The library queen

Chapter 9 Hidden Hand

Don didn't let go. He shoved his forearm harder against Jerome's throat, cutting off his breath. "Talk first, you piece of trash. Then I'll let you breathe."

Jerome gagged, "I don't damn know anything else! I swear! I just got a call from a blocked number!"

"Try playing dumb with me again and see what happens," Don sneered, matching his panicked look. "Who paid you?"

"I don't know who the hell it was!" Jerome stammered, spit flying from his lips. "The guy just said if I called 911 at exactly eleven PM, I’d get five hundred bucks wired to my account. It was just a stupid prank call to clear the street! That’s all they told me!"

Don eyes turning to pure fire. "Five hundred bucks to blind the cops? And you didn't ask questions?"

"Why the hell would I ask questions to free cash?" Jerome choked out, rolling his eyes back.

Don stared straight into his dead eyes, evaluating the panic. The guy was a low-level rat. He didn't have the grand blueprint, but he had the anchor.

Don aggressively dropped him. Jerome hit the floorboards hard, hacking and rubbing his bruised throat.

"The phone," Don growled, standing right over him like a shadow. "Give me the burner number they used to call you."

"It was a spoofed line, copper!" Jerome barked back, a twisted, pathetic grin touching his lips. "No caller ID. The node is completely untraceable. You got nothing."

Don didn't hesitate. He yanked the smartphone straight out of Jerome's apron pocket, cracking the screen against the edge of the metal table before shoving it into his own jacket.

"I'll be the judge of that," Don whispered back, his voice dropping into a lethal.

Don slammed his heavy boot against the chipped paint of the apartment door. Three hard kicks, rattling the frame.

The security chains rattled inside. The door opened a c***k, and Jack peered out, his eyes turning into pure fire the second he recognized the face. "Get the hell off my property, Joseph. I don't run code anymore. I’m clean."

Don didn't budge. He shoved his shoulder straight against the wood, forcing the door wide open as he stepped into the cramped, screen-lit room. "I’m not here to lock you up, Jack. Shut your mouth and look at this."

Jack stumbled back, "I don’t give a s**t what you’re here for, copper. The feds checked my servers last Tuesday. I don't do illegal anymore. I work retail. Get out before I dial 911."

Don pulled Jerome's cracked smartphone out of his jacket and slammed it onto the desk, right next to a glowing keyboard. "I need you to trace a spoofed line. No caller ID. Ten minutes."

"Are you deaf?" Jack sneered, crossing his arms. "I said no. My probation officer checks my network nodes every twenty-four hours. You want to fight the syndicates? Do it on your own time. Leave."

Don didn't waste his breath on a reply. He smashed the door shut behind him, stepping back into the freezing rain, his face hardening into pure stone.

Don pushed through the heavy glass double doors.

He marched straight toward the bullpen terminals, but Chief Kent Addison stepped out, blocking the center aisle, holding a ceramic mug.

"Hold it right there, Joseph," Addison barked, not even looking up.

Don stopped dead. "I need a terminal, Chief."

"You’re suspended, remember?" Addison sneered, taking a slow sip. "Your password’s already wiped from the system. Try logging in, and I’ll have you locked in a cell for hacking a federal mainframe."

"Maya Finn’s life is on the line, Addison!" Don snapped. "Give me five minutes to trace her phone."

Addison didn't even argue. He just looked past Don’s shoulder. "Escort Mr. Joseph out of my building. Use force if he gives you any lip."

Two uniformed officers stepped forward, hands resting on their utility belts. Don looked at the uniforms, memorized their faces for later, and turned on his heel, marching straight back into the storm.

Don stood in the dark side alley, his shoulder leaning against the wet brick wall, staring at a scribbled ten-digit phone number.

The side exit door groaned open. Janice stepped out, sparked up a cigarette, and blew a thick cloud of smoke into the rain.

"You got a serious death wish, Don," Janice said quietly.

Don didn't waste his breath on a plea. He shoved the slip of paper straight into her hand. "Run this trace, Janice. Stop talking."

Janice looked at the numbers, her jaw tightening. "Are you crazy? Addison checks the server logs every morning. He sees an unauthorized search, I'm done."

"Don't use the main server," Don hissed, "Go through the vice squad backdoor. They never log those pings. Figure it out."

Janice took a long drag, staring through the smoke. "You’re really dragging me into the mud with you, huh?"

Janice dropped her cigarette, crushing it under her leather boot. "Jesus."

"I need the location, Janice."

"Wait here," she snapped, snatching the paper. "Don't move."

Twenty minutes later, the door clicked open. Janice stepped out and shoved a printed map straight against his chest.

"What did you find?" Don asked, grabbing it.

"It’s a burner device bought with cash," Janice said quickly, looking over her shoulder. "But the cell tower logs don't lie. Look at the last column."

Don dragged his thumb across the page, a cold smile touching his lips. "Sector four. East ridge."

"The signal is hitting the main tower up on the hill," Janice confirmed. "It’s coming straight from inside the Savier perimeter, Don."

Don folded the paper fast, sliding it deep into his jacket pocket. "Thanks, Janice. I owe you one."

"You don't owe me s**t because I'm not helping you tomorrow," Janice said, her voice dead serious. "From this second on, you're entirely on your own. They got an army of hired ex-military up on that hill, Don. They catch you on their grass, they will put a bullet in your chest."

"Good. It’s easier that way," Don murmured, "And I like a fight."

He marched through the storm toward his truck, cranked the engine, and shifted into drive, tearing down the flooded asphalt.