“You may want to rethink that word, Ms. Sheppard.” His long, lean finger entered her field of vision as he pointed to one of her scribbles.
And when he leaned down to offer a few suggestions in Spanish, the warmth of his breath caressed her cheek.
Or was that wishful thinking?
Cate clamped her teeth together and banished that errant thought.
She did not wish to be close to Zeke ever again.
They were over.
Done.
Even if the man’s close proximity was awakening unruly, traitorous hormones.
He moved on, but she kept her head down. Until she regrouped and got her emotions under control, focusing on his broad shoulders, muscled torso, and those impressive biceps straining against the fabric of his dress shirt could be dangerous.
Somehow she made it through the interminable class—but the minute it was over she sped toward the door.
Someone in the department needed to research this new development ASAP.
Hefting her book-filled backpack into a more comfortable position, she half jogged toward the cafeteria, detouring toward the door that led to the courtyard where students congregated in warm weather. It ought to be deserted in January—the perfect place to call her handler . . . aka father.
Even if someone did venture out, there was no rule against calling family—and the cell number was registered in his name. In fact, if anyone happened to check her phone log, all the calls would appear legit.
She dropped her backpack beside the door . . . waited until the hall cleared . . . and exited.
A shiver rolled through her.
Mercy, it was cold out here!
She tucked herself into a small alcove that offered a modicum of protection from the biting wind and leaned against the frigid stone wall.
Her handler answered on the second ring, and she gave him a quick briefing.
“I remember Zeke from his County days, before the DEA recruited him. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll text you once I have information, and you can call me back.”
“Thanks.” She ended the call, slipped back inside, and picked up her backpack.
As she stowed her phone in a side pocket, the edge of a piece of paper tucked in another compartment caught her eye.
She pulled it out, hoisted the backpack into position, and opened the folded sheet.
Library. 4:30. Bring Spanish textbook.
No signature—but the cryptic note didn’t require one.
Zeke had pulled an impressive sleight-of-hand trick to get this in her backpack without anyone noticing.
So much for the after-school hike she’d planned around the property.
She continued toward the cafeteria, appetite vanishing as the looming meeting with the man she’d once expected to marry sent a shaft of tension spiraling through her.
Whatever his story—personal or professional—it was imperative she remember why she was here and do nothing to threaten her cover. If she let Zeke’s presence distract her, she could make mistakes. Assuming there were links to foul play within these walls, a slip of any kind could put both her investigation—and herself—at risk.
Ivy Hill might be cushier than her last gig, but she couldn’t discount the possibility of danger.
Because the more time that passed, the less chance the two missing teens would surface unscathed. More likely, they’d come to a bad end.
And if someone was willing to kill two innocent young people for motives yet to be determined, that same someone wouldn’t hesitate to kill an undercover detective who got in the way—or got too close to the truth.
So no matter what Zeke had to say, she’d keep her emotions to herself and make it clear that as far as she was concerned, the teacher/student role play that had allowed them to infiltrate this institution was the only thing they had in common.
He could do his job, she would do hers—and they’d steer clear of each other as much as possible in the process.
End of story.
Wolf ducked into a doorway, pulled out his latest burner phone, and turned up the collar of his coat against the icy wind.
The day he could leave this kind of weather behind forever couldn’t come too soon.
And with his nest egg growing rapidly, he didn’t have long to wait. The minute he hit his target number he was heading for sun, sand, and surf.
Until then, however, he had a business to manage.
He tapped in Razor’s number, scanning the trash-littered alleys, empty storefronts, broken-out windows.
As neighborhoods went, this one ranked high on the most-dangerous list. No wonder the patrol officers were SWAT team members.
But no one would bother him. He was well known here, and even the few who might risk doing him harm if he was wandering around at night would leave him alone in the middle of the day.
Fear of retribution was a powerful safety net—and he had many allies.
“What’s crackin’, man?”
He swallowed his disgust. Slang was for losers. “Save the street talk for your lower-level contacts. You’re above that.”
“Thanks to you—but the lingo comes in handy during deals. What’s up?”
“I’m past due for a status report on the last shipment.”
“It’s still in distribution. I was gonna call you once the inventory was gone.”
“Transactions are slower than usual. You sure there wasn’t any trouble at the pickup point?”
“Nope. It was smooth. Not a soul in sight. But everybody’s on different schedules during the holidays. Getting the word out that we have merchandise has been slower.”
“The holidays are over.” A homeless man across the street wove down the slippery sidewalk, and Wolf grimaced in disgust.
Another druggie who’d lost the battle to get clean—if he’d ever bothered to enter the fray.
What a wasted life.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Razor sounded miffed.
Wolf refocused.
Maybe his comment—and inherent insinuation—were out of line. There was no reason to doubt the trusted lieutenant who was his face on the streets. Razor owed him—and the man knew it. Without his intervention, Razor would be just another hash mark on the OD list, one more nameless statistic.
Instead, he was positioned to take over an operation that would bring him wealth beyond his wildest dreams—as long as he stuck with the program.
Continued cooperation was the key to both their futures.
Better backtrack.
“Nothing. Sorry. It’s been a busy holiday season. I’m overdue for a vacation.”
“You’re headin’ toward a permanent vacation. Hang in and keep your eye on the prize.”
Wolf arched an eyebrow.
Once upon a time, he’d been the one offering pep talks.
Another sign he should hand over the reins soon and fade out of the picture.
“You’re right. A few more months, and my kingdom will be yours.”
“Don’t rush on my account. I don’t know if our contacts are ready for new management.”
“They will be. I’ve been laying the groundwork. You should start grooming your own second-in-command.”
“I’m workin’ on that.”
The wind picked up, and Wolf set off down the street at a brisk pace. “I’ll be in touch when the next delivery is scheduled.”
“Same pickup place?”