Page 59 of Montana Justice

“What about Deputy Brooks?” I asked, though the question tasted bitter. Brooks had been with the department for twelve years. I’d stood up in his wedding, been to his kids’ birthday parties.

“Ugly divorce,” Travis continued, new data filling the screen. Financial records, court documents, lawyer bills. “Wife is asking for full custody of their two kids, the house, alimony. His lawyer’s fees alone are pushing twenty thousand, and that’s before the settlement. She’s got a shark representing her—Morris from Billings.”

“Fucking Morris,” Beckett muttered. “That guy could get blood from a stone.”

“Brooks just took out a second mortgage,” Travis added. “Completely legal, but it shows he’s scrambling for funds. Also maxed out a new credit card in the last month. He’s drowning.”

Aiden leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Financial pressure’s usually the first crack. That’s how they turn good cops—find the one who’s drowning and throw them what looks like a lifeline. A few thousand here and there, nothing major at first. By the time they realize it’s a noose, they’re in too deep to get out.”

I made notes on the pad in front of me, hating every word I wrote. “What about the civilian staff?”

“Your dispatcher, Margaret Thompson, has some medical debt from her husband’s cancer treatment. About thirty thousand outstanding. But she’s on a payment plan with the hospital, never missed an installment. No unusual deposits to any of her accounts.”

“Jenny?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. Jenny had been running the sheriff’s office since before I was hired as a deputy fifteen years ago.

“Clean as they come. Same with your evidence tech, Phillips. Your janitor, Ellington, has a son with special needs—lots ofmedical expenses there, but again, nothing suspicious in the financials. He actually volunteers at the special needs school on weekends.”

“So, we’ve got two possibles,” Hunter summarized. “Carlson with the gambling, Brooks with the divorce. But nothing solid enough to move on.”

“Keep digging,” I said. “Focus on those two, but don’t get tunnel vision. Could be someone’s being smarter about it—cash only, burner phones, dead drops. The kind of stuff that doesn’t leave digital footprints.”

Travis nodded on-screen, pushing his hair out of his eyes, only for it to fall right back. “I’ve got automated searches running for any anomalies. If someone suddenly starts living above their means or their digital pattern changes significantly, I’ll know. Also monitoring their personal communications, but again, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“The illegal surveillance we’re definitely not doing,” Hunter said dryly. “Got it.”

“Good.” I turned to Hunter. “What about next week’s warehouse?”

Hunter pulled up aerial photos on another screen, the image sharp enough to show individual vehicles in the parking lot. “Our contact in Billings came through. Tuesday night, multiple trucks scheduled to arrive between midnight and four a.m. at this location.” He used a laser pointer to indicate a nondescript building on the outskirts of town. “Used to be a furniture warehouse, been empty for two years according to county records. Perfect for temporary storage—highway access, no neighbors, multiple exit routes.”

“What’s supposedly in the shipment?” I asked.

“Good old standards: weapons and fentanyl,” Hunter said. “According to our sources, we’re talking serious hardware. M4 rifles, possibly some M249 SAWs, maybe even some AT4 rocketlaunchers. Military-grade stuff that’s been going missing from various armories over the past year.”

“Jesus,” Beckett breathed. “And the fentanyl?”

Hunter shook his head. “If our sources are right…a shit-ton.”

“Christ.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “The weapons are bad enough, but fentanyl is a fucking plague.”

“DEA’s on board?” Beckett asked.

“Will be here Monday to coordinate,” Hunter confirmed. “They’re bringing a six-person tactical team. Combined with Warrior Security and your deputies—the ones we can trust—we should have enough firepower.”

“We keep this tight,” I said. “No one outside this room knows the target. Not even the DEA knows the specific warehouse yet. We keep this on a strict need-to-know.”

“Fuck yeah, we do,” Beckett muttered.

“Good.” I looked around the table at men I’d trust with my life. Each one had bled for this town, for the people under our protection. “When we meet back here after dinner, I want to go through it all again, step by step. We need contingency plans. What happens if it’s an ambush. What happens if they try to run. What happens if they have a hostage. Every scenario we can think of.”

“Already working on it,” Coop said. “I’ve got overwatch positions mapped out, approach routes planned.”

Hunter’s phone buzzed, and he spun it around toward us. “We’re getting called for dinner. Evidently, kids are threatening to eat without us.”

“We’ll reconvene after we eat,” I said. “I want all our ducks in a row for this raid. No mistakes this time.”

As we filed out of the conference room, Travis’s face still glowed from the screen. “I’ll keep digging,” he said. “If there’s dirt to find, I’ll find it.”

“Thanks, Travis,” I said.

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