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I point to the stash house, seemingly an abandoned two-story townhouse wedged between other, similar-looking properties along a block of neglected, forgotten homes. “This whole stretch used to be a residential haven in the 80s,” I tell her. “Comfort, peace, tranquility. People had it all. Until the drug wave hit. Gradually, over the years, there was an increase in drug use and a decrease in income. Late mortgage payments, repos, evictions. By the time Lucas took over as sheriff, the whole neighborhood was Drug Dealer Central.”

“It still is, though we send patrols down here on a weekly basis, just enough to scare some of the hood rats away,” Tyler adds. “That’s a suspected stash house. We were able to secure a search warrant for it earlier this morning.”

“Do we know who’s operating out of there?” Patterson asks, checking the magazine on her gun before snapping it back in and securing the safety. She holsters the weapon on her belt.

“The Silver Stallions. As you already know, the club’s VP and Trevor Callaghan have been in there. They left last night, but we’ve had reported sightings of prospects sneaking in and out over the past twenty-four hours.”

Patterson nods slowly. “We still haven’t figured out where Callaghan is holed up. But it has to be somewhere in or around Frost Valley. Rumor has it he’s trying to secure various deals in the region. With your confirmation of Silver Stallion involvement, that proves a few of our theories.” She pauses and gives me a curious look. “Has the wife said anything useful?”

I respond with a hard, unyielding look. “Ex-wife. And she’s got nothing to do with the fucker. She’s had zero contact since the arrest.”

“And you believe her.”

God, her judgmental tone irks me. “Unlike you, we actually know Tassia Callaghan. We’ve been working with her for quite a while. Perhaps save your judgment until after you’ve had a chance to sit down and talk to her.”

“Wow, townies really do stick up for each other.”

“This right here,” Tyler cuts in, motioning at the air in front of Patterson, “this is why federal agencies have such a hard time securing local support and cooperation. Just because you’ve got those three big, bad letters on the back of your coat doesn’t make you some sort of god, judge, and executioner, all wrapped up in one.”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t trust the ex-wife of a known felon.”

“She trusted him, and she ended up doing time for it. Tassia’s record is permanently blemished because of that fucker. And you know damn well, Agent Patterson, that our country’s history is rife with people who were unjustly accused, prosecuted, and punished for crimes they did not commit,” I insist. “Now, the purpose of our meeting today is to serve this warrant and raid the stash house. The three of us can handle it, seeing as the place looks empty.”

Patterson thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “How long have you been sitting on it?”

“A couple of hours,” Tyler says. “No one has come in or out.” He pauses and points at a discreetly mounted camera above the front door of a townhouse across the street. “Footage shows no activity since six this morning. The last to exit was a guy in a Silver Stallions prospect vest, carrying a large paper bag. Heloaded it into the top-case of his bike and rolled out just as the sun was coming up.”

“And we’re hoping to find what, exactly? More drugs?”

“Just enough to help build a case against whoever is operating the joint. We already have the Silver Stallions on camera for it,” I reply. “It’s the evidence we need to start taking the club down. Perhaps then, you and your colleagues can persuade the MC’s leadership to cooperate and disclose Trevor Callaghan’s role in all of it.”

A smile tests her lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

We would’ve brought more deputies in, but there hasn’t been any movement in or around the stash house for quite some time. Lucas’s most recent update had a large number of MC members still at the clubhouse. Laura Patterson’s involvement was meant as a courtesy to the DEA as well as a means to build a bridge between us.

I need her to see that Tassia really is innocent in all of this.

We approach the townhouse,heads on a swivel. There’s no movement. Not even a random passerby or a car moving. It’s quiet, too quiet. It feels like the calm before the storm.

Tyler and I are ready, and Patterson is right behind us. She leans over the metal railing of the front steps, checking the windows. She gives us a nod and motions for us to proceed.

“No movement in the living room,” she says in a low voice.

I reach the front door and bang my fist against it. “Frost Valley Sherrif’s Department, open up!” I shout. “We have a warrant to search the premises!”

There’s no answer, as expected.

Tyler gets the battering ram ready. “One, two?—”

He doesn’t get to three before bullets begin flying through the door from the inside—rat-tat-tat-tat—as they splinter the wood outward.

“Get down!” I yell and duck to the side.

Tyler crouches while Patterson stumbles backward and down the front steps. Bullets from automatic weapons blaze out of the stash house, piercing the wooden door and smashing the glass windows and thin side paneling. There are either multiple assailants inside or just one with an extremely capable, and illegal, automatic weapon.

Tyler manages to jump off the side of the porch while I duck and move to the eastern corner of the house. I peek through a shattered window.

“Two AR-15’s!” I shout.