flu can be a bitch. Yeah, Odin’s in place.” She held the phone out toward the dog and a voice gave an order in what sounded like Dutch.
The dog began nosing his way through the living room, then to the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time Alex had seen a drug dog working a scene, but this time it was his home, or Miri’s at least, and the stakes were massive.
“He damned well better not find anything,” he said, both aggravated and more afraid than he’d been in a long time. “Miri isn’t a druggie. No way.”
“I know. I read your bio. Your mom was an addict, so neither of you guys are into that kind of stuff.”
“Bio?”
“We do a full background check on anyone we work with,” she replied, following the hound as he made his way into Miri’s bedroom. A moment later Odin whined, then sat down.
“That’s his alert,” Morgan said. The shepherd seemed particularly interested in the stack of file boxes.
“There can’t be anything in those,” Alex said. “I just went through them yesterday. It’s all old clothes and crap.”
Morgan ignored him, pulling down one box at a time, revealing the door behind them. She gave that a frown, then kept working through the boxes until she’d reached the one that Odin had found of interest. She flipped open the lid and fished through the pile of clothes.
Alex moved closer, wondering if this was all just street theater to make him feel more grateful to Veritas.
“Hello,” Morgan muttered, pulling out a quart baggie full of white powder. Cocaine. “This has gotta be delivery weight. You’re looking at thirty years for this. And what do we have here?” She used a piece of his old clothing to retrieve a Glock. She sniffed the barrel. “Been fired recently. Any chance this is your sister’s?”
“No. She has a Taurus.” He stared at the firearm and the coke, growing lightheaded. “I can’t go back. I won’t go back.” I’ll die this time .
Morgan dug further into the box but didn’t find anything else of interest. When she looked over, Alex slid down the wall until his butt hit the floor, his head in his hands. It was as if he’d lost the will to remain upright. Odin sat nearby, watching him closely.
“Parkin, you okay?” No reply. “Hey! Talk to me,” she said, growing concerned.
Alex let his hands fall away, his face ashen. “It isn’t just me they’re after. This might send my sister to prison too.”
“Yes, it might. Frankly, I’m not surprised. You put some heavyweight dealers away, and that means you have a lot of enemies.” She weighed the bag in her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
Morgan headed to the bathroom, Odin trotting along behind her. She flushed down the coke and then the plastic bag, hoping it didn’t clog the toilet. She spoke to the handler on the phone for a moment, and he sent Odin off again with another Dutch command. As the dog worked, Morgan dug around under the bathroom sink, located the toilet-bowl cleaner, and pulled it out.
A couple minutes later, Alex watched her from the doorway. His color was better, and she knew it was only a matter of time before his temper took over.
“Has the hound’s nose found anything else?” she asked.
“No, I think that’s it. As if that isn’t enough.” He shook himself. “If you didn’t have contacts in the DEA—”
“That’s my job—outthinking bad guys. Sometimes I’m really good at it. Other times . . . ”
“Like at the bar last night?” he asked.
She nodded. “I was looking for Russians, not stalkers. That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
“You were there. I sure as hell wasn’t.”
It appeared they were both wearing hair shirts. She knew she’d never forget Miri’s face covered in blood.
Morgan swished the bright-blue cleaner around the bowl, flushed, repeated the process, took a few tissues and wiped down the outside of the tank, then flushed those. After cleaning her hands, she scrubbed down the sink.
When she returned
The dog began nosing his way through the living room, then to the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time Alex had seen a drug dog working a scene, but this time it was his home, or Miri’s at least, and the stakes were massive.
“He damned well better not find anything,” he said, both aggravated and more afraid than he’d been in a long time. “Miri isn’t a druggie. No way.”
“I know. I read your bio. Your mom was an addict, so neither of you guys are into that kind of stuff.”
“Bio?”
“We do a full background check on anyone we work with,” she replied, following the hound as he made his way into Miri’s bedroom. A moment later Odin whined, then sat down.
“That’s his alert,” Morgan said. The shepherd seemed particularly interested in the stack of file boxes.
“There can’t be anything in those,” Alex said. “I just went through them yesterday. It’s all old clothes and crap.”
Morgan ignored him, pulling down one box at a time, revealing the door behind them. She gave that a frown, then kept working through the boxes until she’d reached the one that Odin had found of interest. She flipped open the lid and fished through the pile of clothes.
Alex moved closer, wondering if this was all just street theater to make him feel more grateful to Veritas.
“Hello,” Morgan muttered, pulling out a quart baggie full of white powder. Cocaine. “This has gotta be delivery weight. You’re looking at thirty years for this. And what do we have here?” She used a piece of his old clothing to retrieve a Glock. She sniffed the barrel. “Been fired recently. Any chance this is your sister’s?”
“No. She has a Taurus.” He stared at the firearm and the coke, growing lightheaded. “I can’t go back. I won’t go back.” I’ll die this time .
Morgan dug further into the box but didn’t find anything else of interest. When she looked over, Alex slid down the wall until his butt hit the floor, his head in his hands. It was as if he’d lost the will to remain upright. Odin sat nearby, watching him closely.
“Parkin, you okay?” No reply. “Hey! Talk to me,” she said, growing concerned.
Alex let his hands fall away, his face ashen. “It isn’t just me they’re after. This might send my sister to prison too.”
“Yes, it might. Frankly, I’m not surprised. You put some heavyweight dealers away, and that means you have a lot of enemies.” She weighed the bag in her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
Morgan headed to the bathroom, Odin trotting along behind her. She flushed down the coke and then the plastic bag, hoping it didn’t clog the toilet. She spoke to the handler on the phone for a moment, and he sent Odin off again with another Dutch command. As the dog worked, Morgan dug around under the bathroom sink, located the toilet-bowl cleaner, and pulled it out.
A couple minutes later, Alex watched her from the doorway. His color was better, and she knew it was only a matter of time before his temper took over.
“Has the hound’s nose found anything else?” she asked.
“No, I think that’s it. As if that isn’t enough.” He shook himself. “If you didn’t have contacts in the DEA—”
“That’s my job—outthinking bad guys. Sometimes I’m really good at it. Other times . . . ”
“Like at the bar last night?” he asked.
She nodded. “I was looking for Russians, not stalkers. That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
“You were there. I sure as hell wasn’t.”
It appeared they were both wearing hair shirts. She knew she’d never forget Miri’s face covered in blood.
Morgan swished the bright-blue cleaner around the bowl, flushed, repeated the process, took a few tissues and wiped down the outside of the tank, then flushed those. After cleaning her hands, she scrubbed down the sink.
When she returned
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