by Maggie Wells
Lori stared at her. “Product?”
“Heroin,” Simmons supplied.
“Heroin?” Lori shot a look at Ben, then back at the agent beside her. “You think he’s moving heroin through Masters County?”
Simmons pursed her lips. “We don’t think—we know. The problem is, we’re not exactly sure how to catch him doing it.”
Ben cleared his throat and Lori swung her attention back to him. “Alicia’s going to be moving here for a while. The agency has arranged for her to rent a house. We’re setting up a cover that the house belonged to her grandmother and she’s inherited it. It will actually be one of the Timber Masters homes,” he said with a shrug.
“It’s that serious? I mean, for you to move here,” Lori asked, unable to mask her surprise.
Alicia Simmons smirked. “I hear all the cool kids are doing it. Ben, Simon Wingate—”
“You know Simon?” Lori interrupted.
“I have heard of Simon,” the agent clarified. “We didn’t exactly run in the same circles, you understand.”
“Right.” Lori felt the tension seep from her body. She did understand. Because anywhere other than here in Pine Bluff, she and Simon would not be running in the same circles either.
“I think it would be good if you and Alicia worked together on this.” Ben interrupted her line of thinking. “You’re both ex-military. Maybe we can say the two of you go back to your time in the service.”
Lori glanced over at the other woman. “You were in the army?”
Simmons shrugged. “Navy, but close enough for our purposes.”
“True.” Lori swung her attention back to Ben. “I don’t think you can sell the grandmother story. We don’t have many strangers up and move to town, and familial ties run deep in these parts. If you mess with them, someone will uncover the lie whether they mean to or not.” She turned the idea over in her mind. “If you’re using one of the Timber Masters houses, you’d be better off saying Marlee recruited you to come work for the company.”
“Good point,” Ben conceded. “I’ll talk to Marlee. I’m sure she’d be on board.”
For her part, Alicia Simmons simply held up her hand to indicate she was open to anything. “Whatever you think is best. This is your town.”
Lori looked from one to the other. They were serious. And they were right. This was her town, even if she never fit in. She wasn’t the insecure young girl she’d once been. In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to fit in. Either way, of the three of them sitting in this room, she was the one who was the expert on Pine Bluff and the rest of Masters County.
She wasn’t being conceited when she realized they were right to leave it up to her to lead the charge on this. Small towns were insular, and whether she thought the town’s residents looked at her and her family as being different due to their ethnicity, they were locals. She was going to be able to get better answers from them than any stranger would. Particularly strangers who carried badges and credentials issued by anyone whose authority they did not inherently respect.
The DEA’s sweeps of the area, while justified, left a mess in their wake. A mess the residents of Masters County had to clean up. Not everyone had a particularly favorable view of the federal agency regardless of their stance on drug trafficking in the area. Most of the county’s citizens understood and appreciated the need to shut those operations down, but they did not appreciate the economic hardships and familial destruction that followed.
“Yes, I think it would be best to use Timber Masters for cover. Almost everybody in the county has a connection to the company either directly or indirectly. You wouldn’t necessarily be undercover...more like hidden in plain sight.”
Lori tugged at her lower lip as she mulled over possible complications. She saw no downside. Though her own personal agenda may have had more to do with apprehending any of the men involved in possibly abusing young girls, she wasn’t at all sad to help disrupt any supply line of illegal narcotics from flowing into the country.
“How are you thinking you’ll be able to breach his security to catch him with the heroin?” she asked Special Agent Simmons.
The other woman sat up in her chair, her posture alert and engaged. “We’re not entirely sure yet, but we are sure it’s coming through him.” She paused and cast a glance at Ben. At his nod of encouragement, she spoke more freely. “I think it has something to do with the snakes.”
“The snakes?”
Lori shook her head. She didn’t want to appear dim, but she couldn’t see how snakes could have anything to do with the transportation of the world’s most dangerous opiate.
“Heroin is smuggled in more ways than you can imagine,” Alicia said gravely. “We find people smuggling in every body cavity you can imagine, and not only humans.” She pulled a face. “The snake trade is one we’ve been eyeballing for a while. It consists of mainly private breeders and suppliers. They do much of their business online or through mail order. So, yeah, it wouldn’t be unheard of for someone to ship a snake stuffed with packets of narcotics. They used them in cocaine trafficking back in the day.”
Lori gaped at the other woman in disbelief. Her brain had gotten hung up somewhere around the time body cavities were mentioned, and stalled out entirely when the possibility of smuggling drugs inside of live snakes was mentioned. She was about to say something about how outlandish it all sounded when she remembered the mysterious package Coulter had had delivered to Simon Wingate’s office.
Her heart gave a dull thump. Simon Wingate couldn’t possibly be involved in this situation, she assured herself. Simon Wingate had plans for a political career. He wouldn’t jeopardize his future for anyone, client or no.
At least, she didn’t think he would.
The truth was, Simon could be in on the whole thing. Could this be how a future politician planned to finance his campaign? Samuel Coulter and everyone and everything associated with him seemed too seedy for Simon Wingate. Or so she consoled herself.
The package delivery bothered her, though.
Lori ducked her head, racking her brain for every single memory of Saturday night’s cookout. Had he mentioned receiving a box on his client’s behalf? No, she was fairly sure he hadn’t. If it had been something simple and innocent like accepting the delivery while his client was out of town, wouldn’t he have said so? Wouldn’t he have complained about having to go into the office on a Saturday to receive this mysterious package? She would have, if she were Simon.
“What are you thinking?”
Ben’s question jarred her from the depths of her thoughts. “I was wondering how it all works,” she said with a wary half smile. Ben narrowed his eyes, but Special Agent Simmons was more than happy to jump in.
“It’s pretty common. Most carriers, including the US Postal Service and United Parcel Service, have stopped allowing live animals to be shipped, but there are private couriers and other express services willing to handle the packages. Federal law requires live animals are labeled with the common as well as scientific names for the contents, but it’s all legal.” She pursed her lips. “You can ship anything from a long baby boa to a full-grown snake. Oh, and they can only ship nonvenomous species.”
“Nonvenomous,” Lori repeated in a daze.
“Of course, they ship the venomous ones too, though.” The special agent gave a wan smile.
“I can’t believe there’s no oversight,” Lori said, aghast.
“There is, but if you were inspecting or getting paid an hourly rate, would you open every box of snakes?” She sank into her chair again and let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t blame them. The problem is, they start to believe those are sources deemed reliable based on past inspections. But we know they are the most dangerous kind of all.”
* * *
SINCE THEY WERE agreed Lori would be point person with the locals, the next morning she made Rinker’s
Pharmacy her first stop. Chet Rinker’s place had long served as the town’s express package pickup and drop-off point. If Samuel Coulter had shipped any parcel containing live animals, it would have gone through Mr. Rinker’s store. Lori wasn’t sure how these things worked, but it was possible the man had a record of deliveries made in the area.
She hung back, sipping a cup of coffee from the bakery and waiting for the line in front of the cash register to dwindle. Marjorie Rinker, Chet’s wife, was working the line while he bustled around behind her filling orders without making eye contact with the people at the counter.
Lori waited patiently, enjoying her coffee and letting her speculation run wild. She was so lost in thought she jumped when the bell above the door jingled behind her. She did a double take when she realized the woman bustling into the store was her own—“Mama?”
Sophia Castillo-Cabrera whirled, her expression a mixture of surprise and mortification. “Mija? What are you doing here?”
Lori nodded toward the counter. “I need to ask Mr. Rinker some questions, but I was waiting for the line to die down. What are you doing here?”
“Me?” With her hand pressed to her chest and her eyes wide, Lori’s mother was the picture of innocence. Unfortunately, she’d oversold it with her delivery. “I’m here to pick up odds and ends.”
Lori frowned at her mother. Sophia was many things, but a good liar was not on the list. “Mama, is everything okay?”
Her mother’s mouth pinched into a tight line and her dark eyes narrowed to slits. When she was younger, Lori would have quavered at what she termed her mother’s angry face. Now, studying her up close, she could honestly say her expression was more agitated than aggravated.
“The doctor gave me a prescription to help with some...personal issues,” she said at last.
Lori swallowed a scoff. Her mother didn’t appear to be in the mood for jokes. “What kind of medication?”
“I’m starting to have hormonal changes, not that it’s any of your business. The doctor called in a prescription for me, but I’m fine.” With a flick of her wrist, her mother dismissed any possible discussion of what Lori could only assume was the onset of menopause. “What do you need to talk to Mr. Chet about?” She moved closer and pitched her voice low. “Are you in trouble?”
The conversation shifted from menopause to pregnancy so fast Lori felt the whiplash. “No, Mama. I have to talk to him about police business.”
“Ah.” Her mother’s hand flew to her chest again, but this time she gave herself a comforting pat. “Okay. Okay, good.”
Lori shook her head. “I can’t believe you thought—It would be an actual miracle, Mama,” she said gravely. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Sophia sniffed, clearly miffed. “I’m not disappointed.” Her expression softened. “I’m never disappointed in you, mija. I just miss you sometimes.”
“I miss you too, Mama.”
Lori was tempted to confide in her mother, tell her that sometimes she wished her life were exciting enough to make that kind of trouble a possibility. She wanted to tell her about Simon Wingate and the almost kiss. Confess that sometimes she mourned the loss of Jeff Masters and what they might have had. Mostly, she wanted to talk to her mother in the openhearted way they had spoken with one another in the years before the military tore her down and rebuilt her.
The bell above the door rang again.
They spun in unison, and Lori saw Julianne panting in the open doorway, her eyes darting from Lori to her mother and back. She looked scared and remained uncharacteristically silent.
“Is everything okay?” Lori asked, taking a step closer to the door.
“I, uh...” Her gaze slid toward Lori’s mother. “I need to speak to you. Official business.”
Sophia took the hint. “Don’t mind me.” She gave Lori’s arm a reassuring pat and moved past her. “I’ll go get in line. We’ll talk later.”
When her mother was gone, Lori gave her full attention to Julianne. Lowering her voice, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Lena is in the office,” she whispered, nervously glancing at Sophia’s back.
“What?” Reflexively, Lori raised her wrist to glance at her watch. “She should be in school.”
Julianne swallowed hard. “She cut. Obviously.” Then, taking Lori’s elbow, she drew her out the door. “You need to come. She’s upset.”
Lori’s heart began to pound and she quickened her step. “Upset about what? Did she say?”
Julianne huffed and puffed, trying to keep pace. “She only wanted to talk to you, but since I was the only one in the office at the time, I was able to get her to calm down and talk to me. I guess some friend of hers wasn’t at school and she called the girl’s house and her parents thought she was with Lena—”
“Jasmine!” Lori broke into a run.
She burst into the office and found her sister sitting at Julianne’s desk, a can of soda clasped between her hands. Ben stood near Lori’s desk, close enough to keep tabs on the teenager, but not so close as to loom over her. He was holding her sister’s glitter-cased phone in his big hands.
“What is it? What’s happening?” Lori demanded, dropping down to look her sister in the eyes. “Is it Jas?”
Lena nodded mutely, her fingertips pressing into the aluminum can as tears spilled over the edge of her lashes.
Lori glanced up at Julianne before pressing on with her questions. “She wasn’t at school today?”
“No. And when I called her cell, it kept going to voice mail, so I called her mom to see if she was sick or something,” Lena said, her voice creaky from crying. “She said she was supposed to be at our house.”
Lori nodded to show she was following. “But she hasn’t been to our house,” she prompted, oddly heartened that her sister still considered her a member of the household, whether she lived there or not.
“No. And when I looked at her PicturSpam account, all I saw were pictures of that guy,” Lena said, anger and frustration starting to overtake her fear.
Lori cast a quick look in Ben’s direction before pushing for more. “The guy from Reptile Rendezvous?”
“Yeah. Rick,” Lena confirmed.
“Rick Dale, according to his profile,” Ben added.
Lori’s head jerked up. When she’d spoken to Jasmine’s mother about what Lena had told her, Keely insisted that they kept a close eye on their daughter’s accounts and hadn’t seen anything about any guy in particular in her feed. “Is he on there? On Jasmine’s page?”
Ben nodded. “All over it.”
She stretched a hand toward Ben, gesturing for the phone. “I talked to her mom. Keely Jones said they hadn’t seen anything about a guy on her pages.”
“You talked to her mom?” Lena demanded, redirecting some of her anger Lori’s way. “When? What did you say?”
He shot a look at Lena, then held the phone out to Lori. Unperturbed by Lena’s adolescent outrage, she took it and began to scroll. “I talked to her that day. She needed to know what was up. Jas has no business hanging around guys that much older than her.” She swiped back to the top of the feed, then frowned as she noted the username showing there. “Le-Le? Does Jas have more than one PicturSpam account?”
She looked up just in time to see the lightning bolt of guilt cross her sister’s face. Thankfully, the Cabrera stubborn streak kicked in. Lena jutted her jaw, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Heaving a sigh, Lori shoved to her feet. Meeting Ben’s gaze, she translated. “That’s teenager for ‘Yeah. Duh.’ In case you don’t speak the language.”
Turning to Julianne, she said, “Call Keely. She has to be beside herself with worry. We can solve the mystery of the multiple accounts and start piecing together info for an Amber Alert.”
Focusing on Ben again, she tipped her chin up exactly as her sister had a mome
nt before. “I’m going across the hall to see about getting a warrant to search Coulter’s property. You coming?”
Chapter Eleven
“You cannot issue a warrant to search my client’s property based on a hunch,” Simon Wingate stated flatly. He couldn’t believe he’d actually managed to get the words out. His tongue felt thick. His head buzzed with questions he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted answered.
The Amber Alert had come across his phone while he was pouring his second cup of coffee. The first cup he’d downed transformed into a burbling sludge in his gut. He scanned the alert. The scant few facts he saw made his knees go weak.
Jasmine Jones. Sixteen. Last seen in a silver Toyota Corolla. Florida plates.
Jasmine. Lori Cabrera’s little sister had a best friend named Jasmine. He’d barely absorbed the information when Dora popped her head into the office kitchenette to inform him he was needed in Judge Nichols’s chambers concerning a search warrant. He didn’t have to ask what the summons was about or who was likely leading the charge to have his client’s property turned upside down and shaken until young Jasmine fell out.
Now here he was, standing opposite Harrison Hayes, Ben Kinsella and Lori Cabrera, and hating the position he was in. Hated opposing people he wanted to call friends. He was duty bound to argue against the issuance of a search warrant for Samuel Coulter’s property. It didn’t matter if he personally thought the request was reasonable. His opinion didn’t count.
Neither did the “evidence” Lori’s sister had produced. In the end, they had some screenshots of a social media profile of a young man named Rick Dale, who claimed he worked at the Reptile Rendezvous, and Marialena Cabrera’s word that the missing girl, Jasmine Jones, was likely with this Dale character.
While he understood the fire fueling Lori’s insistence on obtaining a search warrant, Simon could tell Hayes was aware they didn’t have a leg to stand on. His job, his only job, was to make sure nobody trampled on his client’s right to privacy. Part of him shuddered to think too hard about what they might find if they had free access to Coulter’s property.
