”
I rolled my eyes, guiding him to the desk to sign release papers. “Keep your mouth shut, Liam,” I muttered. “You’re not out of this yet.”
As he scribbled his name, I caught sight of Demon being led from another room toward the bathroom, his hands cuffed, a Fed at his side. My fingers twitched, slipping into my pocket where a needle waited, its tip coated with a fast-acting toxin. Ten minutes, and Demon’s heart would stop—clean, quiet, like he’d just keeled over.
I brushed past him in the hallway, my shoulder grazing his. The needle pricked his hand, quick as a mosquito bite. He flinched, glaring, but I was already walking away, my face blank.
“Link, you’re a miracle worker,” Liam said as we hit the parking lot, the night air sharp with the bite of early frost. He slid into the passenger seat of my car, still grinning like he’d won a prize.
Before opening my door, I pressed the comms in my ear, my voice low. “He’s coming. Get ready.”
______________________
*Emma*
The hospital parking lot was dead quiet, the kind of quiet that made your skin crawl. Autumn and I sat in my beat-up sedan, sipping bitter coffee from paper cups to stay awake. The dashboard clock glowed 11:27 PM, and the only light came from a flickering streetlamp casting long shadows over the asphalt. New Salem slept, but we were wide awake, waiting for Dina’s signal.
Autumn stretched, her tattooed arms catching the dim light. “One more job, Emma,” she said, her voice low. “Then we’re done. Back to California, where I can show off my ink and forget this dump.”
I nodded, my eyes on the hospital’s glass doors. “Yeah. One more, and it's home sweet home."
Our comms crackled, Dina’s voice cutting through. “Heads up. Sheriff’s leaving the hospital. Move now.”
I tossed my coffee out the window, the cup hitting the pavement with a soft thud. Autumn was already out, her sneakers silent on the asphalt. We each held a syringe, the liquid inside strong enough to drop a man twice the Sheriff’s size. Combs was a big man. We couldn’t take chances.
His patrol car was parked by an oak tree, its branches clawing at the sky. We darted to it, crouching in its shadow, the bark rough against my back. My heart pounded, but my hands were steady.
The hospital doors slid open, and Sheriff Combs lumbered out, his uniform wrinkled, his face sagging with exhaustion. He stopped by his car, yawning so wide I could see his teeth glint. He rolled his neck, staring up at the stars, oblivious.
“Now,” I whispered.
Autumn moved like a cat, silent and fast. She jabbed the syringe into his arm before he could turn. His eyes widened, a grunt escaping, but his knees buckled, and he hit the pavement like a sack of bricks.
“Damn, he’s heavy,” Autumn muttered, grabbing his arms. I snatched his keys from his belt and unlocked the car. Together, we dragged him to the back seat, his boots scraping the ground. My arms burned from the effort, but we shoved him in, his head lolling to one side.
I slid into the driver’s seat, Autumn beside me, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. “We’ve got him,” I said into my comms. “We’re coming.”
The hospital faded in the rearview mirror as we sped toward the high school, the old boys' gym waiting like a trap ready to snap. Tonight, Joy's past would burn—and we were carrying the kindling.
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