Jolene's hand trembled as she reached into the apron, pulled out a cell phone, but Gunner didn't relax. The dog's focus intensified. The other pocket. There's nothing. The other pocket.
Hank's voice hardened. Or I let Gunner search you himself, and when he finds weapons, these good people will know you were lying." For a long moment, Jolene stood there, tears streaming down her face, makeup running, looking older than her 58 years. Then she pulled out a small revolver. Smith and Wesson 3, eight, special, five rounds, hammer back.
The diner erupted, people screaming, chairs scraping. The trucker dove behind his booth. The mother covered her children. Put it on the counter, Hank said. Slow.
I wasn't going to use it. I swear. It's just for protection. Protection from who? From him?
From Blackwood. He said I might need it if things went bad. She set the gun down with shaking hands. He gave it to me after Daniel died. Said there might be more people asking questions.
Said I should be ready. Hank moved forward, secured the weapon, checked the chamber, fully loaded, one in each cylinder, ready to fire. How long have you been working for Blackwood? 20 years since Ray Aldridge started poking around. Blackwood needed eyes in town.
Someone to watch who came and went. Report anything unusual. Jolene's voice broke. I didn't have a choice. He said, "If I didn't help, my diner would burn down.
My insurance would be denied. I'd lose everything. So, you sold your soul instead. What would you have done? You don't say no to men like Blackwood.
Not in a town like this. The back door burst open. Sheriff Dalton Thornton stepped through, hand on his weapon. Behind him, his deputy, a younger man with nervous eyes. Put your hands up, Mercer.
Hank didn't move for you. Your informant just confessed to being an accessory to murder. You going to arrest her or are you going to protect her? Thornton's jaw tightened. He looked at Jolene at the gun on the counter at Gunnar, still sitting alert, reading the scene.
What's going on here, Jolene? He knows that damn dog knew. She wiped her eyes, smearing mascara. I can't do this anymore, Dalton. I can't keep lying.
Can't keep watching people die because I made a phone call. Shut up, Thornton hissed. Don't say another word. Why, so we can keep protecting Blackwood. Keep pretending we're good people while he sells weapons to cartels and buries anyone who gets in his way.
She laughed high and broken. Daniel Aldridge was 26 years old. He had a fiance. He was going to be a father and I sent him to his death with one phone call. The deputy shifted uncomfortably.
Sheriff, maybe we should stay out of this, Sam. Hank's phone buzzed. He checked it carefully, keeping Thornton in his peripheral vision. Text from Rattlesnake urgent. Building rigged with C4.
500 plus pound. Timer set for 0200 hours. 90 minutes. Someone locked inside. Female can't identify.
Hank's blood turned to ice. He looked at Thornon. Where's Autumn? What? Autumn McKinley?
The waitress? Where is she? Thornon's face went blank. The professional mask. How should I know?
Because your son's been tracking her since we took her to Conniey's house. Because Blackwood needs her dead before she can testify about the lithium surveys. Hank stepped forward. Where is she? Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you.
Hank moved faster than a 67year-old man with a prosthetic leg should be able to move. Crossed the distance, grabbed Thornton's shirt, slammed him against the wall hard enough to knock pictures loose. The deputy drew his weapon. Let him go. Shoot me and you'll never find her before the building blows.
Hank's face was inches from Thornton's. 500 lb of C4, 90 minutes. Your boss is cleaning house, destroying evidence, and he's willing to murder an innocent woman to do it. Something in Thornton's eyes shifted. Fear.
Real fear. He said she'd be relocated. Protective custody. He lied just like he lied to you about Ray Aldridge, about Daniel, about everyone. Hank released him.
You know what happened to Ray Blackwood? Ordered him killed. Had someone plant an IED in Fallujah. Made it look like combat. Ray died because he found out about the weapons trafficking.
That's not true. It is. I've got video. Ray recorded everything before he deployed. Knew Blackwood was going to kill him.
Left evidence. Hank pulled out his phone, showed Thornon the still frame from Ray's video. The warehouse, the truck, the younger version of Thornon unloading weapons crates. You've been part of this since the beginning. But you can still do the right thing.
Thornton stared at the image, at his younger self, at 20 years of choices that had led him here. If I help you, Blackwood will kill me. If you don't help, Autumn dies. And when the state AG shows up tomorrow with those forged permits and shell company documents, you go down as a co-conspirator in murder and arms trafficking. Federal prison, life sentence.
Hank leaned in. Or you help us save that girl testify against Blackwood. And maybe, maybe you get a deal. The sheriff looked old, defeated. The mine, North Warehouse, that's where they take people who need to disappear.
How many guards? Six. Private security, former military. They're not renicops. They're professionals.
So are we. Hank turned to the diner full of terrified civilians. Everybody out now. This is an active investigation. You didn't see anything.
You don't know anything. Go home. Lock your doors. People scrambled. The truckers threw money on their tables and ran.
The family rushed their kids outside. The elderly couple moved faster than they probably had in years. In 90 seconds, the diner was empty except for Hank Gunnar Thornton, the deputy and Jolene. You too, Hank said to Jolene Ted. Go to the county jail.
Turn yourself in. Tell them everything. You might get a deal if you cooperate. She nodded, grabbed her purse, fled. Hank looked at Thornton.
You're coming with me. You're deputy, too. We're going to save that girl and shut down Blackwood's operation tonight. There are six guards. You've got one gun and a dog.