Page 102 of Blind Justice

He forced himself to step away, to turn toward the door. Every step felt heavier, like he was walking through thick mud, but he did it. Because he had to.

Outside, Alex and Brad were already waiting, standing near the SUV parked in the long driveway. Ethan was with them, a thick file in hand, his face grim as ever. “We’ve got a plan,” he said as soon as Noah reached them. “But one key piece still has to be handled. You need to get to Luke Andrews first.”

Noah exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. I need to let him know what’s coming.”

“He’s going to be arrested,” Brad added, voice low. “If we don’t pull him in, Fairchild’s people will start asking questions. We need to preserve his cover until we can extract him safely.”

Noah nodded. “I know. I’ll handle it.”

Alex studied him for a long moment, then clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “You okay, man?”

Noah let out a dry, humorless laugh. “What do you think?”

Alex gave him a pointed look. “I think you look like you’ve been gone for years, not just a few weeks.”

Noah blew out a slow breath, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time to be tired, Alex.”

“You got him, brother,” Alex said, his voice steady.

Noah set his jaw, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking off the heaviness pressing down on him. “Not until he’s in cuffs,” he muttered.

He turned toward the car, his focus shifting. He couldn’t afford to think about Ruth right now, couldn’t let the memory of her terrified expression weaken his resolve. There was still work to do. And it started in Pierre.

* * *

From the momentthey stepped into the FBI resident agency in Pierre later that morning, what they were about to do pressed down on Noah like a vise. This was it. The moment they had been building toward.

Ethan worked fast, securing federal warrants from outside the state to ensure they weren’t compromised by Fairchild’s far-reaching corruption. Every document, every piece of evidence had been scrubbed of local influence, funneled directly through trusted hands. There could be no mistakes. No leaks.

Noah stood over the war room table, scanning the final logistics of the takedown.

“Fairchild goes down tomorrow morning at ten a.m.,” Ethan confirmed, flipping through the file one last time. “His security detail will be neutralized first—half of them don’t even know they’re about to be hit with RICO charges. We hit them, and Fairchild loses his eyes and ears before he even realizes it.”

Brad nodded, arms crossed. “And Melanie?”

Noah’s jaw clenched. “She’s first. We can’t risk her slipping away before we pull in Luke. We get to her tonight.”

Alex let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “And what if Luke doesn’t play along? What if he wants to make the gun bust first?”

Noah met his eyes, his expression unyielding. “Then we make him.”

They exchanged a look—an unspoken agreement between men who had spent too much time in the gray areas of justice. They had no room for errors.

Ethan checked his watch. “Your car’s been cleared. No explosives, no tampering.”

Noah smirked humorlessly. “Good to know.”

They had learned early on to take precautions. Fairchild’s reach extended deeper than any of them had realized, and after Dylan Grant was killed, they couldn’t afford to underestimate anything.

Noah and Alex slipped into the unmarked car, the cold leather seats stiff against their backs. The engine rumbled to life, and they pulled away from the agency, disappearing into the quiet streets of Pierre.

The city was eerily still as they parked a block away from Melanie’s apartment and waited. The glow of streetlights turning on cast long shadows, the night air thick with a tension that only they seemed to feel.

They had done their research. Luke Andrews had been living with Melanie for weeks now, ever since they started dating. He was embedded in her world, whether he wanted to be or not. And tonight, Noah and Alex would wait him out.

They settled in for the stakeout, keeping a low profile, watching the entrance to the apartment complex.

Noah tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his patience wearing thin. The plan was simple: wait for Luke to come home, knock on the door, and coincidentally deliver the message that Ruth was worried about Melanie. They would create a law enforcement lie and mention Dylan Grant, planting the idea that maybe Melanie should talk before things started falling apart.

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