Page 46 of Blind Justice

She turned to Alex, her face tense with concern. "They don’t have him on the docket yet. Are you sure they arrested him?"

Alex ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his eyes. "I can only confirm they left the building with him in handcuffs.” He blew out a breath. “The witness came to him. Noah's been living and breathing this case, digging into everything that man hinted at. The witness was slow to tell us what he found. We had him in protective custody. But before he could give his deposition, he was kidnapped from the protection. The two cops with him were found unconscious.”

Ruth stared at him, her heart sinking. “The witness?”

"Knowing that would put you in danger.” Alex scanned the area.

“What happened today?” Ruth asked.

“The FBI stormed in, slapped cuffs on him, and paraded him out of the building. It was only luck that I was there, waiting on another investigator. I saw the whole thing. Noah shouted, ‘Arrested! FBI! Witness tampering!' right before they shoved him into a car. They didn’t even try to hide it."

"What the hell? It was a showpiece," Ruth cried. "I don’t know what game they’re playing, but I’m calling Ethan. I’ve got to see what I can do. I’m heading over there now." She immediately called Ethan, her sister Molly’s husband. He was Special Agent in Charge of the resident agency in Pierre.

When he picked up, his voice was calm as always. "Ruthie, how are you? We missed you. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year to you.” She took a deep breath. “Ethan, I need your help. Noah Kandor’s been arrested.”

“As in state’s attorney office Kandor? Your Noah?”

Washe her Noah? “Yes. The FBI came into his office and took him in front of everyone. Alex saw it happen. They’re charging him with witness tampering. He wouldn’t do that.”

There was a pause on the other end. "I have no idea about any investigation into Noah happening, and I definitely didn’t know about any arrest. Come straight to my office, Ruth. We need to figure this out."

Ruth hung up, her mind racing. If Ethan, the boss, wasn’t aware of this, then something much bigger was at play.

Twenty

The heavy thud of approaching footsteps sent a jolt through Noah Kandor’s spine. He sat up straighter, ignoring the sharp bite of steel against his wrists as the handcuffs rattled against the metal table. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating.

Across from him, Agents Lyle Garrison and Daniel Mitchell were murmuring, their words too low to catch—but their glances weren’t. Every shift of their eyes, every barely concealed smirk made Noah’s frustration coil tighter.

This was a game to them. A slow, methodical breakdown, where they kept him caged long enough for exhaustion to do the real damage.

The same questions had circled him like vultures, their voices cold, clipped, demanding:

"How do you know Robert Hilton?"

"Were you aware of Hilton’s location before he disappeared?"

"Who did you tell?"

"What information did he give you?"

It didn’t matter how he answered. They weren’t listening. Every denial was met with a skeptical pause, every truth picked apart for inconsistencies that didn’t exist. He’d asked for Ethan Hayes. He’d demanded an attorney. Nothing changed.

Until now.

A new set of footsteps echoed outside the door—steady, controlled, purposeful. Not the lazy shuffle of men who thought they already had their answers.

The door swung open.

Noah exhaled sharply as Ethan Hayes stepped inside, his sharp gaze cutting through the tension like a knife. His eyes flicked to Noah’s bound wrists, then to the agents hovering too close. He took it all in within seconds, his face hardening.

“Ethan,” Noah rasped, his voice hoarse from hours of this endless loop. His pulse hammered in his ears. “Thank God.” His throat tightened, and for the first time, desperation slipped through. “They won’t listen. You know me—I’m not dirty.”

Ethan’s expression didn’t change. Not outwardly. But Noah saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his shoulders went rigid. Then Ethan turned to the agents. His voice came out quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that preceded a storm.

“You two. Stop talking to him.”

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