Chapter 3 - A Badge Is Not a Shield
I pushed Rachel down behind the dashboard.
The shed door creaked open.
I killed the cabin light.
Outside, footsteps crunched across gravel.
One person.
Maybe two.
I counted the intervals.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Whoever approached wasn't searching randomly.
They knew where we'd stopped.
That meant one of three things.
We'd been tracked.
Rachel had told someone.
Or both.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A text appeared.
STAY IN THE TRUCK. HANDS VISIBLE. FBI.
I didn't move.
An FBI agent wouldn't normally establish identity through an anonymous text while approaching a vehicle in an isolated location.
Not without identifying credentials and a reason.
I typed one sentence.
IDENTIFY YOUR SUPERVISOR AND FIELD OFFICE.
No response.
The footsteps stopped.
A man's voice came from the darkness.
"Ethan Hayes. Step out where we can see you."
I recognized him.
Deputy Mason Pike.
The sheriff's favorite shadow.
The same man who'd laughed when Cole dumped a milkshake over my face.
Rachel whispered, "Oh, no."
Pike stepped into view with a flashlight in one hand and his pistol pointed low in the other.
He wasn't wearing a uniform.
Just jeans, a dark jacket, and boots.
That mattered.
He wanted authority without accountability.
"Mr. Hayes," he called. "Sheriff Cole wants to make sure you're okay."
I lowered my window two inches.
"That why your friends shot at us?"
Pike stopped.
"What friends?"
"The two men in the black pickup."
He shrugged.
"Don't know anything about that."
"Then call state police. Tell them an armed attack occurred on County Road 9."
"Get out of the vehicle."
"Am I under arrest?"
"You're being detained."
"For what crime?"
"Suspicious activity."
I almost laughed.
"My truck's windshield has two bullet strikes, Deputy."
"Then you're probably safer coming with me."
Rachel leaned toward the window.
"Mason, please."
Pike's expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
He knew her.
Well.
"Rachel," he said, "you were supposed to be at the house."
"Things changed."
His jaw tightened.
"Yeah. I can see that."
I let the silence sit between them.
Pike raised his pistol.
"Out. Now."
I opened the door slowly.
Stepped onto the gravel.
Kept my hands visible.
Pike approached.
He looked nervous.
That made him more dangerous than Cole.
Cole enjoyed power.
Pike feared losing it.
"Turn around," he ordered.
I obeyed.
He grabbed my wrists and pulled them behind my back.
The cuffs closed.
Too tight.
I said nothing.
He spun me toward the shed.
Rachel climbed from the truck.
"Mason, you don't understand."
"I understand just fine."
He pulled a folded document from his jacket.
A warrant.
I saw the county seal.
The issuing judge's signature.
My property address.
Except the document had been signed at 10:42 that morning.
More than an hour before the diner incident.
They'd planned to search my garage regardless.
The humiliation had been their preferred excuse.
Not their only one.
Pike noticed me looking.
"Surprised?"
"No."
"Funny. You look surprised."
"I'm wondering why you brought a warrant for my garage to an irrigation shed."
He stepped closer.
"Because your garage is already being searched."
A pulse of anger went through me.
I controlled it.
"By whom?"
"The sheriff."
"With a properly executed warrant?"
Pike smiled.
"That's the beauty of paperwork."
Rachel made a broken sound behind me.
He turned toward her.
"Get back in the truck."
She didn't move.
"Mason, you promised nobody would get hurt."
His face hardened.
"You need to stop talking."
I looked at her.
"What did you promise?"
Rachel shook her head.
"Ethan—"
"Tell me."
Pike shoved me against the shed wall.
"You're done asking questions."
I felt the rough concrete scrape my cheek.
My training offered a dozen ways to turn the situation violent.
I rejected every one.
Not because I was helpless.
Because somebody wanted exactly that.
And now I understood why.
Pike needed me to resist.
He needed bruises.
A struggle.
A justification for whatever story Sheriff Cole intended to tell.
So I stayed still.
"You want me to fight?" I asked.
Pike leaned closer.
"Would make this easier."
"For you?"
"For everyone."
I looked at his body camera.
No recording light.
"Turn your camera on, Deputy."
He laughed.
"Battery's dead."
"Convenient."
He pressed his pistol against my side.
"Last warning."
Behind him, a second set of headlights appeared.
An unmarked sedan stopped at the entrance.
A woman stepped out.
Gray suit.
Dark sunglasses.
A leather folder tucked beneath one arm.
"Deputy Pike," she called, "remove your weapon from that man's body."
Pike turned.
"Who the hell are you?"
She opened the folder.
"Special Agent Nora Bennett. FBI, Salt Lake City field office."
I studied her badge.
Her credentials.
Her posture.
Then I looked at the vehicle.
Government plates.
A second agent remained behind the wheel.
Bennett's eyes found mine.
"Commander Hayes?"
"Yes."
"Are you injured?"
"Not seriously."
She turned to Pike.
"Remove the handcuffs."
Pike laughed.
"This is county jurisdiction."
"Not anymore."
She held up a document.
"Federal investigators have obtained emergency authorization related to an ongoing investigation. You're interfering with a potential witness."
Pike's face changed.
"He's not a witness."
Bennett tilted her head.
"Interesting."
"What?"
"I haven't told you what investigation he's a witness to."
For the first time, Pike had no answer.
Bennett moved closer.
"Uncuff him."
Pike reluctantly unlocked the restraints.
I rubbed my wrists.
Bennett looked toward Rachel.
"Mrs. Hayes, I need you to remain available for an interview."
Rachel stared at the ground.
Then Bennett turned back to me.
"We received a call about a missing man and an unauthorized search."
"Daniel Mercer," I said.
Her expression shifted.
"You know him?"
"His mother asked me to help find him."
Bennett looked at her partner.
Then back at me.
"Commander, I need to show you something."
She opened her folder.
Inside was a photograph.
A dead man lay beside a silver pickup.
Blood darkened the gravel beneath his head.
The image had been taken less than an hour earlier.
My throat tightened.
"Who is he?"
Bennett watched my face.
"Daniel Mercer."
I looked at Rachel.
She stood motionless beside the truck.
Bennett continued.
"His body was found on your property."
Then she turned the photograph over.
On the back, written in black ink, were five words.
ETHAN HAYES KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED.
May you like
And below them was a date.
The date Daniel Mercer had disappeared.
