Dead to Rights by Jack Patterson (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

silent. Cal was certain it was because she didn’t believe him. And he couldn’t really blame her either. The situation appeared dire. Death was almost certainly imminent.

The truck roared to life and began to bump along the dirt road toward the main highway. Cal contemplated jumping out for a second but knew he couldn’t get far. It’d only hasten his demise. He could only pray—and hope.

After a few minutes, the truck slowed down. Cal would’ve sworn that it was because they’d reached the main road. But then he saw the flashing lights.

Cal struggled to sit up as he heard the hum of several engines toward the front of the truck. Then a voice over a bull horn.

“Step out of the vehicle with your hands up,” boomed a voice.

Cal listened as the doors to the truck flew open and shots were exchanged. He counted two men crying out in pain before bodies hit the ground. Then he heard an all-too familiar voice in Sheriff Sloan.

“No need to shoot,” Sloan said. “I surrender.”

Cal struggled to get to his knees so he could peer around the outside of the truck bed to see what was going on. Once he did, he realized that it was over for Sloan.

“Sheriff Sloan, you’re under arrest,” one of the agents said.

“What for?”

“Possession of narcotics with intent to distribute, money laundering, and tax evasion, among other things.”

Sloan sneered.

“This’ll never stand up in court, and you know it,” he said.

One of the agents began to read Sloan his Miranda Rights.

“Check the far cabin,” Cal yelled. “And add kidnapping to the list.”

A pair of agents rushed over and untied Cal and Kelly and began interviewing them. Meanwhile, an FBI vehicle kicked up a cloud of dust as it headed toward the Camp Manmaker facilities.

“You better hope I don’t get convicted,” Sloan said as he looked at Cal. “I will find you.”

An agent jerked Sloan toward one of the black SUVs blocking the way of Sloan’s truck. “Let’s go, Enforcer.”

“Good thing I turned on the recorder on my phone,” Cal said. “Have a nice life.”

An FBI agent interviewed Cal and Kelly while they waited for the other team of agents to return from inspecting the cabin. When the agents finally returned, more agents piled into the vehicle and headed back toward the cabin.

“Sheriff Sloan is the Enforcer?” Cal asked, still shocked at the suggestion.

The agent nodded. “Don’t worry. Sloan and the rest of these guys will never see the light of day again … unless it’s the inside of a prison yard. But there’s one more guy in this ring we’ve yet to identify who doesn’t appear to be here tonight.”

“What’s his name?”

“His handle in the group is Monster. Ever heard of him?”

“Nope,” Cal said.

He then turned and looked at Kelly, whose tear-stained cheeks had almost dried.

“I told you it would be all right,” Cal said.

“You got lucky,” she said.

“Maybe, but I was still right.”

She forced a smile. “But there’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We still don’t know who killed Susannah Sloan?”

Cal broke into a faint smile. “That’s my girl.”

CHAPTER 39

ON MONDAY, CAL AND KELLY checked out of the Okefenokee Inn. They had a direct flight out of Atlanta to Seattle on Tuesday morning, but Cal wanted to get an early jump and clean up a few loose ends before they returned home. He figured they’d overstayed their welcome in Pickett by a few days at least, long enough to see the long-time sheriff arrested by federal agents and a big drug ring busted. But it still didn’t answer the question Cal and Kelly had traveled to Pickett to get for the long feature on Isaiah Drake: Who killed Susannah Sloan?

Cal and Kelly agreed that their first order of business would be to stop by the Pickett County Sheriff’s Department and see if they could speak with Drake one final time. When they arrived, Drake was in the lobby, signing some paperwork with his lawyer, Robert Sullivan.

“Like that, I’m free?” Drake asked, somewhat bewildered.

Deputy Blake Tillman, who was serving as the acting sheriff, nodded.

“Apparently, there were no witnesses who were willing to testify against you, so I saw to it that you were released without any charges,” Tillman said. “I apologize for the inconvenience and any discomfort this may have caused you.”

Drake turned around to recognize Cal and Kelly. Gone was Drake’s anger they’d witnessed at Sheriff Sloan’s house or the bitterness that consumed him in prison a week ago. And Drake’s drastically different demeanor startled Cal.

“You look … at peace,” Cal said.

Drake nodded. “I am, thanks to you and Kelly and The Innocence Alliance. I feel like I have a legitimate shot to clear my name. I’ll never get my NFL career back, but my name is more important anyway, right?”

Cal and Kelly both nodded.

“I’m glad we could help,” Kelly said.

“What will you do now?” Cal asked.

“I’m going to develop a plan for moving forward and come up with a strategy for winning the next trial.”

“If there is one,” Tillman chimed in.

Drake spun around. “What do you mean?”

“You’re only going to be re-tried if another suspect isn’t found,” Tillman said.

“And is there one?” Cal asked.

Tillman shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, but you never know. Stranger things have happened, so good luck.”

“I’m not going to count on luck,” Drake said. “It played a role in getting me out of prison, but only after twelve years. I’m not too excited about the prospect of relying on it to help me avoid returning there.”

Cal asked Drake a few questions before shaking hands and waving goodbye. Drake grabbed Cal and hugged him, catching him off guard. When he looked into Drake’s watery eyes, Cal realized it was a sincere emotion.

“You helped me get my life back,” Drake said. “Thank you.”

Cal smiled. “It was my pleasure, though I’m not sure I did that much. Just try not to wave any more guns in the faces of any other sheriffs.” He winked at Tillman, who nodded back knowingly.

“I