Chapter 6 - Noah Disappears AgainJude reached headquarters in nine minutes.
Captain Shaw was not there.
Neither was Noah.
Amara met him in the parking garage.
“I've been calling you.”
“My phone showed nothing.”
She stared.
“That's not good.”
Jude checked.
No missed calls.
No texts.
Somebody had interfered with his device—or account routing.
Exactly why they wanted his phone.
“What happened?”
Amara spoke quickly.
At 7:58 a.m., Shaw arrived.
Presented paperwork stating Tanner Beck was a protected cooperating witness tied to an ongoing federal investigation.
Ordered him moved to an “off-site interview location.”
Two officers complied.
Shaw personally drove Noah out.
“Where?”
“No GPS.”
“Department vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“Tracker?”
“Disabled.”
Jude swore.
Amara lowered her voice.
“I checked the transfer form.”
“And?”
“Federal case number doesn't exist.”
Jude closed his eyes.
There it was.
No ambiguity now.
Shaw had lied inside an official document to remove Noah.
“Where is Shaw?”
“Phone off.”
Jude headed toward the elevator.
Amara grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“His office.”
“Without warrant?”
“He is my captain.”
“That isn't permission to search his desk.”
Jude stopped.
She was right.
That angered him.
“Then get Internal Affairs.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because we don't know who else is compromised.”
Jude thought.
State police.
Federal.
Somebody outside department.
Amara contacted Nevada DPS investigator Celeste Grant, a financial-crimes specialist she trusted.
They met in a coffee shop near the airport.
No uniforms.
No department devices.
Jude laid everything out.
Noah.
Roman.
Blue Yard.
Mara.
Shaw.
Celeste listened without expression.
Then asked,
“What do you want?”
“Find Noah.”
“No. What do you want overall?”
Jude understood.
If he said prove Shaw guilty, he'd become dangerous.
“Truth.”
“Better.”
Celeste opened a laptop.
“We start with vehicle.”
Shaw's department SUV passed a traffic camera heading east on I-80.
Then disappeared.
Possible Fernley.
Blue Yard.
Jude looked at Amara.
“He took Noah there.”
Celeste held up a hand.
“Maybe.”
They requested state units near the property.
No marked approach.
Aerial camera first.
The Blue Yard existed behind an old aggregate plant.
Blue fencing faded almost gray.
Three buildings.
Rows of vehicles covered with tarps.
Shaw's SUV parked outside.
Jude's pulse jumped.
“Move.”
Celeste stopped him.
“We need a team.”
“He has Noah.”
“We don't know that.”
A drone camera zoomed.
Warehouse door open.
One figure.
Peter Voss.
Older.
Gray hair.
Mechanic jacket.
Then another.
Shaw.
And between them—
Noah.
Hands bound.
Jude stood.
“Now.”
State tactical units moved.
By the time they entered the property, Shaw's SUV remained.
Peter Voss's truck remained.
No people.
Rear gate open.
Fresh tracks heading into desert.
Inside the warehouse, they found evidence.
Motorcycles.
VIN plates.
Engines.
Police impound stickers.
Enough to destroy Barrett Recovery and half a dozen careers.
But no Noah.
Jude walked toward a workbench.
A coffee cup still warm.
Rope cut.
Blood? No.
Grease.
Then a note scratched into dust.
R-17
Noah?
Maybe.
Amara saw it.
“Road?”
“Route?”
Celeste photographed.
A state trooper called.
Fresh tire tracks reached Highway 50 Alternate.
Camera at a gas station captured Voss's truck.
Driver:
Peter.
Passenger:
Noah.
Back seat:
Shaw.
No visible restraints from angle.
Strange.
“Why would Noah sit passenger?”
Jude asked.
Celeste zoomed.
Noah held something beneath jacket.
Maybe gun?
Or forced posture.
Then vehicle turned toward Fallon.
R-17.
Celeste searched maps.
Range Road 17.
Old military-adjacent service route.
Another Barrett-connected property?
Roman answered on first ring.
Jude said,
“R-17.”
Silence.
Roman whispered,
“Who told you?”
“Noah.”
“Where?”
“Blue Yard.”
Roman swore.
“What is it?”
“Dad's old salvage strip.”
“Location?”
“Outside Fallon.”
“Why would Shaw take Noah there?”
Roman didn't answer.
“Roman.”
“Because that's where Mara's truck was crushed.”
Jude went cold.
Not just stripped.
Crushed.
Evidence destroyed.
Roman continued.
“I didn't know until later.”
Jude hated that sentence now.
“Who ordered it?”
“Peter Voss.”
“On whose authority?”
“Shaw's code.”
Celeste listened on speaker.
“Anything buried there?”
Roman went silent.
Jude's pulse changed.
“Bodies?”
“I said I don't know.”
“But?”
“There was one night.”
“When?”
“After Noah's warehouse fire.”
“What happened?”
“Peter called. Said he needed the compactor opened after midnight.”
Jude stared.
“What did he bring?”
“I wasn't there.”
“Camera?”
“Shaw ordered system off.”
“What records?”
“None.”
Celeste looked at Jude.
Range Road 17 might contain evidence from Noah's staged death.
Miles Carter.
Maybe Mara.
Maybe more.
They drove.
Forty minutes later, state units approached the salvage property.
Gate open.
Voss's truck inside.
Empty.
Shaw's SUV absent.
Noah absent.
Then a trooper called from behind the crusher.
“Detective Barrett?”
Jude went around.
A shallow storage pit.
Inside, not a body.
A metal drum.
Sealed.
Evidence technicians opened it carefully.
Inside were dozens of license plates.
Police property tags.
Cell phones.
Wallets.
Personal items.
Jude recognized one immediately.
Mara Ellis's silver watch.
He had given it to her for her thirtieth birthday.
Jude stopped breathing.
Noah had been right.
Mara's death was connected.
Then Celeste found a phone at bottom.
Battery dead.
Label taped to back.
JUDE B.
His own name.
The phone was old.
Six years old.
Jude had never seen it.
They powered it in a forensic bag.
One saved audio file.
Noah's voice.
Recorded the night of the warehouse fire.
“Jude, if you ever hear this, Shaw knows.”
Static.
Then:
“Roman is involved, but I don't think he's the one giving orders.”
More static.
“And Mara can't know yet.”
Jude felt sick.
Mara had known later.
The recording continued.
“The person above Shaw—”
Audio cut.
File corrupted.
Celeste looked at Jude.
“Above Shaw?”
Jude stared.
He had spent all morning believing Everett Shaw was the top.
May you like
Noah had known six years ago that he wasn't.
And whoever stood above him had just taken Noah again.
