Page 38 of Protector of Talon Mountain

“Who’s they?”

Hal shakes his head. “Never got a name. Just a phone number that doesn’t work anymore. And a guy who came in with a contractor’s badge and a thick envelope. I figured it was shady, but we were going under. No state support. Tom was already gone.”

“Wrong,” I snap, stepping in. “Tom didn’t vanish. They erased him. No records, no reports, no backup. You buried his file. Or someone made you do it.”

Hal’s face drains of color. He doesn’t deny it.

I lean down, palms on his desk. “Tell me this ends with cigarette runs and under-the-table snowplow contracts, Hal. Tell me this doesn’t end with someone putting eyes on Sadie Callahan’s front porch.”

His mouth opens, closes. For the first time, I see it—shame, real and sharp, cutting deeper than politics ever could.

“I didn’t know about her,” he says finally. “I swear. I wouldn’t…”

“You did. Maybe not her name. But you knew someone was watching something. And you let it happen.”

He bows his head. “What happens now?”

I straighten. “You’re going to give me everything. Names. Phone numbers. Bank records. You’re going to tell the town you approved an audit of past accounts, effective immediately.”

“And if I don’t?”

I smile, cold and tight. “Then I bring the state in. And when they find out you blocked a sheriff’s missing person report and accepted funds from an untraceable source, you won’t just lose the office—you’ll lose your pension and spend some time as a guest of the State… maybe even the Feds.”

Hal nods slowly. “I’ll get the files.”

“Good,” I say, already turning. “Because we’re out of time.”

I’m halfway down the steps of the municipal building when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I recognize the encrypted signature before I swipe.

Caleb’s voice is low and crisp. “We’ve got a problem.”

I stop walking, step into the alley between buildings to keep out of sight. “Talk.”

“I’m behind Joe’s. Been here for two hours. Thought he was solo until ten minutes ago. Someone came out the back—tall, lean, black parka. Moves like he’s used to not being seen.”

My heart spikes.

“Face?”

“I didn’t get a clean angle, but he turned when he hit the tree line. I recognized him.”

“Who?”

“The guy from the picture: Adam.”

I grip the phone tighter, every muscle going tight and ready. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. I never forget the face of someone who tailgates a woman like she owes him something.”

A beat of silence. Then Caleb adds, “He was carrying a pack. Heavy. Hunched right. Like it had weight.”

Drugs. Weapons. Something worse. I exhale slow.

“You tailing?”

“Already moving. You want him brought in?”

“No. Not yet,” I say. “I want to know where he sleeps. Who he reports to. Then we burn it down.”

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