Exactly. And 3 weeks later, Ruth died in a car accident. Single vehicle, ran off the road into a ravine. They ruled it accidental. Jackson's jaw tightened.
He killed her. Can't prove it, but yeah, probably. What about the other two? Harold Chen, house fire, electrical fault, and Marcus Webb. Fell down his own stairs, broke his neck.
All accidental. All convenient. Jackson was quiet for a moment. Gideon, I need you to do something for me. Send all of this to Agent Sarah Chen at the FBI.
Everything you found, let her see the pattern. Already did, boss. Soon as Natalie gave me her number. What did she say? Said it's compelling, but still circumstantial.
Said she needs something concrete. Gideon paused. Boss, maybe you should come home. Let the feds handle this. Can't do that.
Why not? You've done your part. You helped the woman. Fixed her bike. Put the feds on Warren's trail.
What else is there? Jackson looked out the diner window. Saw Beatric serving coffee to Betty. Saw her smile. Saw her living despite everything trying to kill her spirit.
I can't leave her alone with this. If Warren figures out we're building a case, he'll come after her. I need to be here. And if he comes after you, then he comes after me. Boss, I know what I'm doing.
Gideon, trust me. I do trust you. That's why I'm worried. After they hung up, Jackson sat with the weight of it. Three people dead, maybe more.
All because they wouldn't sell. All because Warren wanted money and power and didn't care who he had to kill to get it. And now Beatatrice was in his crosshairs. Jackson pulled out his phone, called Natalie. Dad, everything okay?
I need you to do something for me. Come to Dusty Ridge, meet Beatatrice, see this place. Why? Because if something happens to me, I need someone to make sure she's protected to see this through. Silence.
Then Dad, you're scaring me. What's going on? Nothing yet, but Warren's killed before and I'm making a lot of noise. If he decides to shut me up, then come home. Please let the FBI handle it.
I can't. Why not? Jackson thought about how to explain it. About promises and redemption and the need to be someone worthy of Diane's love because this is where I need to be. This is what I need to do and I need to know that if things go wrong, someone will take care of Beatatrice.
Natalie was quiet for a long time. When do you want me there? This weekend if you can. I'll rearrange my schedule. Dad, please be careful.
I will. I love you, sweetheart. Love you, too. On the fifth day, Pete called from the body shop. Your Harley's ready.
Looks beautiful. Better than the photos you showed me. I'll come get it tomorrow. Actually, I was thinking I could deliver it. Save you the trip.
I've got a trailer. Could have it there by noon. Jackson hesitated. Why would you do that? Pete's voice dropped.
Because a man came by yesterday, asked about the bike, wanted to know who owned it, who was paying for the work. I didn't tell him nothing, but he had a badge. Sheriff's badge. Warren didn't give a name, but yeah. And the way he looked at the bike.
Pete paused. I don't want it sitting in my shop when he comes back. Call it instinct. Call it cowardice, but I want it gone. I understand.
Noon tomorrow works. And Mr. Reeves, whatever you're mixed up in, be smart. Warren Blackwell's got a reputation. People who cross him tend to have accidents.
So, I've heard. Jackson hung up, looked around the diner at Beatatrice laughing with Iris, at the customers eating lunch, at normaly and peace and life. All of it threatened by one man's greed. He walked outside, called Gideon again. I need backup.
Not a lot, just one or two brothers. Can you come down? When? Tomorrow. And bring hardware just in case.
Boss, are you expecting a fight? I'm expecting Warren to make a move, and I want to be ready. I'll bring Tommy. He's been asking about you anyway. We'll leave tonight.
Be there by morning. Thanks, brother. That's what family's for. That evening, Jackson told Beatatrice about the repairs, about Pete delivering the bike, about Gideon and Tommy coming. She listened quietly.
When he finished, she said, "It's really that bad. You think Warren will try something? I think he's running out of options. The FBI's asking questions. We've documented his harassment.
The bike's almost done. He's losing control of the situation. " Jackson met her eyes. Desperate men do desperate things. You think he'll try to hurt us? I think he'll try to scare us.
Intimidation, more vandalism, maybe worse. He paused. That's why I'm bringing backup just in case. Beatrice was quiet for a moment. Then she stood.
Wait here. She disappeared into her private quarters, came back carrying a lock box, opened it on the table. Inside was a pistol, a Colt 1911. Old but well-maintained. Douglas's service weapon, Beatatric said.
He kept it clean, kept it loaded, taught me how to shoot. She picked it up with steady hands. I haven't touched it since he died, but I remember how you willing to use it. To defend my home, to defend my life. She met his eyes.
Yes, absolutely. Yes. Jackson nodded. Good. Keep it close, but don't use it unless you have to.
Warren's looking for an excuse. Don't give him one. What about you? You armed? Jackson lifted his shirt, showed the Glock 19 tucked in his waistband.
Always. They sat in silence. Two people preparing for war in a place that should have been peaceful. Finally, Beatatric said, "How did we get here two weeks ago? You were just passing through.
Now we're sitting here with guns talking about self-defense. Life moves fast sometimes. Is it worth it? All this trouble over a diner and a motorcycle. " Jackson thought about that. It's not about the diner or the bike.
It's about standing up to bullies, about protecting what matters, about not letting corruption win. And if we lose, if Warren wins, then at least we fought. At least we didn't roll over. Jackson leaned forward. Beatric, I spent 6 years after Diane died doing nothing.
Being nothing, running from everything that mattered. This right here, this is the first time I felt alive since she died. The first time I felt like I have a purpose, he paused. So yeah, it's worth it. Beatrice reached across the table, took his hand.
Douglas would have said the same thing. Word for word. They sat holding hands while the desert night deepened outside. Two warriors preparing for battle. Two broken people choosing to stand instead of fall.