Jack wasn't entirely pessimistic.
"Roark isn't completely insane yet," he said. "He still has a specific target. Don't forget the bag of high-purity fentanyl he stole from the DA's office safe.
That stuff isn't just for getting high—it's lethal in microgram doses."
Jubal's brow furrowed. "You think he's planning an assassination?"
They had discussed this before—fentanyl wasn't just a drug, it was a weapon.
In one extreme case, a drug-smuggling boat had dumped its cargo while being pursued by the Coast Guard.
The fentanyl packages washed up on a beach, their seals ruptured.
Unaware of the danger, tourists walked across the sand.
One person got a small cut on their foot—just enough for the fentanyl to enter their bloodstream.
They died within minutes.
"If Roark still has a target, then Samuel Gray might know who it is," Jubal said, tossing his car keys to Aubrey.
"Let's split up—Alice stays at the motel.
Jack, take the rest of the team, link up with ASP, and head for Crystal Mountain."
ASP—the Arkansas State Police—was more than just the famous highway patrol units known for high-speed chases.
They also had a Criminal Investigation Division.
They just weren't as viral as their Dodge Charger-driving cowboy counterparts.
By the time the FBI agents arrived, multiple ASP detectives, uniformed officers, and local sheriff's deputies were going door-to-door, questioning residents.
Surprisingly, most of the locals cooperated, some even inviting officers inside.
Then, an ASP trooper—cowboy hat, mirrored aviators—lowered his radio and waved them over.
"We found the Tahoe!" he called. "Parked in the backyard of a residence!"
ASP detectives moved fast.
By the time Jack and his team followed the sheriff's car to the address, the house had already been breached and cleared.
Minutes later, a sheriff's deputy jogged over to his boss.
"Sir—we found a body inside!"
The sheriff's face tightened. He exhaled sharply before heading inside.
Jack followed.
A dead man lay sprawled across the living room floor.
White male. Fifties. Bald, graying beard. Thick glasses.
He had multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, soaking the carpet in blood.
Clay and Hannah immediately slipped on gloves.
They carefully lifted the blood-soaked rug and pried a bullet from the wooden floor.
".22 LR," Clay muttered. "Roark's signature."
JJ turned to the sheriff. "Who is he?
Any connection to the courts or Roark?"
The sheriff shook his head.
"No idea. He was just a regular guy. Worked for a medical company, I think."
Jack spotted a wallet on a side table.
He picked it up and flipped it open, scanning the driver's license.
"Chip Fox," he read. "Fifty-two. Twice divorced. No criminal record.
Worked as a lab tech at a place called 'Health Initiative Medical Laboratory.'"
Hannah quickly pulled up the company's details on her tablet.
Her expression twisted in confusion.
"Why would Roark kill him?"
Jack frowned. "Check his online presence—news articles, social media, anything."
At that moment, his phone buzzed.
Jubal.
They had found Samuel Gray.
The hacker immediately confessed.
According to him, Roark had threatened to revoke his probation unless he hacked the Arkansas appellate court's database—specifically, the JNE evaluations.
That part aligned with what they already knew.
But Gray had also done another job for Roark.
Just yesterday afternoon, Roark had ordered him to hack into Health Initiative Medical Lab's employee database.
"Why the hell would he do that?" Jubal asked.
Jack's grip tightened on his phone.
"Chip Fox worked for that lab," he said grimly. "And now he's dead."
Jubal cursed under his breath.
On paper, Health Initiative was a routine medical lab.
They did standard diagnostic testing—nothing sensitive or high-security.
And Chip Fox?
Just a regular technician.
There was no obvious reason for Roark to target him.
Then, Hannah gasped.
"Jack—look at this!" She thrust her tablet in front of him.
The entire team crowded around the screen.
It was a local news article—the only result linking Chip Fox's name to anything public.
The headline read:
"State Governor Undergoes Routine Flu Testing at St. Michael's Hospital"
Jack's heart dropped.
The article listed Chip Fox as the technician who had performed a nasal swab on Arkansas Governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders.
Jubal's voice tightened over the phone.
"The governor?!"
"Chip Fox personally administered her test," Jack confirmed.
Jubal gritted his teeth.
The governor of Arkansas wasn't just some random politician.
She was a high-profile conservative from a political dynasty.
A former White House Press Secretary.
A woman handpicked by the Republican Party to cement Arkansas as a stronghold.
And most importantly—
She was the one who appointed state appellate court judges.
Jack exhaled sharply.
"She's his target," he said.
"Okay, but how does he plan to get close to her?"
Jubal sounded frustrated.
Governors had constant security.
Storming a school with an Uzi was one thing.
But assassinating a state leader?
That took serious planning.
Jack stared at Chip Fox's ID.
Then, he glanced at Roark's mugshot.
A second later, he covered the lower half of Roark's face—hiding his jawline and receding hairline.
Hannah's jaw dropped.
"Oh my God."
She clapped a hand over her mouth.
"If he shaves his head, puts on glasses, and wears a mask…"
Jack nodded grimly.
"Even people who know Chip Fox wouldn't notice the difference."
"Roark was a terrible judge," he muttered. "But when it comes to murder plots? He's a goddamn expert."
Jubal's voice hardened.
"Jack—call the governor's office. Now."
Ten Minutes Later – Highway Chase
Wind roared.
Scenery blurred past the car windows.
Clay white-knuckled his seatbelt.
One hand clamped onto the overhead handle.
His knuckles were bone-white.
"Jack," he said, voice tight with fear, "ASP's got this.
We don't need to die today."
It was a wild thing to hear from a combat veteran.
Clay had jumped out of planes from ten thousand feet without flinching.
But Jack?
Jack had just taken a 220-kph turnwithout slowing down.
And Clay's entire life had just flashed before his eyes.
"Relax," Jack said, glancing at the rearview mirror.
"ASP is still behind us."
Indeed, a convoy of ASP Dodge Chargers trailed behind them—sirens blaring, lights flashing.
They were pissed.
Jack had just outmaneuvered Arkansas' finest.
And now, in the lead car, he was closing in on Roark's fleeing Ford F-150.
This had all started ten minutes ago.
The governor's security detail had gotten the FBI's warningjust in time.
As Governor Sanders' armored SUV pulled into the hospital parking lot, her driver suddenly veered off—accelerating away at full speed.
Meanwhile, Roark—disguised in blue scrubs and holding a poisoned nasal swab—had watched his entire plan collapse in front of him.
He had one option left.
Run.
(End of Chapter)
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