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The cruiser sped through the winding roads leading out of Trentville, its blue lights flashing with urgency. Jenna knew that this could be the break they needed, or it could unravel into further chaos. In truth, it still felt like she was trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“Jenna,” Jake said, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “You okay?”

She glanced at him briefly. “Just staying focused,” she replied,

“Think he’ll be at the ranch?” Jake asked.

“Either way, we’re turning over every stone until we find what we need,” she stated.

A procession of police and highway patrol vehicles were converging on Ethan Holbrook’s property. As they passed the ivy-clad entrance to Verdigris Ranch, Colonel Spelling’s unmarked sedan glided in with authority, pulling up behind Jenna’s cruiser with precision timing. The colonel’s presence here wasn’t just protocol—it was a testament to how serious the allegations against Holbrook were.

As they drove down the long driveway, Jenna took in every detail: the idyllic setting of the ranch, the cattle dotting the pastures in blissful ignorance, the immaculate farmhouse. It all seemed so perfect, but Jenna’s instincts screamed that this was an illusion masking something far more sinister.

Her skin prickled with heat and anticipation as she stepped out of her cruiser and scanned the scene: county and state police officers were already dispersing in strategic lines across the property, their movements efficient and charged with resolution.

The sprawling farmhouse loomed before them, its cream facade setting it off from the deep blues and greens that surrounded it. Jenna led the way to the front door, her hand resting instinctively near her holstered weapon, a gesture mirrored by Jake. Spelling followed as they stepped up on the porch, but before Jenna could raise her hand to knock, the front door swung inward.

“Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins,” Holbrook greeted them, his voice betraying nothing but a hint of curiosity. “To what do I owe this rather dramatic visit?” His gaze moved momentarily over their shoulders, “And I see that Colonel Spelling is here too.” His gaze took in more of the scene behind them before settling back on Jenna with an air of polite expectancy.

Jenna took a step forward. “Ethan Holbrook, you’re under arrest for conspiracy, bribery, and suspicion of murder.”

Her hand rested lightly on the grip of her service weapon as Jake stepped up beside her, the Miranda card in his hand. “Mr. Holbrook,” Jake began, his voice clear and steady, “you have the right to remain silent.” As he recited the familiar words, Jenna watched Holbrook’s eyebrows lift ever so slightly. It was an almost imperceptible reaction.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” Jake finished.

Holbrook’s only response was, “I assume you have a warrant?” His question, though asked with a veneer of politeness, carried an underlying challenge.

Jake held out the warrant they had obtained. “We do, Mr. Holbrook. For your arrest. And we’ll also be conducting a thorough search of your property.”

Holbrook’s cool gaze swept again across the officers encircling his home, a silent appraisal of their movements. Then with a shrug, his offered his wrists to the handcuffs without protest.

As Jake put the cuffs on the rancher, Colonel Spelling spoke to Jenna, acknowledging the importance of the situation. “While you take him in, I’ll stay with the men doing a search of the premises. I’ll let you know if we find anything that might be incriminating.”

As Jake led Holbrook towards their patrol car, the rancher’s steps were measured and unhurried, as if he were merely a guest being escorted from a gathering rather than a suspect in custody. In moments, they had settled him into the back seat for the trip back to Trentville.

As she drove, Jenna kept her focus on the road ahead while Jake remained silent beside her, both acutely conscious of the man in their rearview mirror. Holbrook sat in the back seat, his cuffed hands resting casually on his lap, and Jenna couldn’t shake the niggling sense that he seemed more at ease than any man should be under these circumstances.

When they reached the Genesius County Jail, Jenna watched as Ethan Holbrook walked on ahead of them, greeting the officer at the front desk cordially.

“Book him,” Jenna instructed tersely, “then bring him into the interrogation room.” The officer nodded and went about fingerprinting and photographing Holbrook with methodical precision.

As they proceeded along the narrow hallway, Jake leaned close to Jenna. “He’s way too calm,” he muttered.

She nodded, feeling the same unease. “Let’s see how he reacts to the evidence,” she said, more to steel herself than anything else. Together, they pushed through the door and took their seats at the small metal table.

Holbrook was soon brought in and seated across from them. There was still an elegance to his posture that seemed out of place in this environment.

“Before we begin,” Holbrook said smoothly, his voice betraying no hint of worry, “I should inform you that I’ve contacted my lawyer in Kansas City. I called as soon as I saw your ridiculous cavalcade pull into my drive. He’ll be here shortly.”

Jenna’s gaze remained steady on him. She was used to reading people, a skill honed not just by her years in law enforcement but also by the enigmatic guidance she received in her dreams. Yet Holbrook was a closed book, his pages unyielding to her scrutiny.

“Is that supposed to intimidate us, Mr. Holbrook?” she asked.

“Intimidate? No, Sheriff Graves,” Holbrook replied, his tone almost amused. “Letting you know is merely a courtesy. We all have roles to play, don’t we?”

“That’s fine, Mr. Holbrook,” she said firmly. “We’ll speak with your lawyer. But in the meantime, are you willing to answer some questions?”

“Oh, by all means, Sheriff,” Holbrook said, leaning back in his chair, the ghost of a smirk touching his lips. “I have nothing to hide. I know my rights, and I know I’m innocent of these charges. So ask away. We’ll pass over any questions that I feel to be … well, constitutionally inappropriate.”

“Maybe you’d like to explain this recording to us,” Jake said.

He placed Garth Fields’s cellphone on the table, and its digital recorder crackled to life, its tiny speakers straining to project Holbrook’s voice across the interrogation room.

“Garth, you better not be getting cold feet. We’re too far in now,” Holbrook’s voice said.

Then, the alarm of Garth’s response filled the air, an echo of a conversation meant to stay private.

Finally came Holbrook’s climatic pronouncement: “If you turn on me, Garth, I promise it will be the last thing you ever do. I’ll make sure of it personally.”

As the damning words played out, accusing and raw, all Jenna saw in Holbrook was an almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes—the only betrayal of tension.

The recording sputtered to an end, and there was a brief silence. Then, like a clap of thunder breaking the calm, Holbrook’s laughter erupted—a short, scornful sound that bounced off the bare walls. “That’s your evidence? A clearly doctored recording?”

“You’re saying it’s a fake?” Jake asked.

“Of course it’s fake,” Holbrook scoffed, leaning forward with a confidence that bordered on theatrical. “Garth Fields has had it out for me ever since I refused to give his nephew a job at the ranch. He’s not above fabricating evidence to get back at me.”

Jenna felt the sharp sting of frustration. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the recording was real and that its authenticity could be proven. Garth didn’t have the expertise or wherewithal to fabricate such a thing. Yet, she couldn’t help but admire Holbrook’s audacity. It was as though he reveled in their confrontation.

“Is that so?” Jenna let the silence linger before continuing, “It seems you’ve made quite a few enemies around here, Mr. Holbrook. Would you say that comes with the territory of being a ranch owner, or is it something more personal than that?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Holbrook’s lips curved into a smile. “I suppose it’s a bit of both, Sheriff. People can be petty when they don’t get what they want. Or when they’re faced with new ideas.”

Jake jumped in, seizing an opportunity he thought might rattle the suspect. “You know perfectly well that forensics can verify that it’s your voice in that recording, and also that it hasn’t been doctored. It does suggest that you might have had something to do with the murders of Clyde Simmons and Roger Bates.”

Holbrook’s demeanor shifted from defensive to scoffingly defiant, as if the accusation was beneath him.

“Does it really?” he asked, with a haughtiness that made Jenna’s grip tighten on the edge of the table. “I didn’t hear either of those unlucky men’s names mentioned just now. And don’t try to pull fake forensics on me. I’ve already given you alibis for both of those nights. Have you even bothered to check them?” His eyes, a cold shade of blue, bore into Jenna and Jake, challenging them.

“We’re in the process of verifying your alibis, Mr. Holbrook,” she stated, maintaining eye contact with the man across the table. “But given the evidence we’ve uncovered—”

“Evidence?” Holbrook cut her off with an incredulous chuckle, his dark eyes glinting with something akin to amusement. “You mean the ramblings of a corrupt official and a doctored tape? Please, Sheriff.” He leaned back in his chair, the air of superiority practically rolling off him in waves.

Jenna had to wonder—could he truly be innocent? Or was this just another layer of deceit from a master manipulator? But she had seen it before—the innocent act, the feigned cooperation—all tactics used by the guilty to sow seeds of uncertainty.

“Mr. Holbrook,” she said calmly, “we also have testimony from Mr. Fields about your attempts to manipulate zoning laws. Care to comment on that?” She watched him intently.

For the first time since they’d started, a flash of anger crossed Holbrook’s face—an involuntary betrayal of his emotions. “Garth Fields is a desperate man looking to save his own skin,” Holbrook spat out, the calm veneer momentarily slipping. “I’ve never attempted to manipulate any laws. My business practices are entirely above board.”

Holbrook straightened in his chair, the smirk forming again on his face. “I think we’re done here,” he announced, his tone final. “Unless you have any actual evidence to present, I’d like to return to my cell to await my lawyer, who will post bail.”

With that Holbrook got to his feet, his hands still cuffed but his attitude unshaken. She suspected that posting bail might not be a simple matter, since he was a likely flight risk and a potential danger to the public. But his arrogance was remarkable, and Jenna saw that unraveling his composure wasn’t going to be easy. As he was escorted from the interrogation room, even the echo of his footsteps seemed to mock them,

After the door closed with a resounding click, sealing Holbrook away from them, Jenna remained sitting at the table for a moment longer, her mind still full of questions.

“Well, that was frustrating,” Jake sighed, his voice carrying the weight of their thwarted efforts. “He’s certainly not making this easy for us.”

“What do you think? Is he our killer?” Jenna’s words cut through the room’s silence, each syllable heavy with the need for resolution.

Jake shook his head slowly, his gaze meeting hers. “I hate to say it, but I’m not convinced. He’s arrogant as hell, and I’m sure we can nail him on the zoning manipulation, no matter how good his lawyer is. There will be traces in the county records and likely plenty of ranchers willing to testify. But his reaction to the murder accusations... it didn’t feel like guilt to me. He seemed genuinely offended by the suggestion. And if his alibis check out…” His voice trailed off as he considered the implications.

Jenna reviewed at the evidence they had—the tape, Garth’s testimony, they had all seemed to lead to Ethan Holbrook. Now, under scrutiny, they appeared frayed and tangled. Some would hold up, others might not.

Jenna voiced the inevitable, “We need to update the mayor on all of this.”

“She’s not going to be happy,” Jake said, concluding her thought.

In her mind’s eye, Jenna saw the mayor’s manicured nails tapping an impatient rhythm on her desk, her hawk-like gaze demanding answers they didn’t yet have. She straightened her spine, rolling her shoulders back in a practiced gesture of preparedness. They had faced the mayor’s disapproval before.

“That’s not what bothers me most,” she said. “If Holbrook is innocent of the murders …”

“Then someone else is guilty.” Jake added.

Their job wasn’t just about finding the killer—it was about preventing another loss, another family from experiencing the kind of haunting void that had consumed Jenna’s own life for two decades since her twin disappeared.

“I’m afraid the killer with that deadly branding iron is still out there,” Jenna said finally, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.