Chapter Twenty-Four

Swain sat in the passenger seat of Malone’s personal vehicle—a black Buick Enclave—and stared out the window. Beneath a cloudy sky, downtown Bluelick passed, with its historic brownstones, shady magnolia trees, and black lampposts with hanging flower baskets overflowing, just now, with pink, red, and white blooms of late summer.

Malone turned into the narrow alley that would take them to the small parking area behind Mane on Main. “Did you talk with Eden?”

He shook his head.

Malone grunted. “Now is not the time.”

A useless frustration filled him. Outwardly, he presented a facade of calm. “If you say so.”

“I do. Let’s get through the op. You two can hash things out after all the bad guys are in cells.”

“Fine by me.” It wasn’t, but he recognized the op came first.

The sound of a clearing throat came from the backseat. Their equipment tech, Deputy Anjali Hassan, tapped her window, pointing to a white Prius and a silver pickup truck. “Looks like Buchanan and crew are already here.”

Malone pulled into the slot next to the pickup and cut the engine. “Okay, team. Time to get in this op.”

Swain stepped out of the car and into the heavy, heat-soaked air. Gray clouds churned overhead, promising a storm. Bring it on, he dared Mother Nature. It couldn’t compete with the storm already raging inside him.

All in plain clothes, they crossed the asphalt to the back door of the salon. With his badge and cuffs in the pocket of his jeans and his gun tucked under his T-shirt at the small of his back, it occurred to him this would be his first time presenting himself publicly as an actual member of the Sheriff’s Department. The thought made him wince. Sitting on the sidelines, watching and waiting while Eden got the goods on the source, swarming in after the deal had been struck, basically to do cleanup? Not quite how he’d envisioned his role in the op. It still burned.

He held the door for Hassan and Malone and came through last, deliberately hanging back to make sure he had himself under control.

Buchanan, another officer he didn’t recognize, Ginny, and Eden stood in a circle in the middle of the otherwise empty salon, talking. Rattan blinds covered the big front windows, filtering the light and preventing any passersby from looking in. Eden had her back to him. Even so, a sharp pain lanced his chest, hollowing his lungs. She wore the white sundress she’d worn that day at the Riverview Inn. He couldn’t fault the choice. She looked like an angel. A luminous being with dark, silky hair and skin so golden it could make a mortal man cry just beholding her.

She glanced over her shoulder as they filed in, and her eyes met his for an instant—just long enough for him to detect a spark of green through the misty gray before she turned away. Shadows under her eyes suggested she’d had a rough morning, too. The knowledge should have made him feel better, but it didn’t.

Malone handled introductions, and Swain shook hands with West Donovan, the other officer from the PD. Everything about Donovan, from his clean shave and trimmed hair to his firm grip and forthright stare, rubbed him the wrong way. The guy had no-bullshit, straight-shooting officer of the law written all over him—basically the male counterpart of Eden Brixton. Single, straight-shooting officer of the law, if the lack of a wedding ring provided any indication. Donovan was someone she’d work with day in, day out. Someone she’d trust without hesitation, possibly even admire. Someone she’d…date? Fall in love with?

“Good outfit,” Deputy Hassan said to Eden. “We can work with this.”

Eden offered a faint smile and fingered one of the small pearl buttons running down the front of the dress. “Instead of a badge and gun, I was instructed to wear buttons.”

“It’s an easy way to hide the camera and microphone.” Hassan picked up the zippered black laptop bag she’d placed by her feet during introductions. “Ready to get wired?”

Eden nodded.

“Wait a minute.” Swain couldn’t hold his tongue. “Why no gun?” He addressed the question to Buchanan. “She goes in unprotected?”

“We’re her protection.” He pointed at all of them, then Hassan’s bag. “The mic and the camera are her protection. If anyone searches her bag, a gun will raise a lot of questions. The Eden Braxton folks around here have gotten to know doesn’t pack heat.”

“It’s fine.” Eden leveled her gaze at him. “I don’t need it, and a gun doesn’t fit my cover.”

Donovan clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Deputy Swain, we know you’ve been a valuable part of this op, but for whatever reason, the target wants to meet with Eden—deal with Eden. If you want to continue your participation, let this go.”

He stared directly at Eden. She refused to look at him. “It’s gone,” he muttered and spun away.

Hasson looked around. “Is there a place where we can…?”

“You can use the treatment room,” Ginny said and led them to a small walled-off area at the back of the salon. To the rest of them, she pointed to the room across the way and added, “There’s pizza and soda in the kitchen if y’all want some lunch.”

As the women walked off, Buchanan said, “We’ll park just up the street from the pub. I understand that, if Hassan works her magic, we’ll be able to monitor everything”—he held his smartphone up—“from here.”

“That’s the plan,” Malone agreed. “Brixton’s going to drive to the pub, meet up with Dobbins and Whelan, and then their source?”

Buchanan nodded. He ran through the basic script Eden would follow to ensure they gathered the recorded evidence they needed to take down all the players. Kenny and Dobie would get picked up as well and charged with drug conspiracy, but as they weren’t growing or distributing, merely facilitating an introduction, Swain suspected the county prosecutor would plea them out if they agreed to cooperate.

A few minutes later, when Hassan and Eden returned, they all took out their phones and tested the feed. They had ears. They had eyes. He and Malone walked to the far edge of the parking area and played with the range. The transmission remained strong.

“It’s like a tiny video doorbell,” Hassan explained around a bite of pizza. “Distance won’t impact reception.” She turned to Eden. “But don’t worry; we’ll be nearby. I’ll record everything on my laptop from the back of Malone’s vehicle.”

“I’m not worried,” Eden assured her.

That made one of them. He was freaking out. Kenny and Dobie posed no threat, but he couldn’t vouch for whomever they planned to meet. The idea of Eden going into the pub without him, without a weapon, to run a con on an as yet unidentified drug dealer, presented a known unknown he found hard to calmly accept. But calm or not, he had to accept it. Besides, he’d spent a decent part of his day considering the identity of their dealer and, given the totality of the circumstances, felt like he knew who to expect.

Or did he? Nothing thus far had gone as expected.

Buchanan looked at his watch. “Okay, team. Saddle up.”

They walked to the parking lot. He watched, impotent, as Eden slid behind the wheel of the Prius, closed the door, and pulled away. Alone.

No, not a fucking thing had gone as he’d expected.

…

Eden glanced into her rearview mirror just before making the turn into the empty Rawley’s parking lot. Buchanan would pull his truck over before they reached the pub. He and West would monitor from there. Malone’s SUV drove past. He’d pull to the side just beyond the pub. He, Hassan, and Swain would monitor from there.

Swain, whose blue eyes had shot hurt and anger at her whenever she’d landed in his crosshairs, as if he considered himself the one genuinely wronged. How dare he turn that look on her? It made her want to get right up in his faithless face and tell him…

Uh-uh. No. She couldn’t do this now. Two law enforcement teams relied on her to have her head in the op and her emotions under control. “Lockbox,” she whispered, then winced as she belatedly remembered the damn wire. Great. Two law enforcement teams now thought she was losing it.

Clear your mind and concentrate on the job.

Following the instructions Dobie had provided, she pulled her car into the dingy little lot behind the pub and parked by the back door, beside Kenny’s Honda. “Here we go,” she murmured and turned off the engine. Indulging in one deep, nerve-settling breath, she lifted her bag onto her shoulder and got out of the car. Kenny and Dobie got out of the Honda.

Her nerves didn’t settle after all. They spiked. She couldn’t find her voice. Dammit, she couldn’t do this—walk into a meet, alone and outnumbered, with no gun, no Taser, not even a lousy cannister of pepper spray? What if the guy inside wasn’t who they expected? What if he had a weapon? What if he made her as a cop? What if…

Swain’s out here, listening, and his instincts are razor sharp. If something’s just a little off, he’ll pick up on it. He won’t let anything happen to me.

Just like that, her spiraling thoughts calmed. Her throat quit its lockdown, and she said, “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Eden.” Kenny walked over and gave her a hug. “How’re you doin,’ girl?”

She managed a half smile. “Hanging in.” She eased away and hugged Dobie. “Thanks for setting this up.”

“No problem.” Dobie released her and moved to her side. “Let’s go in. He’s expecting us.” Flanked by the guys, she walked to the back door of the pub. The clouds bumped ominously overhead.

Nerves weren’t necessarily a problem. Heartbroken Eden Braxton, about to embark on an illicit career as a way to assert her independence, would be nervous. But probably not silently so. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful,” Dobie quickly assured her.

“Amazing,” Kenny agreed.

She let their responses coax a smile out of her. “You guys are too kind. I figure this is, like, a job interview.” She smoothed a hand down her dress as they walked through the still, silent kitchen. “I haven’t been to a job interview in a long time.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Kenny replied from ahead of her. “No experience necessary. It’s a pretty basic gig. Like Uber, but better pay.”

“Have you done it?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ve, you know, observed. It’s not rocket science.” He pushed through the swinging black kitchen door and into the empty main room of the pub. The lights were off, but the windows at the front of the bar let the gray afternoon in.

“I hope not. I’m no rocket scientist.”

“You’re really smart, Eden.” Dobie smiled from beside her. “I can tell just by talking to you. You know how to, like, decide about people. You’re smart enough to call something done when it’s done—even if it sucks—and not talk yourself into settling for less than you deserve.”

She looked over at him, acutely aware Swain was listening in. Good. He could chew on those clues for a while. “That might be the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Hi, guys,” a voice called from the front of the pub, startling her. She looked up to find Jeb behind the bar, drying pint glasses. “Right on time.”

“Hey,” Kenny called and walked up the steps to the bar. “Did you doubt us?”

He hung the glass from a hook above the bar and tossed the towel onto a counter just below. “I wouldn’t set my watch by either of you. But I didn’t doubt her.” He sent her a sympathetic smile that somehow still managed to look predatory and rested an arm on the bar. “Hi, Eden.”

“Hi, Jeb.” She worked not to let any particular emotion show in her voice or expression. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. The boys thought maybe you could help me out.”

He nodded. “Maybe we can help each other out. I hear you kicked Swain to the curb.” He aimed more sympathy at her, this time with his eyes. “Some men just can’t hold on to a good woman. They don’t know how. It’s not your failing; it’s his. But even so, I know it’s hard. You’re going through a tough time, emotionally and financially. I can ease some of it.”

She offered him a smile. “You’re very understanding. How would it work?”

“I grow very high-grade weed. I’d offer you a sample, but I hear from these two”—he pointed at Kenny and Dobie—“you don’t use.”

“I don’t. Any kind of smoke aggravates my asthma.”

“No worries. Honestly, it endears you to me all the more.” He winked. “Don’t have to worry about any percentage of my goods going to”—he made air quotes—“‘employee benefits.’ I’ve reached a level where I grow enough crop, reliably, to keep five dealers busy throughout the county, but I’ve been handling Bluelick more or less on my own.”

“Five dealers? Wow. You have a much bigger operation than I imagined.”

He smoothed a hand over his slicked-back hair. “Go big or go home, I always say. The other dealers are guys.” He ticked them off on his fingers, perhaps in an effort to impress her. “Baumgartner serves Ashland, McNamara has Millersburg, Carver works the upper part of Route 9, and Washington works the lower part. So far, though, Jones is my go-getter.” Jeb laughed and shook his head. “That kid sells a shitload of my shit to his classmates at the community college off the AA.”

Jesus. Right down the highway from the Sheriff’s station. “An all-boys club, huh?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m an equal opportunity employer. What I have in mind for you is to take over the local sales. I don’t want to be dealing out of the bar anymore. It’s too risky. We have a police department now, and those folks are in here all the time. Our new Mayor Buchanan isn’t the sort to turn a blind eye the way the old Mayor Buchanan did.”

“I see your point. So, I’d take a supply from you and deal from…my house?”

“Well, normally, you’d buy a supply from me and deal however you saw fit, so long as you didn’t undercut anybody, price-wise, but I know you don’t have the buy-in right now, and I’m willing to work with you. Because you’re you, and because I know my local customers. I’ll front you the supply every week, all nicely bagged and organized. You charge two hundred and fifty dollars per bag, and you pay me one seventy-five. You’ll clear four fifty a week, easy. More as you start to build your network and hustle up new business.”

“Wow. This seems very organized. Very big-time.” Flattering the mastermind couldn’t hurt.

He flashed white teeth. “Walk with me, Eden.”

After opening the counter gate at the end of the bar, he came through and extended an arm to her. She allowed him to put his arm around her shoulders and lead her down to the main room, through the alcove to the restrooms, and along a dark, narrow hall to an old door with a Management Only sign affixed to the scarred wood at eye level. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and turned a series of locks. When the last one clicked open, he held the door and gestured her forward. Basement stairs descended into an eerie, blue-tinged darkness. She looked at him. “Down?”

“Down,” he confirmed, reached around her, and flicked a switch. A naked bulb above her head flickered on. More lights shone beyond the base of the stairs. “You’ve made a valid observation—the kind of observation a real businesswoman makes—and I want to show you how right you are.”

The flattery was running both ways. At least, that’s what she hoped as she walked carefully down the steep, wooden stairs into some kind of deep, funky-smelling root cellar where she definitely did not want to die… “Oh my God.”

“I know, right?” Jeb stepped past her and extended his arms to encompass the elaborate hydroponic system extending the entire square footage of the basement. “I don’t rely on weather. I don’t worry about how many days of sun we’re getting or how much rain. I grow through summer, through winter, through whatever the fuck is happening upstairs. I guess what I’m saying, Ms. Eden, is that this is a very big-time operation.”

Dobie and Kenny wandered the aisles, obviously unaware of what had been growing right under peoples’ noses. She walked down a narrow row between two grow trays, inspecting the plants. Robust, healthy plants, basking under LED lights. “Did Earl set all this up?”

Jed laughed—a disparaging sound. “My daddy doesn’t have the faintest inkling about this. Yeah, it may, technically, still be his bar, but that old man hasn’t been able to get down here in years—not since arthritis gnawed into his hip. This is all me, sugar. I’m not going to stand behind a bar in Bluelick all my life, eking out a living serving drinks.” He lowered his nose and inhaled a furry bulb. “Ohio’s already prescription legal. Pretty soon, it will go recreational legal. Kentucky won’t lag far behind. Our lawmakers won’t want to deal with all the problems and none of the tax revenue. Once that happens, girl, I’ll set you up in a nice shop downtown—one of those old brownstones our historic society lobbied so hard to preserve—and you can be the face of the business.” He walked over to her and ran a finger along the neckline of her dress. “Would you like that, Eden?”

“Yes.” She forced her lips into a grateful smile. “I think I would love it.”

“Okay then.” He walked to the stairs, grabbing a large, freezer-style sealed baggie from a table, and gestured for her. “Let’s take the first step of what I predict will be a long and beautiful relationship.”

She followed Jeb upstairs with Dobie and Kenny behind her. They made their way back to the bar. Jeb sat the baggie on the bar, opened it, and pulled out several smaller baggies containing roughly equal amounts of product. Each bore initials written with a black Sharpie across the freezer label. “These are already put together for customers. This one”—he tapped an unlabeled baggie full of weed—“is in case someone wants more than the regular, or brings a friend, or what have you. If you get yourself a new customer, you can sell it to them, but at the same price, Eden. Or more. But no less. If you don’t sell it, that’s cool. Whatever you don’t sell, you can bring back to me the following week. Same time, same place. The cardinal rule is no discounts. Got it? I’d rather not sell it then sell it for less than two hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t want to start a price war with myself.”

“I understand.” She watched him put the small baggies into the big baggie, seal it, and push it down the bar to her. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it an overly familiar squeeze. “What’s the number-one rule?”

“No discounts.”

He smiled and winked at her. “Good girl.” His eyes dropped to his watch, and he grimaced. “Staff’s going to arrive soon. Did y’all park out back?”

She, Kenny, and Dobie nodded.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Eden hoped Buchanan and Malone had moved to the back lot while she and the guys had been down in the basement. She hoped the recording devices had worked perfectly, because she’d gotten everything—everything and then some—tied up in a neat, little bow. Keeping a lid on a mix of relief and lightheadedness, she followed Jeb through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the parking lot.

Thunder crashed. Rain splattered down. A low voice—Buchanan’s—shouted, “Police. Face the wall and put your hands up.”

Jeb’s low, heartfelt “Fuck” reached her ears just before a curtain of rain drowned out the world. Eden went to the wall with the others. Someone approached. Somebody who smelled like the same soap on her own skin and the same shampoo she’d used that morning. She stood still and let Swain take the baggie from her hand. He covered her body with his and leaned close to her ear. “Nice job, choux. I don’t appreciate getting shut out without even a heads-up, but at this particular moment, I almost don’t mind being a casualty to your ambition, because you did great. I’m proud of you.”

A casualty to her ambition? That’s what he thought? She’d deliberately cut him out of the op so she could hog the glory? Defensive words sprang to her lips. After getting ambushed by his illicit motel meet-up, she’d scrambled to save an op that was circling the drain by leveraging the only thing she’d had left—the position he’d put them in.

She blinked back burning tears at the unfairness of his assumption. “I can’t get into this with you right now,” she muttered, impressed at how firm and steady her voice sounded.

“I’m not trying to get into anything. Just telling you you played it perfectly.” With that, he backed off and gave her space.

She used it to take a deep breath. Some soft part of her heart soaked his compliment in, but the rest of her was just…wrung out. Relieved to have completed the job. Guilty over using Kenny and Dobie to do it. Proud over a successful sting? Not there. Not yet. Maybe never. The misery of betrayal overshadowed too much. Because she didn’t know what to do with the feelings and doubts, she turned, sagged against the wall, and tossed it all into the lockbox. From behind the barrier of Swain’s back, she watched as Malone cuffed Jeb, Buchanan cuffed Dobie, and Donovan cuffed Kenny. An army of official cruisers entered the lot, lights and sirens blazing through the steady stream of rain, to lock down the scene, to take custody of the plants and other evidence, and to take the suspects away. She stood, drenched to the bone, shivering despite the heat, and let the scene play out. Jeb went in a sheriff’s car. Kenny and Dobie went in a Bluelick PD vehicle. Good. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to ask about that detail—who would take whom—but Kenny and Dobie didn’t belong in county.

When those cruisers pulled out of the lot, she pushed herself off the wall, brushed her wet hair off her face, and prepared to walk past the barricade of Swain’s body to her car. The dress stuck to her like a second skin. She blinked when someone crossed her path. Hassan extended a hand. “You did good, Brixton. Malone just told me this was your first assignment. You nailed it. Want to pop back inside and get rid of the wires?”

Another detail she’d forgotten. She nodded and followed Hassan inside the pub. They threaded their way past deputies and cops and into the ladies’ room. Hasson removed the camera and microphone in minutes, then stood back and stared at her.

“What?” Eden ran a hand over her hair. “What’s wrong?”

Hassan grinned and shook her head. “I just realized why Swain posted himself in front of you out there, instead of grabbing a suspect and slapping cuffs on.”

Eden frowned. “Why?”

“The rain.” Hassan pointed at her, then shrugged out of her fitted black blazer. “White dress. Rain. It’s a little bit see-through.” She handed Eden her jacket. “You can get it back to me later.”

“Thanks.” She shrugged into the jacket, which was tight across the shoulders, but it covered the essentials. She didn’t look like an overly ambitious contestant in a wet T-shirt contest when she walked back to her car.

Swain was nowhere to be found. Once safely ensconced in her driver’s seat, all those emotions she’d locked away swamped her. Flooded her. She lowered her forehead to the steering wheel and cried.