Page 67 of Blind Justice

Brad gave a curt nod. “Understood. But you need to prepare yourself, Noah. If this was intentional, they’re not finished yet. And neither are we.”

Noah didn’t reply, but the fire in his gaze burned hotter. He turned his head abruptly, throwing his arm across his eyes as tension radiated off him in waves. Brad leaned against the wall in the room. Both knew the threat could loom even larger than they currently fathomed.

* * *

Luke Andrews'knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, weaving through the late-night traffic of Pierre. The city lights blurred, streaking past like the thoughts racing through his mind. His heart pounded in rhythm with the ticking of his watch—time was slipping away, and every second mattered.

The disguise had to be flawless. Gone was the polished veneer of the millionaire’s security detail, replaced by an everyman’s forgettable appearance. He ruffled his hair, tugged on an ill-fitting cap, and swapped his tailored jacket for a nondescript hoodie he kept stuffed in his back seat. As he drove, Luke leaned forward to check his reflection in the rearview mirror. Satisfied with his transformation, he exhaled sharply, preparing for the next phase of the plan.

The trauma center loomed ahead, a stark building glowing harshly under fluorescent lights. Luke parked two blocks away and jogged toward the entrance, frequently checking behind him. He had to find Noah Kandor—had to deliver the message that could save their lives. But most of all, he had to vanish afterward without a trace.

Inside the emergency room, chaos reigned. The smells of the hospital mixed with the sounds of frantic voices, ringing phones, and the hum of machinery. Luke kept his head low, scanning the area with quick, practiced eyes. He spotted a linen closet door ajar and slipped inside, his heart thundering against his ribs.

He worked fast. After grabbing scrubs and a lab coat from a nearby shelf, he threw them on over his clothes. An ID badge dangling from the back of a chair caught his eye. Snatching it, he slipped the lanyard over his head, running his thumb over the name.Dr. Martin Gresham,it read. It would have to do.

Luke cracked the door open, peering into the bustling ER. If Noah Kandor or Ruth Everhart were here, they’d be under police protection. Sure enough, two uniformed highway patrol officers stood like sentinels near a room at the end of the corridor. Luke ducked back, his mind spinning. He needed a way in, something that would keep the cops distracted long enough for him to slip past.

His eyes landed on a supply cart, its contents haphazardly arranged. Luke grinned despite himself as he picked up two items: an enema kit and a Foley catheter set, each clearly labeled. Most men—especially cops—found these to be tools of abject dread.

Pushing the cart with an air of comfort, he approached the officers. “Rough night, huh?” he quipped, gesturing to the kits. “Poor guy’s in for a double whammy. Hope he’s understanding.”

The officers exchanged glances, their faces contorting in visible discomfort. “Yeah, uh, good luck with that,” one muttered, stepping aside just enough for Luke to slip past.

Once inside the room, Luke’s relief was short-lived. The click of a gun safety disengaging froze him in his tracks. The muzzle of a pistol hovered inches from his temple, held steady by a tall figure with cold eyes—Brad Killian.

* * *

Noah’s ribsburned with every breath, each one a painful reminder of how close he and Ruth had come to death. The sounds of the hospital room made his head pound, but it was the sight of Luke Andrews, on his knees with hands raised, that truly set his nerves on edge.

Noah straightened as much as his battered body allowed, his eyes narrowing on the man before him. “Shit.” His voice was rough, disbelief mingling with the sharp edge of suspicion.

“It’s me,” Luke answered, his hands still raised in surrender. His voice was firm, but Noah wasn’t about to trust it—not yet.

Behind him, Brad’s stance was rock-solid, his gun steady, his expression unreadable. Noah could almost feel Brad’s judgment, his unspoken thoughts like a second voice in the room.Why now? Why here? Why him?

Luke shifted slightly, his movements deliberate. “I’ve got something you need to hear.”

“Talk,” Brad snapped, his voice a low growl.

“First, stand up. Killian, put the gun away.” Noah kept his gaze fixed on Luke, his mind racing. Every instinct screamed that something about this was off, but there was no denying the flicker of desperation in Luke’s eyes. Then the words came, and the room felt like it dropped ten degrees.

“It wasn’t Fairchild,” Luke said, his voice tight. “The bombing—it wasn’t him.”

The words hit Noah like a gut punch, driving what little air he had left from his lungs. He leaned forward, the dull ache in his ribs a distant second to the sharp spike of anger and confusion that surged through him. “What?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, raw and biting. “Then who?”

Luke’s gaze flicked to him, then to Brad, before settling back on Noah. “That’s what Fairchild wants to know. He’s been watching you. His people are watching you. If he finds out who did this—if he even suspects—it’s not just them he’ll come after. He doesn’t want you dead. He wants to leverage you.”

Noah’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. The room felt too small, the walls pressing in with the weight of Luke’s words. “And Ruth? Does he know about her?”

Luke hesitated, and that second of silence was answer enough. “If she’s not already on his radar, she will be soon,” he said grimly. “But, as potential leverage. Dead, she’d be useless to Fairchild.”

Luke brushed off his knees. Every word he spoke was weighted with urgency. “Fairchild’s pissed. Whoever planted that bomb—I figured it wasn’t a gas leak—wasn’t working under his orders, and that’s a problem for a guy like him. He doesn’t just kill people—he leaves his mark. His hits are personal, methodical, a way of saying ‘I’m in control.’ But this? A sloppy, loud explosion? It’s an insult to the way he operates. Worse, it’s got him paranoid. He thinks Hilton’s notes went up in the blast with your briefcase, but he’s not entirely sure. And if there’s even a chance those notes survived, he’s watching to see what you or anyone else in the state’s attorney’s office does next. If he catches a whiff that you’re still holding on to them or digging for answers, he’ll come at you harder. If you don’t start playing this smart, they’ll go after Ruth next. They’ll use her to get to you.”

The notes were gone, but Noah still had the thumb drive. His pulse thundered in his ears. The thought of Ruth in more danger—of her being dragged deeper into this hell because of him—was enough to make his vision blur with fury.

“She’s safe,” he said tightly, though the words felt hollow. “For now.”

“For now isn’t good enough,” Luke countered, stepping closer. His voice lowered, but the urgency sharpened. “You need to lay low. Both of you. Figure out your next move before they corner you. If they think you’re vulnerable, they’ll strike. Can you get out of town?”

---