I was typing up notes from my conversations when Annie called me back.

“I have some info for you,” she said.

“Hit me.”

“I couldn’t get names for the results, or even all of the results—I don’t have those kinds of favors to call in—but I was able to confirm that in the last three weeks, several people in Branson have had blood work done where THC was found in their systems.”

I knew it! “How many is several?”

“I don’t have exact numbers, but more than twenty.”

Surprise crossed my face as I scribbled down notes. “That’s a lot.” And those were just the people who sought out medical help. That would be good information to use in the story, though I’d have to cite Annie as a secret informant. I didn’t want her to get in trouble for helping me.

“I also have another interesting bit of info.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

“The ER has been overrun with sick people, and it started about three weeks ago. The EMT shifts too. The hospital has called extra staff in, and all of the employees are working overtime.” I remembered Bobby had said the same thing about the emergency responders. “Everyone seems to have similar symptoms: sweating, increased heart rate, vomiting, fatigue, hallucinations. Those symptoms can be indicative of a lot of problems, but specifically heart attacks, food poisoning, and the flu. We’ve been seeing the same symptoms on a lot of our EMT calls as well.”

Based on the research I’d done this morning, they were all also symptoms of ingesting too much pot. People in Branson really liked their cookies. “That is very interesting. I can’t thank you enough, Annie. That helps me out a lot.”

“No problem. Anything else I can do?”

“Not right now, but I might have some questions later. And I owe you dinner for your help.”

She snorted. “I think you just asked me out on a date.”

“I did. Wait until the Ladies hear about that. Prepare yourself, because you’re about to become a lesbian.”

“You’d be my first choice if I switched teams.”

I smiled. “I’m flattered.”

She laughed. “Call me if you need an orgasm.”

I was still laughing as I clicked off.

At this point, I was one-hundred percent certain the cookies were spiked with pot. I didn’t have the final test from Hawke yet, but I was excited about what I knew so far, and I wanted to be able to run with the story as soon as possible. A current of energy ran through me; it was almost as good as mainlining espresso. I loved the feeling of an investigation finally falling into place, and getting to write the story about it.

I got out my notes, and wrote the article as if I had the test results, and would just need to make a few changes when Hawke gave me the information. I cited anonymous sources in the article to protect my sources, and left another message at Makhai, LLC. Our private investigator had given me Isaac Handler’s phone number, and I tried to reach him as well, but only got a voice mail. They really needed to hire someone to answer their phones, or at least to return calls. I left a message, and hoped Isaac Handler would call me back before news about the pot was revealed and his cookie company became enemy number one.

I spent the rest of the day writing and re-writing the story. I finished the article and leaned back in my chair, stretching. It would need Spence’s editing eye, and I’d have to make changes once I had Hawke’s results, but I was happy with it. I still didn’t know why the cookies had been spiked with drugs, or how, but I’d write follow-up stories once I knew more. Right now, the public needed to know what was going on. I had no problem with pot, or food infused with pot, but I knew a lot of people in Branson would, and would prefer to know if they were ingesting it. Plus, there were people like Opie who could have serious health repercussions from eating pot. They needed to know the ingredients as soon as possible so they could regulate the amounts. Also, getting the cookies off shelves would probably help decrease the crazy going on around town.

I was packing up my stuff to leave for the night when I heard my computer bing with an email notification. I glanced at it as I put my notepad and camera in my bag. The address wasn’t one I recognized, but a lot of news tip emails came to the Tribune accounts from addresses I didn’t know. So while most people would have ignored messages from strange addresses and sent them to their junk folder, I actually had to open mine. The subject line made me think it was spam. It said:

 

WARNING.

 

I pushed my brows together and clicked to open the email. It was short, only a few lines. It said:

 

Stop investigating Saints and Sinners Cookies. The next warning won’t be as friendly.

 

My lips flattened into a line as I glared at the screen. A surefire way to make a reporter investigate a story with reckless abandon was to tell them they had to stop. We all harbored visions of cracking a huge story and winning a Pulitzer. I’d been threatened before—this wouldn’t be my first threat situation, or my last. Still, the email didn’t make me thrilled. I thought back to the people I’d talked to about the cookies and THC so far. All of the baked goods fair judges, Annie, Hawke, Spence, my dad…and they could have slipped and mentioned it to anyone. That didn’t help me narrow down the threat.

Whoever was sending the message was keeping track of my investigation, and knew exactly what I was doing. I decided I should probably tell Spence.

I called him over and explained the situation. He leaned his hands on my desk and read the email. Judging by the vein pulsing in his neck, and the tight muscles in his forearms, he wasn’t pleased. “Are you still taking self-defense lessons?” he asked.

I’d had a rather memorable self-defense lesson with Hawke this past summer, but I was pretty sure the moves he taught me would be more beneficial in a someone-wants-to-kiss-my-clothes-off setting, and wouldn’t help me out much in a someone-wants-to-kill-me situation. Though I wasn’t averse to learning any of Hawke’s skills. Not at all. “I remember the basics.”

“And you still have the alarm on your house?”

“The one that Drake threatened to install without my permission?”

He nodded.

“No. I made the installer stop, then had an argument with Drake about it.” I didn’t like being managed. However, having people constantly going into my house without my knowledge made me regret my decision. I should probably call an alarm company and have them install one for me.

“I don’t like this, Kate. I don’t want any of my employees in danger, and since you came back to Branson, you’ve already been in danger once. It’s happening again.”

I shrugged as I picked up the slinky on my desk and started moving it from one hand to the other. “And it will probably continue to happen. I tend to piss people off. If you didn’t want me in danger, then you probably should have hired another editor, because there aren’t many things I’m afraid of.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be okay.”

He breathed out a sigh. “Just be careful,” he said, “and if anything ever seems fishy, call me—or someone—to come and be your backup.”

I nodded. That, at least, was something I could agree to.

“Hey,” I said, changing the subject from my possible impending death. I liked living in denial. “Where’s Ella lately?” I hadn’t seen her for a couple of days, and hadn’t had any Facebook updates either. She only worked a few days a week, but she was often in the office a lot more than that because she liked the company.

“She’s been sick. She said she’s feeling better now, though, and she’ll probably come in tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I frowned, wondering if she was okay. I didn’t like the idea of our cute archivist being sick. “I didn’t know. I’m glad she’s feeling better.”

“Me too. Ella sick, you being threatened, the whole town on drugs. It’s enough to give me an ulcer.”

“At least your life isn’t boring.”

“Is that the rationale you use for dealing with your mom?”

I gave a surprised look. “How did you know?”

“It rolled off your tongue like you’d said it before—frequently.”

I laughed, and went home for the night.

 

 

I looked through my fridge and cupboards for food. I barely even had pantry staples. It wasn’t just because of money—though that was definitely a factor. Small town newspaper editors make less than teachers. My lack of groceries was also because I could rarely find time to go to the grocery store. It seemed like I was always being called away on stories and would have to abandon my milk and ice cream. And the stupid store wasn’t open on Sunday, the one day of the week I usually had more free time because people were in church and didn’t cause as much news. I scrounged together some bread, butter, and cheese, and made myself a grilled cheese sandwich. Dinner of champions.

I sat down to watch TV when I heard a knock. I opened my door and my lips lifted at the familiar, sculpted jawline and smile that stared back at me.

“Can I come in?” Hawke asked.

He was not someone I’d turn away. “Always.”

He smiled, and stepped through the door. He settled on the couch, then patted the cushion next to him. “I have some information for you.”

I sat where he’d patted. He handed me a folder with lab test results. Geez, he was efficient! “How did you get this so fast?”

He smiled. “You said you wanted it right away, and I know people.”

“Who own drug testing labs?”

“It’s useful in my business.”

I lifted a brow, wondering what other totally insane professional services he found useful in his job.

“When Colorado legalized marijuana, they created a food safety system to regulate food products infused with THC,” he explained. “Colorado can actually trace pot sold in the state back to the bud.”

“So people can’t just go and buy the legal pot, put it in their brownies, and eat up?” I asked. That’s how I’d always thought it worked.

“They can, but just like the FDA regulates foods to make sure they’re safe, Colorado is attempting to regulate food being sold with pot in it from actual edible pot distributors like pot bakeries. They’re doing an extremely thorough job so far. They could track an outbreak of salmonella in a batch of pot brownies better than the FDA can track disease outbreaks in food from grocery stores.”

I raised a brow. “I had no idea it was that controlled.”

“Not everywhere, but as marijuana is being legalized in more and more states, Colorado is setting a good example for the rest of the nation to follow.”

I flipped through the pages of test results. “So you used one of Colorado’s labs to get the Saints and Sinners Cookies tested?”

“Yes. I overnighted a sample. The lab I use is fast, and excellent. I like to work with the best.”

“Me too. That’s why I asked you.”

He grinned.

“What did they find?” I asked, trying to decipher the results and having little success.

Hawke took the folder and pointed to some numbers. “The cookies had a very high concentration of THC. Three times what would normally be used for making baked goods.”

My eyes widened. “Three times? So someone had no clue what they were doing?”

“Maybe,” Hawke said, pausing. “Or it could be they knew exactly what they were doing.”

I pushed my brows together, confused.

Hawke saw the look and went into more detail. “Consuming edible marijuana can have different effects than smoking it. It’s important for a person to know their proper dose going in. Otherwise, it can make people sick. People who eat too much have a substantially increased heart rate, they sweat profusely, are often fatigued, and they can even vomit.”

I nodded. I’d read about that while doing my research. “Those are the some of the same symptoms people have been complaining about at the hospital during the last few weeks.”

Hawke thought about it for a second. “Makes sense. The more potent the strength of the marijuana plant used, the bigger the high. And if you ate too much of it, there’s a good chance you’d think you were dying.”

I shook my head, still not understanding. I’d had one experience with marijuana—well, now two—and had decided I never wanted another. “I can’t imagine someone wanting to feel that way on purpose. So it seems like it would have to be someone who had no clue what they were doing or how to mix pot with food, don’t you think?”

“That’s one option, but infusing food with THC is a lot harder than it seems.”

I snorted. “How hard can it be? You buy some pot, dump it in your cookie batter. Poof! You get a sugar and pot high.”

Hawke shook his head. “That’s what most people think, but the high is more potent—and less noticeable in the food—if the weed is prepared properly.”

I lifted a brow, totally amused. “You’re teasing me.”

His lips lifted in a seductive smile. “If I was teasing you, it wouldn’t be with words.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “Okay, then,” I said, changing the subject, “tell me about the preparation.”

“If weed is prepped correctly before being added to food, the body can absorb the THC into the blood stream faster. If you just throw a bunch of pot in a recipe, it will look like your food has some weird spice in it, you’ll end up eating stems and leaves, and the experience will be unpleasant. There’s also some debate about how high you can actually get by mixing a bag of pot into a bowl of food, so there’s a chance you’ll waste a lot of pot.”

My lips lifted in amusement as I nodded. “I bet that mistake has disappointed a lot of people.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“So, how do you prepare it?”

“There are two ways commonly used. The first, and less popular way, is to make cannabis flour. The stems and leaves are removed, and the remaining powder is ground to a flour-like consistency before being added to recipes. THC is fat soluble, not water soluble, so it’s important to use a recipe that has a fat, like oil or butter. The other, more popular preparation method is to make cannabis butter. You put the pot and butter in a sauce pan, and heat it on low for almost an hour, then strain the pot out, leaving only the bud butter.”

“Bud butter,” I started to giggle.

Hawke smiled. “That’s really what it’s called,” he said. “The heating process infuses the butter with THC. You put it back in your fridge and then use it in your cooking just like you’d use normal butter.”

“How did you become a pot preparation expert?”

He gave me a side-long look. “I have an eclectic line of work.”

That he did. “Seriously, though” I said, totally surprised. “I thought I had a pretty liberal college experience, but I had no idea pot needed special preparation to be used in food.”

Hawke stretched out his legs under my coffee table, and crossed his feet over each other. “Most people don’t, which is why I’d be surprised if the Saints and Sinners Cookies are an amateur organization. They’re producing too fast, and too well, for this to be some college kids in their frat house kitchen.”

“Plus, they’re making mass quantities of it,” I said, “which means they have to be getting their supply from somewhere.”

“Or growing their own,” Hawke suggested.

I nodded, thinking.

Hawke got up. “I need to check some things out, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Until I figure out where your email threat came from, you need to be careful, and I’m not comfortable leaving you alone all night.”

I gave him a strange look. “How did you know about that?”

“Because I know everything, Kitty Kate.”

I didn’t even try to argue. I nodded, and watched him lock the door and leave, silently wondering how much he knew about what had happened between me and Drake. I hoped it wasn’t much.

I opened my laptop and added Hawke’s lab test information to my article before sending it to Spence. He edited it and sent me back changes with a note that he was rearranging the paper layout to get the story in this week. It was a fast turnaround. Our deadline was tomorrow, but I already had most of the article written before I’d talked to Hawke. After a few hasty emails back and forth, and some phone calls, it was all settled. The pot cookies would be revealed to Branson residents tomorrow night. I sprawled out on the couch and fell fast asleep.

 

 

I woke up in my bed, and couldn’t remember how I got there. Which wasn’t comforting considering the last time that had happened, I thought sexy times had gone down and couldn’t remember who they’d gone down with. This time, however, I’d had no cookies or baked goods, and was pretty sure I hadn’t been drugged. I’d just been really tired.

I threw my robe on and shuffled down the hallway, bleary-eyed. I needed coffee to remedy this situation, immediately. I sniffed and every one of my senses perked up. It smelled like coffee was already brewing! Holy snipes! I had a coffee fairy!

I moved a little faster to the kitchen—I didn’t want to miss the magical coffee making being—and found Hawke, dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt, different clothes than he’d been wearing last night, sitting at my kitchen table. So, it wasn’t a coffee fairy, but it was just as good. He was eating an apple—one he must have brought from home because the produce I owned was currently colonizing something in my refrigerator’s crisper—some toast, and drinking coffee out of my favorite blue mug with a flower on it that I’d painted at a ceramics class.

“Morning, Kitty Kate,” he said with a smile.

He licked some butter off his lips, leaving them wet and shiny. I had a hard time convincing myself to look away. Breakfast had never looked so delicious. His lips slid up in a confident grin like he knew exactly what I’d been thinking, and his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Morning, yourself.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, and some cereal. “Interesting mug choice.” I nodded toward the flower mug.

“I think it’s cute.”

“It was a failed attempt at arts and crafts.”

He looked at the design I’d attempted to freehand. “I like it.”

“I like it too because its ginormous and I can drink an entire barrel of coffee from it.” I sat down at the table and mixed creamer and milk into my much smaller mug. Hawke seemed to be drinking his black—like a boss. “I sent the cookie article to Spence. It’s coming out tonight.”

Hawke looked at me over his coffee mug. “It will be interesting to see what everyone’s reaction is.”

I nodded as I swallowed a sip of my steaming caramel and cream flavored drink. “I don’t think it will be pleasant.”

He made a mmm sound in agreement.

“Where did you sleep?” I asked.

“I took you to your room, and then I slept on the couch.”

“Well,” I took another sip of my delicious coffee, “that’s disappointing.”

“I agree. But you were so out of it that I figured not even Chris Hemsworth could wake you.”

Since Hawke looked quite a bit like Chris Hemsworth himself, I begged to differ on that point. “Lost opportunities,” I said over the rim of my cup.

“I’m keeping a tab.”

Now it was my turn to look amused. “Where did you go last night?” I asked, changing the subject.

“To see if I could figure out who was sending your emails.”

“How did you know about that?”

He cocked a brow. “I think we had this discussion already.”

“We did, but you didn’t answer. Are you spying on me or something?”

“I don’t have to. The whole town is doing it for me.”

I frowned and he laughed.

“Well, did you find out anything about the emails?”

“Not yet.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’m working today, so I’ll be at work or in public.”

“Try not to go anywhere alone. And if you think you might be in danger, call me immediately.”

I nodded. “I’ll do that.”

My phone buzzed with a text from Ella.

Facebook update about a motorcycle in your driveway. Amber suggested it belongs to the devil. Jackie thinks you’re trying to set a record for doing it with a whole motorcycle gang at once.

I sighed, and closed my eyes.

“What is it?” Hawke asked.

“The Ladies. They’re stalking me and posting information in a Facebook group. Maybe you should start parking in the garage when you come over so they can’t see your bike or car.”

He winged a brow. “Garage space? That’s a serious commitment.”

“So is staying off the Ladies’ radar.”

“That’s never going to happen, Kitty Kate. Even if you died, they’d probably have someone watching for your ghost.”

“Thanks a lot.”

He grinned.

“They’re stalking me!” I said, exasperated. “And making it easy for other stalkers! I tried to access the group but I have to be invited, so I can’t. It’s private, and no one will let me in. Ella’s keeping me informed, though. She’s the only friend I have there.”

Hawke’s lips slid into the slow, secret smile I loved so much. “Not the only one.”

My eyes went wide. “Ella said none of my friends have been approved to join.”

“They haven’t.”

“Then how did you get in?” If he had access to the group, he definitely knew about me spending time with Drake. I guess it said something about his confidence that he hadn’t quizzed me on it. Or maybe he just trusted me. I immediately felt guilty over the cookie blackout…and my conflicted feelings for Drake.

He shook his head. “Nothing is private anymore, Kate. I have my ways.” He got up and put his dishes in the sink, then threw his apple core away. “I’ll check in with you tonight.”

“Sounds promising.”

He grinned. “Maybe we’ll start taking advantage of some of those lost opportunities.”

I smiled back and locked the door behind him, then went to my room to get ready for work.