He slid a loaded magazine into a rifle with a soft click. “Meaning?”
“Meaning someone had to know who I was and where to find me,” she said quietly. “I’ve kept everything locked down. My phone, my accounts, my address. The only people who knew my real identity were the Marshals.”
Jackson looked up, his eyes dark and steady. “You think someone leaked it?”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to believe that, but yeah. It’s possible. Maybe someone sold me out.”
The words hung in the air like a weight. She hadn’t said them out loud before, and hearing them now made the fear inside her sharpen.
Jackson moved to the dresser, still packing. He tossed in a few shirts, a first aid kit, and a small black case she figured held more weapons.
“Tell me about the podcast,” he said. “If it’s connected to this mess, I need to know what you’ve been digging into.”
Avery let out a breath and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s a case I covered a couple of months ago. A botched robbery that doesn’t sit right with me. A young woman named Melissa Johnson. I was deep into the podcast and the investigation when I found some old posts on social media. She knew Mick Barker, Haver Barker’s son.”
“Shit,” Jackson spat out.
Avery had a similar reaction. Actually, a much worse one. “I had no idea of Melissa’s connection to Mick Barker or the Brotherhood when I started the podcast. That info didn’t come to light until I’d already done the first two installments.”
“All right, so a definite possibility for your identity being uncovered.” Jackson zipped up the duffel and stood straighter. “Who else knows about what you’re working on?”
“My boss, Warren Sinclair,” she said without hesitation. “He runs the network that hosts the podcast.”
Jackson studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Does Warren know who you really are?”
“No,” she said quickly. Then, after a second, her stomach turned. “At least, I don’t think he does. I never told him, and I’ve never slipped up. But now I’m not sure who I can trust.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Except you.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he nodded once.
“Then we start there,” he said. “We find out who’s behind this before they find you again.”
Avery watched him cross the room, that same mix of control and danger in every step. Whatever storm was coming, at least she wasn’t facing it alone.
Jackson slung the duffel over his shoulder, then reached for his phone again, checking for a reply from his boss. “I’ve kept tabs on the Brotherhood,” he said finally. “They went quiet after Haver’s conviction, but not for long.”
Avery’s stomach tightened. “You’ve been watching them?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Not officially, but I never stopped looking. They’ve got a new leader now. A guy named Darian Locke. Ex-con. Runs a security business as a front, but he’s really just another thug with Haver Barker’s playbook.”
Avery felt a shiver crawl up her spine. “I’ve heard of him. But from what I’ve seen, he’s not the one really in charge.”
Jackson looked at her sharply. “Charlotte Barker.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Haver’s wife. She’s running things now, pretending it’s Locke, but everyone in River Ridge knows better. She’s the one pulling the strings, and I’d bet money she’s still taking orders straight from her husband in prison.”
He didn’t argue, and that silence said enough.
“I’ve obviously kept tabs on them too,” Avery said quietly. “I read everything I could find, watched what little surfacedonline. The Brotherhood’s smaller now, but what’s left of them is meaner. More careful. They hate me for what I did. For putting him away.”
Jackson set the bag on the floor and looked at her. “They want you dead.”
Her chest tightened, and she nodded. “Yeah. Every last one of them.”
The air between them felt heavy, charged with old memories and fresh danger. Avery could see it in Jackson’s eyes—the shift from thought to action, from concern to resolve. He wasn’t just going to hide her. He was already planning how to fight back.
Jackson zipped the duffel and slung it over his shoulder again. “That’s everything,” he said. “Let’s move.”
