The set-up wasn’t ideal, but it was better. Much better. If Kay could get Guillermo to quit gawking at Seraphina, they might actually achieve something today. Jasper glowering from his stool in the corner didn’t help, but was at least amusing. All he needed was one of those pointy dunce caps to round out the image.
Merit had been poised to rain hellfire first thing that morning. But Mr. Arnell stepped in and saved Kay’s ass at the last second, vouching for her assessment of Jasper and even offering a solution guaranteed to make everyone uncomfortable.
Seraphina was brought in, and Jasper was told to sit in on the ensuing meeting. He was banned from participating creatively in any way. His job was to take notes. Not on their designs, but on how a high-functioning team operated and achieved fantastic results when everyone committed to being a team player. If the lesson didn’t soak in by time the next project hit the drawing board, Jasper could very well be looking at getting the can.
Kay’s esteem for Easton rose a thousand degrees, even if his solution meant Jasper sat glaring for the next couple of weeks. If he learned something, it’d be worth the awkward discomfort they would all suffer.
Seraphina hadn’t hesitated to take on the project when Kay called Saturday morning. She’d given her the basic dimensions they were working with, and Seraphina, like the beast she was, arrived with a rough draft. Super rough. Pencil scratches. A sketch of nothing but the bones, but they were damn good bones.
Kay tapped an odd corner of the floor plan, where a good five inches of wall was recessed from floor to ceiling. “What’s this? Do we have wires we can wall up right here, get rid of the funky space?”
Guillermo sighed like a lovelorn puppy when Seraphina grinned. Kay had to admit it lit up her serious face prettily. “Actually, that’s intentional. You said we’re going for a woodsy forest vibe, and I had this idea about string lights. A whimsical touch, but also essential lighting. I got the idea from one of the resorts at Waikiki. They have this gorgeous courtyard, with big round kind of old school lightbulbs hanging from the trees. You know the clear ones, where you can see the yellowish filament inside?”
Amos snapped his finger and gave Seraphina an exaggerated head-to-toe appraisal. “Now that is style, y’all. I got ideas poppin’ left and right. Now, we talking about fairies here? How whimsical is whimsical?”
“Not fairies,” Kay interjected with a quick headshake and a soft laugh. They really didn’t have time to go down any more wrong roads. “The whimsy will come from the flowers and plants we choose. No tropical stuff, no ferns. No rainforest vibe. Okay, think the setting of Bambi. Or, uh, Snow White. It’s a tightrope between invoking a sincere woodland feel, keeping the elements in tune with the theme, and at the same time not taking them to extremes.”
Seraphina tapped the plans and looked at each of them in turn. “Kay’s right. This is a touchy theme. It could go from magical to tacky with one wrong detail.”
“Yeah, like a school play production, with paper leaves and cut-out butterflies.”
Guillermo nodded. “I did the butterfly once. The wings, the...uh...come se dice papel mache?”
“Paper...mâché?” Kay ventured.
“Ah, sí. Paper mâché.” He flapped his arms like chicken wings. “I almost die from embarrassing.”
Jasper snorted in the corner. Kay took her time swiveling her head to face him. He had the good grace to look away, any trace of amusement wiped clean from his face.
Amos stroked his chin thoughtfully, smoothing down the wiry black curls of the goatee he was growing. “Yeah, okay. I have some stuff, but see there?” He pointed to the blank white board behind Kay. “Wiped the color board clean. I need a starting point. I can give you a mess of color, but you gonna be wanting to rule some out. Save me time knowing what we’re working with going in.”
“You’re right.” Kay bit back a long, tired sigh. A color. She needed a simple color. Choose the wrong one, they’d be set back weeks if she changed her mind later. New color board, new flower choices. Damn near back to square one.
“Purple.”
Kay turned around. Oliver stood in the doorway of her office, relaxed and smiling. How could he be so calm when the sight of him sent her heart thundering in her chest? Her cheeks flamed. Everybody at the drafting table would probably take one look at her face and know...something. That she liked Oliver. That she’d fed him stale cookies and they’d fooled around on her old couch.
Oliver took in her face with a slight smile and shrugged as if telling her to relax.
She took a deep breath and tried to sound like her usual brisk self. “What?”
“Purple,” he repeated, striding closer to the drafting table in his slow careless way, bringing unseemly thoughts to her mind that had no place here at work. “Not soft like lavender. Deep, rich purple. Like the sky just before total dark.”
The words did something funny to Kay’s stomach. She couldn’t name the sensation, but she knew she’d spoken true Friday night—she’d never be able to handle a fling with Oliver. Not when he had the power to make her skin tingle just by remembering her favorite color. And bringing to mind images of naked bodies and sweat, just by the way he walked toward her with slow purpose. She’d leap in headfirst or hightail it from the bank, but there would never be any in-between or gray area with him. Now all she had to do was pray he didn’t ask how she really felt about him, because she was determined to keep her word on their pact to tell no lies. And she’d stumbled onto a truth she didn’t know what to do with, let alone how to voice.
Guillermo made an appreciative hum in his throat. “This guy, he knows. Tha’s good idea, no? Come, that’s good idea! Anything sounds like a poem, must be good idea. I think we go with t’at.”
Amos nodded his agreement. “I can run laps around purple. Just say go, little mama. I mean, ma’am. Sorry, got them creative juices taking over my brain. What do you want? Shades of purple, or contrast?”
Kay made herself stop and think. Deep purple. With white. Paint? No. No paint. Something to reflect the light from the hanging bulbs. Glass tiles. Purple, white, and lavender. Small, like pebbles, but uniformed. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Shades for design.” She pointed at Seraphina, then at Amos. “Contrast for foliage. We can work with that, right?”
“Totally.” Seraphina’s eyebrows were raised appreciatively as she studied Oliver. “That’s your assistant? He’s a keeper, Kay.” Then it was back to business, in her typical way. “Now, the centerpiece you mentioned?”
Thanks, Kay mouthed to Oliver before turning her attention back to the drafting table. “Yes, about that. From old files, I know we just love our fountains here at Free Leaf Concepts, but I want to try something new.” She made a point to avoid looking at Jasper. “When I went to Capital Acres, I met with Tallulah and had her show me some of the trees that are known to grow well indoors. There’s always the option to put a skylight overhead, but that’s going to kill some of the intimacy we’ll get from the hanging bulbs.” Kay opened a drawer beneath the drafting table and pulled out the renderings she’d sketched last week. She slapped them onto the table and waited while her three team members shuffled and sorted through them. “So? What do you guys think?”
Amos blasted Kay with a grin and a keen stare. “Tallulah. She told me she was working on something special. I’d say this is qualifies. A decent choice.”
“A smart choice,” Kay added, unable to stop a satisfied smile stealing over her lips. “For a hearty indoor tree, my options were pretty limited. A ficus is what I had in mind, and Tallulah recommended a fiddle-leaf fig, which is in the same family. She showed me this, one of her pet projects. She figured eventually someone would have need of a tree with pink borders on the leaves. You should see it in person. Makes the green just pop. Best of all, it’s ready for transplant.”
Seraphina’s blue eyes were alight when she smiled up at Kay. “Stunning. And no one has ever seen anything like it.”
Amos grudgingly nodded his appreciation. “Ficus trees tend to shed and they can be annoying and take significant upkeep. A fiddle-leaf fig requires less maintenance, and I have to say, the leaf structure and color are ideal for our theme. You nailed it, Kay.”
Kay smiled at her team. “We’ve got our launching pad, guys. Now, we just have to make Sweetclover soar. Guillermo and Seraphina, let’s get some real measurements on these rough sketches. Sera, feel free to find a few more crannies where we can string lights without the bulbs sticking out. Utilize corners as best you can. Guillermo, focus on operations of the spa. Labeled spaces for specific areas, and see about a source for the bulbs we want. If we have to alter the lighting, the whole design could change. Amos, can you hang back for a sec?”
When they were alone, Kay came closer and lowered her voice. “So, did you find out anything when you visited the greenhouses? About the plant I couldn’t identify.”
“Glad you asked. I went, and I asked about pink carpet. It’s in Greenhouse Eight, by the by, you ever wanna check for yourself again, but they wasn’t nothing else growing in there with it. Maybe they moved the flowers you wanted to know about, but you have to ask Pattie. Rowan didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.”
Interesting. “Amos, can I ask...um, well, I noticed you kind of looked at me funny when I mentioned the fittonia and the pink carpet, and asked about the mystery plant. I’d give you a dollar to hear what was running through your head.”
If he were involved in Free Leaf’s shadier activities, she wouldn’t get much out of the question. He might even deny the strange look he’d given her. Either way, his answer might provide an important clue.
Amos nodded as if to himself. “Now, it ain’t my business to say what qualifications a, uh, person like yourself should have. But it seems to me like someone in your position ought to know when they askin’ about some psychedelics.”
Kay blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“Pink carpet and fittonia. They both psychedelic plants. My guess, they growing all together for a reason. For safety. Say we were landscaping a day care. You’d be wanting to avoid anything poisonous, right? Same for them other plants. Don’t want no little kids tripping balls while Mommy’s at work. We’d get sued real quick. Knowing what’s toxic to animals is important, too.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward Kay. “Look, I ain’t saying we ain’t all got some gaps in our knowledge. But you might wanna read up on that stuff.” He bobbed his head once, smiled, and dashed away.
Kay tucked away the information for later. She had a feeling it would mean more to Oliver, but the significance of the greenhouse in question wasn’t lost on her. Someone had sent Amos to the wrong one.
* * * *
Playing with fire. It was one of Oliver’s newly acquired hobbies, apparently.
For starters, there was Kay. She was bright, hot fire, and he was all but begging to handle the coals. He wasn’t ready to face the reason behind his strong desire, but his mind kept wandering back to Finn Welk.
Kay had made a villain of herself to save Finn from having to face the fact she wasn’t really in love with him. She basically took their engagement outside and shot it, rather than let the dying thing linger and suffer and make everyone miserable and unhappy. Oliver understood what she’d done, but he didn’t want it for himself. It was Kay’s idea to be truthful with one another, but would their truce override her instinct to protect his feelings if she decided she didn’t want to get involved with a beat cop gone rogue?
She didn’t have the whole story yet, but by this afternoon, she’d have more than she wanted. Oliver wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, glanced up and down the hall, and tried to focus on the lock pick. He didn’t know if the pressure was an effect of trying to break into Merit’s office in the middle of the day—more tempting the flames—or because he could hear Cap’s voice in his head, spilling the last of his secrets.
A snick whispered into the coldly quiet hall, and Oliver’s breath caught as the handle turned silently in his hand.
Merit’s swift and sudden departure thirty minutes ago, resulting in a bulletin from Brit that she’d be gone from the office for a few hours, meant Oliver had a tiny window, and Cappy Don simply hadn’t given him the right incentive to avoid taking chances. Not when Oliver’s last unplanned foray had proved relatively fruitful.
No client meetings were scheduled, so Mr. Arnell would be shut up nice and tight in his office until lunch. Oliver only had to worry about bumping into Brendan, and right about now, he wouldn’t mind a chat with the guy.
He stepped inside Merit’s office. With the door closed, he didn’t waste any time. Panel to panel, Oliver pushed, pulled, and tried to pry panels from the wall. Twenty minutes later, huffing and frustrated to the point of anger, he dropped into Merit’s chair and made himself think.
Math wasn’t Oliver’s favorite subject, but he was pretty damn spiffy with numbers, and shit wasn’t adding up. A room existed somewhere on this floor. He had the plans in his apartment; he knew it existed. Maybe he could ask Brendan. But what if he wasn’t actually playing for their team? A mole’s mole.
He leaped from Merit’s chair and slipped outside, while trying to smother his internal caution lights. They were flashing yellow, but Oliver was already here. Snooping through Brendan’s small work area—a hobbit-sized room hardly bigger than Oliver’s own office—was half as risky as going through Merit’s.
So long as Brendan wasn’t in it. Oliver crept down the corridor, past the conference rooms, and stopped just outside Brendan’s door, next to the stairwell. He tapped lightly. No one answered. Oliver tried the knob, which turned smoothly, and he let himself inside.
Oliver grimaced as he took in the small square room. Bigger than his office, but the difference was in inches. The room felt smaller, though, because Brendan was a slob. The waste bin overflowed onto the floor, a stack of magazines had toppled and spread like a smear across the carpet along one wall. Oliver groaned as he took in the desk, jumbled with crap and piled high with junk food wrappers. He was about to leave, already shaking his head in disgust, when it hit him.
He surveyed the room again. A crumpled ball of paper was on the keyboard. A magazine was on the floor just behind the wheels of the rolling chair. Discarded chip bags and soda cans littered the desktop over manila file folders.
These weren’t random pieces of trash; they were booby traps. To open the drawers, read the files, log on to the computer, or to even sit in the chair would disturb an article, and give away that the office had been searched. That alone was evidence as far as Oliver was concerned. He grinned to himself and turned to leave. He’d come back another time, prepared. He’d take notes on positions of everything, and painstakingly return each item after a detailed search.
He pulled the door open, almost stepped out, and froze at the sound of voices in the stairwell. The door leading out to the stairwell swung open, and Merit burst through seconds before Oliver swung Brendan’s door almost closed—he left a crack and pressed his ear against it.
“Easton, please, don’t be paranoid,” she whispered urgently. “I checked with Brit, the floor is empty.”
Easton cleared his throat nervously. “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have gone out.”
“You’re right,” Merit agreed. She was exasperated. “I don’t know what you were thinking. It’s so important that you stick with your routine, Easton. Noon to two. The rest of the time, you need to be here. We need you here.”
Easton’s breathing seemed labored. Oliver strained to hear him as the two headed away, down the hall toward the conference rooms. “I know. I know that. I just feel so out of the loop. I want to engage. I want to be involved.”
Oliver had no problem catching Merit’s placating voice. “I know you do. I know. But you have to have faith in the system we’ve established. You have to trust me. I’ll handle it. Just leave everything to me, Easton.”
They moved too far for Oliver to catch Easton’s reply. He leaned against the door and scratched his head. He didn’t know what to make of the conversation.
Objectively, without context, the exchange could be perfectly innocuous. But Oliver had plenty of context, and nothing could be taken for granted here at Free Leaf. For a long time, he thought Merit might be Cappy Don’s anonymous tipster. Now, he’d bet money on the exact opposite. And another thought came to mind—Brendan’s office was next to the stairwell, which gave him instant knowledge of Mr. Arnell’s comings and goings. The day Oliver had been caught in Easton’s office, had Brendan seen him enter? Or had he heard Mr. Arnell leave, and gone to do his own search, only to find Oliver had beat him to the punch?
He made it safely back to the fourth floor using the stairwell and went to his own office. It really was about the size of a janitorial closet, but he had very little of his own work to accommodate. Mostly, his job was to facilitate Kay’s job.
He paced the small area and went over everything he knew—as well as what he didn’t. He came up with one small, untapped lead. Kay knew which plants were locked in the special greenhouse, and it was time for her to contribute to the team. He took out his cell phone and tapped a message.
Whatcha doin, Boss?
Color board. What do u want?
Oliver smiled. He could see her face screwed up in concentration. What colors went well with purple? He thought about offering more help, but what the hell did he know about the color wheel? Since you ask...What plants were in grn hse 5?
Her reply was almost instant. Finally, some trust. Fittonia, pink carpet, and one plant I couldn’t identify. Sent Amos to ask and it’s gone now, pink carpet, Fittonia separated, moved to new greenhouses.
Oliver had his laptop booted up and was logging into his profile when another message popped up.
Amos says both are psychedelics. Coincidence?
Well, someone was having a productive morning. Doubtful, Oliver texted back with a frown. His heartbeat picked up speed. This was significant information. It could be the break they were looking for, or at the very least, a hardcore lead.
Oliver already knew a term like “edible psychedelic garden plants” would ping on the company’s servers. He logged into the private mobile Wi-Fi network Molly had so graciously provided and plugged “fittonia” and “pink carpet” into the search engine. Boom. Three results down, an entire web site dedicated to the topic.
The fittonia came up first. Fittonia albivenis, an evergreen perennial native to rainforests, was also known by the names nerve plant or mosaic plant. Labeled ornamental. No special permits were required to harvest or purchase the plants, but in large, dried quantities exceeding a certain limit, some states considered it possession of a narcotic or controlled substance.
“Said to produce visions of eyeballs?” Oliver shook his head. Didn’t sound like a good time at all, but indigenous tribes were also known to use teas made from the plant for treating headaches. “I think I’ll stick with Tylenol.”
A few entries down, pink carpet, or delosperma cooperi. Another perennial evergreen. Also called an ice plant or a trailing ice plant, and well known to contain tryptamines. Oliver recognized the term. They were psychoactive compounds.
His pulse quickened. This was the most firm lead he’d stumbled upon in the year he’d been at Free Leaf Concepts. He didn’t think it was good enough for a warrant, though. They operated greenhouses, and these were common ornamental plants. The evidence was circumstantial at best. He had to find the link, tying the plants to the mushrooms, but so far, the street team had no luck posing as buyers. Sellers were paranoid and beyond discreet.
“Pink carpet, not a bad choice. Better than the fittonia. Not sure if the Followills are up for that level of maintenance, even with our landscapers on retainer.”
Oliver almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled around. “Brendan. Hey.” His mind raced. Did he confront him? No. No, Oliver couldn’t do that. He was already pushing the limits of Cappy Don’s patience. He threw himself into his usual song and dance, distancing himself from the uncertainty that might’ve nakedly crossed his face when he saw Brendan. “Kay wanted me to research some stuff for the spa.” It was the best excuse he could come up with and had the benefit of sounding totally legitimate. He closed his laptop and pasted a proud smile on his mouth. “I made a pretty significant contribution earlier. Maybe they’ll invite me to pull up a seat at the drafting table one of these days. Hey, you catch that new girl? She’s Kay’s friend. A big deal, I hear. About to go to work for Grant Gallagher.”
For several seconds, Brendan stared, but Oliver had the feeling he wasn’t the object of scrutiny. Finally, Brendan snapped out of it and raised his eyebrows slowly and deliberately, in a show of appreciation. “Gallagher? Really? That’s impressive. Hey, Oli, do you happen to know if Kay’s got anything on her calendar for lunch today? Plans, meetings?”
Oliver kept his jaw from clenching with brute determination. Why did people keep assuming he liked that nickname? It should be standard social practice to ask first.
Hey, Richard, mind if I call you Dick?
Why, yes, actually. I absolutely mind.
Secondly, say Brendan was on the up and up, why was he deliberately breaking protocol by making contact with Cappy Don’s other informant? Oliver carelessly cracked his knuckles and opened Kay’s calendar file. “Nope. Looks clear. Should I pencil something in for her?”
Brendan smiled wide, showing off a mouthful of too many teeth, and winked. “A lunch date with yours truly.”
Oliver didn’t fully grasp the statement at first. But when he did, he was damn near certain that Brendan wasn’t one of Cap’s. Contact between informants was prohibited, in case someone watching closely put two and two together. Trying to date one of them? Plain fucking stupid. But Oliver couldn’t dismiss it as a ploy, either—a bone to throw Kay’s clueless assistant, easily explaining away why he wanted to see Kay.
He carefully composed his features into a mask of indifference. It was twice as difficult as it should’ve been, because he was wrestling with twice the emotions he normally would experience. First, alarm that he might have a fake mole on his hands. Second, the rampant jealousy charging like a bull though his veins.
He cleared his throat, keeping tight control over his nonchalant grin. “Sure. I’ll get on that right away, Brendan.” He made his own stomach flip by returning the wink.
* * * *
Orange was out of the question. Halloween wasn’t what Kay wanted clients to think of when they stepped inside. Green would already be a prominent color. Red was too strong. It might clash with some of the flowering plants, or overpower the purple. She needed what she called a threading color. It was responsible for binding all the elements together. A touch here, a shadow there. The word tacky floating from Seraphina’s mouth kept taunting Kay, dancing in and out of her thoughts. The fear of screwing up was keeping her from making what should be a pretty simple decision.
A text vibrated the phone in her pocket. Oliver’s message made her skin crawl.
“Oh, shit,” she murmured. Both plants were definitely psychedelics. He was going to send the results to Cappy Don. Until then, identifying the third plant in Greenhouse Five was high priority. Also, don’t trust Brendan. She bit her lip. She’d be curious to know how Oliver had come to that last conclusion.
“Bad news?”
Kay gasped and turned around. Brendan grinned like he thought she’d find being startled utterly charming. “I almost pissed myself. Please refrain from sneaking up on people. It’s rude.” Hopefully, the imagery would be enough to turn him off the habit.
“Apologies. I didn’t realize I had. I, uh, stopped by to ask if you had plans for lunch.”
“Oh, shit.” Lunch. She checked her watch. She had eight minutes to catch her cab at the café. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“You keep saying that.”
Kay ran to her desk and snatched her purse. Stupid, stupid color board. “I’m sorry, I have an appointment. I have to run.”
“Funny, Oliver didn’t mention you had plans.”
Of course he hadn’t. She’d kept the details of the meeting to herself. “Well, that’s because my lunch plans are personal, not something I felt compelled to pencil into my work schedule.”
“Gotcha.” He shot his fingers at her like a pistol. One eyebrow quirked playfully. “I had this most amazing salad last week from a new place down the street. I was going invite you to come along, but maybe another time. We’ll talk later?”
She paused. Was Brendan flirting with her? Was this why Oliver told her not to trust him? She knew she was probably looking at him like he was something floating in her water glass, but she didn’t have time to smooth things over just now. “Um, sure. We’ll talk this afternoon. About salad.” She fondly recalled a time when she’d excelled under pressure. Of course, that had been when the drama belonged to someone else.
Brendan beamed and gave her a cheery wave. “Cool. See you later, then.”
Thank God she’d worn flats instead of heels today. Kay didn’t even wave to Brit as she raced through the lobby and outside. It took her four minutes to reach the street, and another three to jog to the café. She stopped, breathless on the corner, and stuck her thumb out. A black-checkered cab with its light off pulled to the curb, and Kay triumphantly threw herself inside. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest, thanking every god she knew for blessed air conditioning. They veered into traffic and Kay collected herself. Her breathing evened and she took a few tissues from her purse to wipe away the sweat gathered at her temples. There was no salvaging her makeup.
“This had better be worth it,” she groaned at the auburn-haired woman behind the steering wheel. “You must be Molly.”
It was immensely satisfying to see the woman’s face jerk to stare at Kay in the rearview mirror. She whipped off her dime-store aviators, and a pair of dark amber eyes met Kay’s. They reminded Kay of Neve’s, except they were like dark honey and carried the subtle hint of hostility.
Molly hid her emotion well when she finally spoke in a neutral tone. “Off the rails again. Not that Oli’s ever been good at sticking to the book. Yet I still find myself wondering what it is about you that makes it so hard for him to play by the rules.”
Kay had no idea what to say to that. What other rules had Oliver broken? “You’d have to ask him. Look, I just want to meet the guy in charge and know who exactly I’m working with, and why. I’m not here for the small talk, so we can skip the hazing.” She’d give anything not to have to hear Molly’s side of her relationship with Oliver. There was no way he came out sounding like a prince from her point of view.
“Shame.” Molly’s tone was conversationally polite. “After learning about Finn, I confess I’m deeply curious. You look so innocent. Like a lost little lamb. And yet, you’re about as cruel and heartless as they come.”
Kay’s mouth popped open. She shut it. She’d never had a perfect stranger pass wide-open judgment on her character. She made herself remember Oliver’s warning, but she couldn’t help herself. Molly struck a nerve. “You know the bullet list of what happened, not the story. The real shame is how bitter you are because Oliver didn’t return your feelings. And you somehow feel justified taking your bruised ego out on me.”
A long silence reigned. Kay would’ve been perfectly happy to have the last word, but Molly wasn’t content to let the confrontation die there. “I guess there’s always unintended side effects when we play with someone else’s emotions. Finn’s become Red Hill’s most notorious drunk. Did you know that? Amazing, the power we can wield without realizing it. I have to say, that was a surprising departure from the rest of your file. How’s being the villain working out for you, doll?”
It’s not, Kay wanted to say but she wouldn’t give Molly the satisfaction. Her heart twisted into a pretzel. She didn’t want to believe her, but somehow she didn’t think they’d lie to her about this.
The only power Kay had left was refusal to play the game. “Are we there yet?”
Molly drove in circles for fifteen minutes. A squeal came from the front seat, and Kay realized it was Molly’s phone. She picked the phone up and waved it in the air. “Oh, look, your boyfriend’s calling me. He does that a lot. Oli, my love. How can I help you, babe? Yeah, of course we can meet somewhere. I’ll be right there.”
Kay shook her head. This was some psychological warfare crap. She knew Oliver didn’t have feelings for Molly, but her easygoing familiarity with him sat like soured milk in Kay’s gut. Had he intentionally waited until Kay left the building to call Molly? She didn’t want to do this anymore. Screw Cappy Don, screw the investigation. Kay wanted out. She was about to open her mouth to say so when Molly slammed on the brakes, and Kay clutched the passenger side headrest to stop herself from hurling into it.
“Here you are. He’s the old man drinking Sprite in the corner. In there, he’s Uncle Tom. Someone else will take you back to the office when the meeting’s done. Tata, darling.”
“Whatever,” Kay muttered, pulling herself out of the cab and slamming the door with everything she was worth. The cab peeled away from the curb with an awful shrieking of tires. Kay choked on the stench of burning rubber.
Molly might be unreachable, but Uncle Tom was about to get his ass handed to him. The old man drinking Sprite turned out to be the most innocuous fellow in the drab rundown diner.
Kay didn’t bother with pleasantries but dropped herself into the chair across from him and crossed her arms.
He tipped the can toward her. “Ms. Bing. I’m glad you came. The ride can be a little rough.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t notice.” She tried to mean the words, but they were weighted with bitter sarcasm. Cappy Don was kind enough not to point it out. “What’s with the secrecy? Are you FBI? CIA?”
“Retired military.” From his shirt pocket, he withdrew an ID card, showing his photograph next to the full name Oliver had given her. Captain Donald Cappricci. “Active captain on the Little Rock police force, and a familiar figure in the local media. If someone from Free Leaf saw you with me, they might get the wrong idea—that you’re an undercover cop. Or the right idea—that you’re helping us bring down a bunch of brains selling genetically modified drugs that are killing people. Better for everyone involved if we’re not seen together.” He reached beneath the grubby plastic table and withdrew a familiar newspaper clipping. He slid it toward her. “Reread that last bit for your old Uncle Tom, will ya? The part about folks dying. Eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
Kay believed him. The captain’s hair was stark white, but his eyebrows clung to their deep black roots, sprouting out of his face like gnarly poisonous caterpillars. She sighed and read the last portion of the article aloud. “Let’s see...one isolated incident in Jonesboro, which may be the most tragic and telling report so far. Three people died—”
“There. That’s it.” He wagged a finger at her, tucked his identification away. She had a feeling he was deliberately exaggerating his age. “One of them happened to be the troubled childhood friend of our boy, Oliver. I like to call him Pierce. Sounds cooler.”
“Cooler. Sure.” She glanced around. No waitress came to ask for a drink order. Kay assumed he’d asked their table remain undisturbed, but she could really go for a coffee.
The captain sighed and settled his hands together on the tabletop. “There’s a lot riding on this investigation, Ms. Bing. More than tracking down some dirty drug dealers. It’s personal.”
She tapped the article. “For Oliver. I get it.”
“Maybe you do. But I’d like you to know what you’re getting into here. Oliver’s friend, he did a stint in rehab two weeks before his death. Oliver swears on his mom’s grave his boy was clean as a nun’s diary. Besides that, Manny—that was the kid’s name—had a taste for uppers, not hallucinogens, so it came as quite a shock for Pierce. See, he and Manny went separate ways after making some bad choices in their youth. Couple of delinquents all through high school. Oliver eventually got his shit together and joined the Jonesboro PD. He was regularly arresting good old Manny on petty drug charges. He was a beat cop, Oliver was. Too young to make detective yet, when this crap here hit the streets.” Cappy Don sneered at the article. “The department had a few cases tied to the mushrooms. Pierce knew about them, but they weren’t his cases, and he never expected Manny to get into that sort of stuff. Or he might’ve warned him. Alas, Jonesboro PD kept the incidences out of the local media. At least, until people finally died. Manny being one of them, well, that got Oliver’s attention. He had questions, but the drug enforcement unit wasn’t handing out answers. It was an ongoing investigation, and Oliver’s attempts to join the task force were denied. He began to suspect the police chief and the mayor were covering for something.”
“Were they?”
“No. Oliver was emotional. They saw him as a potential liability, not an asset. And he was powerless to do much about it. He took it personal.”
Kay shook her head. “Seems like a good idea to have one super motivated cop on the team.”
Oliver, a cop. She’d asked him once, and he’d dodged the question. While it made sense, it was still hard for her to coincide the image of him in a uniform with the careless, charming guy she knew. Or thought she knew.
Cappy Don grinned. “My thoughts exactly. When the first case hit Little Rock, we kept it under wraps for the same reason the Jonesboro PD did—we don’t want the people running the drug ring to know we’re circling. Little Rock is special. Intelligence tells us the drugs are coming out of our town, but the super shrooms, as the media so delightfully coined them, didn’t hit the streets here until recently. Almost as if the other cities were trials. The governor assigned my precinct the case, and I put together a team from the best the city has to offer.”
“And you adopted Oliver. Did he transfer?”
“Kind of.” The captain shrugged. “Pierce took leave. Well, that’s stating it rather broadly. Oliver essentially went rogue, determined to investigate with or without the support the of local police authority on his hip. He crossed our path while hunting down a lead. I could’ve turned him over, but we went through the proper channels and had him recruited instead. Like you said, it’s good to have a highly motivated man in the field. Besides, I was pretty damn impressed that he’d matched us while working on his own, without a fraction of the resources. He’s got some very useful skills.”
Now, there was something she wouldn’t mind hearing more about. “Oh?”
“Eidetic memory, or very close to it. Extreme detail recall. If he’s read it, he can remember it with ninety-seven percent accuracy in standard tests.”
Kay nodded. “That’s why he’s your inside man. If he were to come across any pertinent documentation, he wouldn’t need to copy it.”
“He would, actually, for us to have viable evidence. But yes, the skill makes him a good plant. He picks up leads other informants would miss. Unfortunately, he’s got other problems. Rogue beat cop. That’s not exactly resume material, is it? It makes the kid unpredictable. Effective, determined, but he’s not opposed to going off the books if he thinks he’ll get something out of the risk.” The captain shifted and leaned in closer to Kay. “Now, I tell you this for a reason. When we took Pierce in, he was lost. Grieving and pissed off, it’s an ugly combination. Like I told you, there’s a lot riding on this investigation, and Oliver’s future is one of those things. We might be able to salvage his career on the force if we nail these sons of bitches. Success means commendation. If we fail, well, I don’t know what he’ll do. But I know he won’t be a cop again.”
“Why?” Kay couldn’t believe they’d hang a man’s entire career on a single investigation. “You said he’s skilled beyond your average cop. He should get promoted regardless.”
“Failure means the feds take over. Local law enforcement will need a scapegoat. A rogue cop is an easy target to hand over to the media.”
Kay sat back, astounded. Politics were like poison in the air, seeping into places it was never meant to inhabit. She drummed her fingers and tried to figure out where she fit into the landscape. She didn’t need long to figure it out. “You think I can break the case.”
Cappy Don whacked his fist on the table and laughed. “Ha! You’re quick. I see why Oliver likes you. You two are a fine match. Yes, I think you’re key. Now, did I want you this involved in my investigation? Hell no. It’s messy. You’re not trained, and I can’t tell if you’re all that committed to bringing down the company that just handed you a cushy job at the top of the ladder. By the way, smooth work on your résumé. As long as no one watches too closely, I think you’ll fly right under the radar.”
“Thanks,” Kay mumbled, uncertain if she’d been complimented or insulted. “I think.”
“Look, Ms. Bing, it’s entirely up to you. If you’re loyal to Free Leaf Concepts, I can order Oliver to cut you out of the loop—”
Kay’s hand shot out. “No. No, I don’t want that. I just wanted to know what I was getting into. For a while, I thought Oliver be might be trying to steal ideas for another company or something. I mean, Free Leaf is like the space station of modern interior landscaping. They’re next level. It’s stupid, but the whole drug thing seemed really farfetched.”
“Not stupid. Espionage is a viable concern, especially with Free Leaf’s considerable government subsidies.”
“So, what brought your attention to Free Leaf Concepts, specifically? What evidence have you got implicating them?”
The captain glanced around the room. It seemed like the careless action of a bored old man, but Kay didn’t miss how his sharp eyes scanned each face in the diner. He studied her for a second, judging and weighing. “You go right for the goods. I can’t tell you much, Ms. Bing, but I guess it won’t hurt to answer one of your questions. We have an anonymous source inside Free Leaf Concepts. They contacted us.”
“Us as in...?”
“As in, they informed the governor of their suspicions. And before you ask who it is, key term here is ‘anonymous.’ That was part of the deal. I have a decorated military record and experience in espionage, so I was handpicked to handle the investigation. Soon after, Oliver Pierce became Free Leaf’s newest employee.” Cappy Don grinned, reached into his pocket, and withdrew a five-dollar bill. He dropped it on the table. “I don’t expect to see you again, Ms. Bing, but I’m glad we met. You’re as interesting in person as you are on paper. Try to keep Pierce in line, will ya?”