The Broken Protector Read Online Nicole Snow

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Now we’re parked on a good vantage point at the top of a hill, looking down through the fireflies over the Jacobin farm. The place is nestled in its own little valley, ringed on all sides by trees.

We’re likely not going to be able to back out of this little alcove without making a hell of a racket, but by then it won’t matter.

It’s one o’clock in the damn morning.

So it’s a little fishy that they’re up and working, no matter what kind of early-late hours farmers usually keep.

In the passenger seat, Micah leans forward, folding his arms on the dash and lazily resting his chin on them. The moonlight through the windshield reflects off his white-blond hair, dappled by the shadows of the leaves overhead.

“Now that’s interesting,” he whispers. “What do you think is in those crates?”

I watch as the entire family—a whole tribe, really, some two dozen men—works to fill the backs of several open-top cargo trucks with unmarked crates. The wooden slats are packed so tight I can’t make out a glimpse of what’s inside.

“Could be corn, jared preserves, fresh fruit heading up to market. Any number of other things. Or...”

“Or it could be a big batch of that battery acid they call moonshine,” Micah fills in softly. He’s narrowed in on them with his usual predatory intensity. Sometimes it makes him look more like a battle-hardened sniper than a junior cop. “Maybe even something else. I think we’ve got enough suspicion to land ourselves a search warrant, though.”

My lip curls viciously.

It’s a technicality.

I know it is.

But I’ve seen too many convictions tossed out because someone didn’t do things right.

That’s why we will do this by the book, no matter how much it slows shit down.

I snap a few more photos on my phone, catching the movement below, the unmarked crates, the trucks. My gaze lingers on Culver Jacobin.

In town, he’s always smiling and ambling along, a little too friendly sometimes but harmless, coming off like the town goofball.

Not tonight.

Now, he’s dead serious, grim and focused.

It’s like he’s peeled his mask off, showing something cold and disturbed underneath.

Delilah said she caught him staring in town too many times, and the encounter she described when he came to install her cable box—fuck.

I’d like to find out just how much Culver Jacobin knows about butchering pigs.

“C’mon.” I start the engine. “Let’s head back in.”

The sound of the patrol car echoes over the hills. Everyone down in the valley goes tense, stopping in their tracks.

Neither of us breathe, just waiting.

There’s a flurry of motion, coordinated movements like a flock of crows. It doesn’t take them two minutes to vanish.

Crates flying from hand to hand, disappearing into a massive barn. Doors and windows snap shut.

They’re gone like they were never there.

Just empty trucks with no one behind the wheel and nothing in their beds.

Footsteps in the packed dirt belonging to no one.

“Eerie as hell,” Micah mutters.

“Tell me about it. Let’s get the hell out of here,” I say, backing the patrol car through the trees faster than I should.

I haven’t slept or gone home in at least a day.

By the time Chief Bowden and Captain Faircross call a meeting the next morning, I’ve been staring at crime scene photos till my eyes hurt.

The incident reports with the vandalism and those Xs. The rumors of Roger Strunk around town, someone peering in Delilah’s window, Emma Santos’ body.

It’s all here, but what the hell am I still missing?

I need something to make this all make sense. A motive.

Did it happen because Culver Jacobin is obsessed with Delilah?

I guess he could’ve heard about her before she arrived, done a little Googling, gotten himself all worked up in his crazy-ass mind. Maybe he started scheming in advance, and his plan included kidnapping an Arrendell piece of arm candy and leaving her dead in Delilah’s house to kick things off.

She did say she saw someone running away from the house that first day, after all.

Could’ve been Culver, leaving the body.

He’d fit the description pretty damn well, too.

“Everyone here?” Grant calls.

I lift my head sharply, reaching for my cup of half-cold coffee.

Grant stands in the middle of the room. Even Chief Bowden looks small next to him today, while Micah and Henri drape themselves over chairs nearby. They’ve got the backup from Raleigh out guarding the crime scene.

I don’t notice Grant clearing his throat loudly or looking my way. “And by that, I mean are you fucking awake, Graves?”

“Give me a few more sips, Cap.” I guzzle my coffee, draining half of it in one gulp. “Okay, now talk.”

“The theory we’re working with right now,” Grant says, “is that Culver Jacobin is the most obvious suspect. With how secretive they are, we don’t know who handles the butchering for the Jacobins, but he’d likely have seen how it’s done. Also, he’s shown some interest in the target, so he could have a motive.”


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