Page 30 of Shadows Redeemed
His partner, Sullivan, swiveled in his chair, a smirk plastered across his face. “Didn’t expect to see you darken our doorstep again, Red. Thought you’d learned your lesson about backing lost causes the last time around. Even heard you left the Big Easy, and your brothers took over the business.”
Sage bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. The urge to unleash a verbal tirade bubbled up inside of her, but Dane’s steady hand on her shoulder kept her grounded.
“Detectives,” Dane said, his voice level and professional as he took over the conversation. “We’re here to discuss the case against Jacob Franklin. He’s one of yours, but from what we gather, you think he’s gone rogue.”
Blake’s chair creaked as he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Rogue my ass. He’s gone dirty. He may have been a decorated officer at one time, but now he’s in bed with the Broussards. If he thinks he can put a bullet in his handler’s brain and walk away scot-free, he’s crazy.”
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed incessantly, casting harsh shadows across Blake’s face. Sage noticed the bags under his eyes, the five o’clock shadow that spoke of long nights and longer days. Part of her wanted to feel sympathy for the man, but the arrogant gleam in his eyes quashed that impulse almost asfast as it had risen. That, and the memories of what an ass he had been the last time their paths crossed.
Sullivan stood, stretching like a cat waking from a nap. “Why don’t we take this somewhere more… private?” He gestured toward an interrogation room down the hall.
Elvis saw where the man pointed and turned to Dane, one brow cocked. Dane merely smirked. “Lead the way.”
As they filed into the cramped space, Sage couldn’t shake the feeling of being herded like cattle to the slaughter. The interrogation room smelled of fear and desperation, with a hint of vomit that no amount of industrial cleaner could quite mask.
Dane took point, standing behind one of the uncomfortable metal chairs with the ease of a man used to high-pressure situations. Sage and Elvis flanked him, a united front against the two detectives who slouched against the far wall.
“You don’t want to sit down?” Blake asked, his brows raised.
Dane crossed his arms over his chest. “No. We’re good. But please, feel free to take a seat yourself.” When neither detective moved, he continued. “Now, what can you tell me about the case you have against Jacob?”
Sullivan scoffed. “And what makes you think we’re going to tell you anything? This is a police matter. Just who the hell are you?”
Dane didn’t flinch. “My name’s Dane Garrison. I own Garrison Security Innovations in Biloxi, and we handle a lot of government cases, as well as some big CEO assignments. Parker Franklin is our client, and we’re here to get him the answers he needs.”
“This isn’t Biloxi,” Blake said. “You have no power here.”
Dane chuckled as he pointed around the room. “And you have no power here.” He crossed his arms over his chest once more, staring at the detectives. “I know why you brought us inhere. You hoped to intimidate us. But SEALs don’t intimidate. You should have done your homework on us first.”
“Let’s cut the bullshit,” Blake said, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. “We know Jacob’s dirty. The only question is how deep this rabbit hole goes. So, why don’t you tell us what you know, and maybe—just maybe—we can work something out.”
Sage’s fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She’d been down this road before, watching these same detectives try to railroad Jacob. The sense of déjà vu was so strong it made her head spin, but she refused to give in to it.
Dane remained calm, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air. “We’re here to cooperate, Detectives. But it’s a two-way street. We’ll share information when you share information. Why don’t we start with what evidence you have linking Jacob to the Broussards or his handler’s murder?”
Sullivan’s laugh was as dry as week-old bread, and it grated on Sage’s nerves. “Evidence? Sweetheart, we’ve got enough to bury your boy ten times over. The question is, are you going to help us nail his coffin shut, or are you going to obstruct justice… again?”
The pointed look he gave Sage made her blood boil. She leaned forward, green eyes flashing. “Listen here, you pompous prick. Last time I checked, ‘innocent until proven guilty’ wasn’t just a cute saying. So how about you show us this mountain of evidence you claim to have instead of blowing smoke up our asses?”
“Sage,” Dane warned, but there was a hint of approval in his tone as well.
Blake pushed off the wall, looming closer to the table. “Watch your mouth, Red. You’re in our house now.”
“Then act like proper fucking hosts and answer the damn question,” Sage shot back.
“And watch your mouth, hound dog,” Elvis added with a low growl as he glared at Blake. “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”
For the next hour, the room became a battlefield of wills. Questions flew like bullets, accusations exploded like grenades, and the tension thickened the air until Sage felt like she was drowning in it. Through it all, Dane maintained his composure, parrying the detectives’ verbal jabs with the skill of a master fencer.
But as the verbal sparring match wore on, Sage couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Blake and Sullivan’s questions seemed rehearsed, their responses to Dane’s questions too polished. It was as if they were following a script, one designed to lead them down a specific path. They knew her team would come knocking and had prepared for it, which meant nothing they said could be trusted. Not that she trusted them to begin with.
As they finally emerged from the interrogation room, Sage felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. The precinct’s noise washed over her—phones ringing, printers whirring, officers shouting across the bullpen. It all blended into a dissonance that matched the chaos in her mind, threatening to overwhelm her.
Outside, the humid New Orleans air hit them like a wet blanket. Sage sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear the stench of the precinct from her lungs.
“Well, that was about as pleasant as a colonoscopy,” Elvis muttered, running his hand through his hair as they crossed the parking lot to Dane’s car.
Sage turned to Dane, her eyes blazing. “Something’s not right there. Those detectives… they’re not just looking to solve a case. They want to bury Jacob, evidence be damned.”
