The hum of the mobile command van had barely faded before Zoe spun her laptop around, screen glowing against the dim interior.
"Max Gibson," she said, her voice clipped and sharp. "Twenty-four. Been running with the Fifty-Fourth Street Gang for over a decade. Recently convicted of aggravated assault and attempted murder up in Victorville. Twelve years."
Faces in the room hardened as she tapped the trackpad.
"His people won't let him rot. They'll pull every string to break him out—even move him across state lines if they have to."
Tim leaned forward, the easy confidence gone from his voice. "I've got an informant inside the gang. If anyone knows Gibson's next move, it's him."
Gray didn't hesitate. "Then go. Talk to him. Bring Lucy."
As the two slipped out, Zoe pulled up the next file. "Caleb Yost," she said grimly. "This one worries me more."
The man's mugshot filled the screen—sharp suit, hollow eyes, the smug smile of a banker who thought he was untouchable.
"Forty-four. Former investor. Did five years for securities fraud. Tacked on another eight for resisting arrest." She paused, her lip curling. "He bit off a deputy sheriff's nose."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Gray cut them off. "The Bureau believes Yost stashed millions before he went down. He'll want it back. If he gets his hands on it, he'll vanish."
John rubbed the back of his neck. "So we let him lead us to the money, then grab him on the way out?"
"Exactly," Gray said. "Until Tim gets intel, we chase the paper trail. Relatives, old associates, anyone who might know where Yost hid his cash."
Dismissed, the teams scattered.
Jack and Hannah's first stop was Yost's ex-wife—a supermodel turned trophy wife. Polished, perfect, already moved on. She smiled politely, denied knowing a thing, and shut the door in their faces.
Back in the cruiser, Hannah sighed and keyed the radio. "Command, no sign of Yost. No leads from the ex-wife."
The reply came moments later, grim. Tim's informant had spilled—Max Gibson wasn't running back to the Fifty-Fourth Street Gang. He'd slept with the boss's woman. His own people wanted him dead.
Jack barked out a laugh, incredulous. "That idiot's safest in prison right now. Does he not realize?"
Hannah shook her head. "Prison politics don't work that way. In Victorville, they'd eat him alive. He'd rather gamble outside."
Jack frowned. "Which makes our job harder. A body dumped in the desert, we'll be chasing ghosts."
He switched channels. "John, what about your end?"
Static, then John's voice crackled through, taut with urgency. "We're at Caleb Yost's second wife's aunt's house. Local volunteer says she never misses church—but she hasn't been seen all day. The front lock's busted. I think he's here. Requesting backup."
Jack and Hannah locked eyes. He punched the siren, the cruiser lurching forward.
"Hold tight, John. We're close."
They pulled up five minutes later. John's updates had grown darker: Yost had taken the aunt hostage, cornered in the living room, and was raving.
Jack and Hannah sprinted to the porch—just as Zoe's voice cut across the intercom.
"Listen up. Tim's informant was blown. Fifty-Fourth Street soldiers swarmed the block. Thirty or forty armed gangbangers have them boxed in. Tim and Lucy are holding, but reinforcements are en route. Jack—your team deals with Yost now. We'll keep the gang contained."
Jack cursed under his breath. "Great. Two fires, and we're the bucket."
He and Hannah slipped inside.
The scene froze them. This wasn't the cliché gun-to-the-head standoff they'd pictured.
Yost had turned the fireplace into a fortress, surrounded by bundles of cash pulled from its hollow frame. His right hand clutched a rope tied to the trigger of a shotgun. The barrel was duct-taped to the temple of an elderly woman bound across the room.
One twitch, one slip, and the shotgun would blow her skull apart.
John stood by the front door, Nyla Harper covering the rear, both guns drawn.
"Caleb, it's over!" John barked. "Walk away now and you're just looking at assault. You kill her, you'll never breathe free air again."
"Shut up!" Yost's voice cracked. He yanked the rope taut, eyes wild. "I'll die before I go back in! Take one more step and she goes with me."
Jack watched him, calm, reading the man's twitchy body language, the way his mouth never stopped moving. A desperate banker with too much to prove, hiding behind words and threats.
Leaning close to John, Jack murmured, "You notice? He talks too much."
A slow smile touched his lips. "Leave this one to me."
(End of this chapter)