Page 120 of In the Dark of the Past

“Grant filed emergency injunctions,” she said. “An hour ago. I’m looking at copies. He’s citing the state oversight complaint and arguing that the sheriff’s department is actively engaged in bad-faith conduct that jeopardizes an ongoing state review. He’s asking for a freeze on all investigative activity pending the oversight of the board’s decision.”

Finn’s jaw set. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, your department can’t touch this case officially until the board clears you. Which Grant controls the timeline of.” She took a breath. “He also named Atlas specifically. The emergency motion argues that an uncredentialed civilian operative has been conducting unauthorized law enforcement activities with the sheriff’s tacit approval.”

Atlas, who had been listening from across the room, said something that was not suitable for print.

“He’s trying to freeze us in place,” I said. “While he spends tonight cleaning up everything the AG hasn’t seen or collected yet.”

“Yes,” Libby said. “And, Finn—” Her voice dropped. “Myra’s been pulling his financials for the last six hours. There are disbursements from the MR-7 account that went to four separate entities in this town that we can’t identify yet. We think one of them might be inside the club.”

The room went very still. Finn looked at Atlas. Atlas looked at Finn.

I said, “Who knows you’ve been pulling those financials?”

“Myra, Rand, and me,” Libby said. “Right now, that’s it.”

The names sat there. Finn’s expression didn’t change, but I watched him file it the way he filed everything—quietly, efficiently, all of it behind the eyes.

“Assemble everyone,” he said. “The Hollow Oak. Tonight. Back room. Tell them phones off before they arrive.”

“All of them?” Libby asked.

“Yeah, all of them,” Finn said. “And tell Cade to close early.”

He ended the call.

The three of us stood in the kitchen in silence. The next few hours would determine everything, who knew it, and who wasn’t going to say so out loud because doing so would not help.

“Grant froze the department,” Atlas said finally. “Which means we can’t move officially. Which means⁠—”

“Which means the only team that can move tonight,” I said, “is the one he knows little about.”

Finn was already reaching for his jacket.

“Then let’s go introduce him to it.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Finn

The Hollow Oak was louder than usual when we stepped inside.

Cade took one look at us, taking in River’s pale and taut face, Atlas scanning the street behind us, and my sling soaked through again, and his whole demeanor snapped from bartender to battlefield medic.

“Everybody listen up!” he boomed over the bar noise. “Last call. Right now. Tabs are comped. Drink, tip, and clear out.”

The room stilled, then erupted into movement. Cade didn’t use that tone unless a tornado, wildfire, or lawsuit was about to hit.

Stools scraped. Chairs clattered. The regular Tuesday crowd funneled out the front door in under three minutes. Cade paid and dismissed his staff, and then Atlas flipped the lock and killed the main lights.

When the dust settled, only our people remained. Libby hovered at the bar, looking like she’d been waiting for a cue. Autumn clutched a stack of folders. Nivea, normally crackling with energy, was deadly quiet behind her laptop. Myra rose from a shadowed corner booth, Andra shoved a notebook into her tote, and Cade came out from behind the taps, his jaw clenched.

The Murder of the Month Club had assembled.

“Jesus,” Cade muttered, looking at River, Atlas, and me. “You three look like you lost a fight with a car wash.”

“Phones,” I said. “Powered down. Now. On the table.”