Scott parked his car along the property line of Mole’s proposed new resort.
He rubbed the back of his neck. He’d tossed and turned all night over what had happened at Maddie’s apartment. The woman drove him crazy. She turned his blood hot even in bunny slippers and a ridiculous pink, fluffy robe. She’d stood in front of him, hair a wild mess, and he’d itched to thread his hands through it and kiss her. Couldn’t blame it on the adrenaline rush from the rescue. He’d taken three hours to shop, bathe the dog, and shower. Plenty of time to recover.
Thank God he’d stopped before he made a fool of himself. The last thing he needed was trouble with Tom. He carried a key to her freaking car, and who knew what else. Scott clenched his teeth. He had no right to be jealous. She owed him nothing. Small town or not, he had to keep his distance, or he’d go nuts.
At least he wasn’t alone in his misery. He hadn’t counted on drama, but he’d bet the house Kaitlyn, for all her toughness, had a soft spot for Tom.
Scott shook his head and grabbed the folder Lee had given him with the construction area information. Time to check out the perimeter for some vantage points to set up surveillance. The DEA had advanced tools, and he’d make the most of them.
He got out of the car and trudged across the sandy-colored clay soil, his gaze on the tree line. The forest provided ample places to mount hidden cameras. If Mole tried to dig up artifacts here, at least the place was small enough to monitor. Not like the Southwest, where he’d had a field day with its vast tracts of unpoliced land.
Hands on his hips, Scott scanned the area. His gaze dropped down the steep, rocky cliff overlooking the lake. The resort would sit above the rise. They’d have to put up a fence, or some drunken idiot could come out for the view and topple to his death.
He hiked along the bluff, assessing more of the property. When he rounded a bend, he stopped at the sight of a man in the distance with his back to him. Not Mole. Too small in stature, which could be said of most men in comparison. Scott stole his way to the forest and stood in the shade between two trees for a better look.
A medium-built, dark-haired man with a shovel was digging a hole near a Coming Soon sign splashed with pictures of the proposed luxury resort.
The man brushed away some dirt and then glanced around as if nervous someone might be watching. Scott jogged through the woods and came up behind the man without making a sound.
“Find anything?”
The guy jumped, tripped over the shovel, and then fell on his ass.
Suspicious as hell, this one.
“What the fuck? Who are you and what do you want?” The man pushed off the ground to stand.
Scott pulled his suit coat back to expose the badge and gun hanging on his belt. “I’m a police officer.”
The man’s mud-colored eyes widened. “What now? I didn’t go anywhere near her. She’s a lying bitch if she says I did.”
No idea who he was talking about. With guilt written all over his face, he wouldn’t last a second in a police interrogation. Scott let his jacket slip back into place. First things first. “What’s your name?”
“Eric Wilson.” He scratched his chin. “Wait. If you don’t know my name, then you aren’t here to arrest me.”
“Should I be?”
“I’m not doing nothing illegal. I work here.” He glanced over Scott’s shoulder. “Where did you come from?”
“Not your business. What are you doing here?”
Eric avoided eye contact. “Putting up a sign. No law against that, is there?”
“Watch the attitude.” Scott waved at the hole in the ground. “What’s this about?”
“I’m uh…moving that sign.” Eric pointed to it with a shaking hand.
Not a good liar. With the twitchy movements, darting eyes, and yellow-toned skin, he had the look of a tweaker. Mole had used those meth heads to do his looting in the Southwest because they had drug-induced focus and energy to dig for nights on end. Stood to reason he would use them again. Scott crossed his arms and stared Eric down. “You have some ID?”
“I’m telling you, I work for the owner.” Eric dug out a license. He cocked his head as he handed it over. “This is private property. You got a warrant? My boss wouldn’t like you snooping around.”
This guy was all over the place. Paranoid, evasive, defensive, and now defiant. “Why? He have something to hide?”
Eric snickered. “Like to see you ask him that.”
“Think I will.” Scott kept his face impassive as he handed the license back. “Right after we discuss the tunnel you’re digging to China.”
Eric’s gaze dropped to the hole. He wiped a hand across his mouth. “Just doing what I’m told.”
If Mole had ordered Eric to dig for artifacts, it wouldn’t be in broad daylight. He needed the cover of darkness to sneak out the relics. Mole must have lowered his standards if he’d added this cockroach to his payroll. Or maybe there weren’t enough kids in town for him to hook on drugs and then put to use.
Eric picked up his shovel and kicked some dirt into the hole. “I gotta go.”
Time to plant the might-be-a-crooked-cop seed. “I’ll be seeing you around. I’m new here.” Scott tapped the shovel with his foot. “And I play by my own rules.”
He waited until Eric drove away and then bent to study the hole. If he had to guess, the guy was probably digging to see if he could find anything valuable. Stupid ass. Mole would kill Eric if he stole from him.
Victor picked up his coffee mug and chugged some caffeine. At eight a.m., he was on his fourth cup. He’d sold and shipped all the artifacts Eric had stolen within two days. Well worth the lost sleep.
A new buyer with deep pockets and an interest in Native American pieces had popped up on the black market. The fool would pay fortunes for old clay pots. Victor needed to get his hands on more.
Time wasted while he waited for that archaeologist bitch to fit him into her tight schedule. He couldn’t dig up the resort property without the building permit, which required a clean field survey. His land might be off limits, but he could turn his workers loose on other places ripe for the picking. All he needed were the tweakers.
Fucking DEA. He’d had the perfect operation in the Four Corners until they’d gotten too close. If it weren’t for the snitches, Victor would still be in business. Instead, it was amateur hour in New York with the stoner, Eric. He had better have found some tweakers to get to work.
Addicts would do anything for their fix. Victor’s own parents were a prime example. He grimaced. Pathetic crackheads. A mother who sold her own body to feed their habit, and a husband who let her.
Victor rubbed his arm, tracing the scar he’d gotten at age twelve when his mother decided she’d whore him out as well. If not for the rough neighborhood, he wouldn’t have kept a switchblade on him. Before then, he’d only flashed the blade as a warning to kids who might want to screw with him. But that day, he’d used the knife to slice the throat of the pervert. The cocksucker fought back, but was too high to do more than leave his mark.
Victor had learned two things. First, the rush that came when life drained from his victim’s eyes, and second, he would never use drugs. Much better to sell them to people who would do what he wanted in exchange for more. He’d cracked the code on how to get ahead. Target kids. Start them on weed, lace it with the heavier stuff, and in no time, they were his puppets. It all came down to power. Whoever controlled the drugs held the power.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Victor spun his chair around. Eric shuffled into the room and took a seat. The hoodie and jeans he wore were clean this time. No need to fumigate after he left. Victor searched Eric’s eyes. Not glassy or red. He’d live another day.
He shifted in the chair. “I came back today like you said to.”
“Where do we stand with the diggers?” Victor placed his mug on the desk and lit a cigar.
“I’m working on it.”
“That’s your answer to fucking everything. What’s that mean?”
Eric scratched his head. “I found a guy, and he says he knows a couple others.”
Victor took a drag of the cigar and shook his head. “One guy. That’s it? I don’t think I’m getting through to you. We’re at a dead stop right now. We need workers.”
“I know. I know. It’s not easy. This town is small. I had to go outside the limits to find them.”
“You told me you had connections.” Victor leaned forward. “This is simple. Come up with a group for me, or you’re done.”
“I’m on it. I have a meeting with a guy tonight. Already found a place for everyone to camp that’s not in town.” Eric wiped his brow, slick with sweat. “I promise I’ll have a team soon.”
Victor blew out a cloud of smoke. “You’d better, because I’m out of patience.” He waved a hand at the door. “Go. I expect a report after your meeting.”
Eric jumped to his feet and nodded like a bobble-head doll before leaving the room.
Victor eased back in his chair. Nothing but one roadblock after another. First the permit, now the lack of workers. Time for action. If Eric didn’t come through with a team, Victor would kill him off same as that snitch in Utah. No one questioned it when druggies died of overdoses.