There were numerous books stacked on the nightstand—unlike those in the den, these were mostly fiction and true crime. In fact, Lucy had read several of them. She flipped through them, looking for marks or flags; there were none. There was a desk, but it had been cleared out, the papers and anything else now ashes in the DEA evidence locker. Nicole’s large walk-in closet was half filled, her drawers filled with jeans and T-shirts and workout clothes. Nicole lived here … she just didn’t live here. It was part of her act. The same act that enabled her to be a DEA agent while simultaneously working with the drug cartels.
Lucy stood in the middle of the bedroom.
Who are you?
Nicole had no remorse for her crimes. She’d shown no remorse during her initial arrest. She’d taunted Brad when he met with her two weeks ago regarding the murders of several drug dealers with ties to Tobias. She faked remorse in court to help get her plea deal—but it was the information she could provide, not the remorse for her actions, that tipped the scales.
Nicole was patient. Was the plan as she’d told Sam Archer, that when she had enough money she was going to skip the country? Or was there something else? And why stay so long? Did she enjoy the double life? Was the double life—access to a constant stream of information—her job?
The money was part of it, but there was more. That her people had killed the DEA agents but not the marshals told Lucy that Nicole had a deep animosity for the DEA. Why? Had something happened in her past that made her hate the DEA? Or were the murders practical, because the regional office was small, and killing DEA agents would limit their resources? Were those agents specifically targeted, or random?
Slowly, Lucy opened the drawers again. One by one, looking for anything out of place. Underwear. Socks. Lingerie. Sexy lingerie, and a lot of it. Nicole had been unmarried, and according to the files hadn’t had a regular boyfriend when she was arrested. But what about past boyfriends? A secret boyfriend?
In the bottom right drawer of the dresser were male clothes. T-shirts, running shorts, boxers, socks. Old boyfriend? Current boyfriend? Where was he? Who was he? He didn’t live here, but he’d been here.
Lucy walked into the bathroom and went through all the drawers. She found one filled with men’s items—deodorant, shampoo, an electric razor, condoms.
Did these items belong to Tobias? Was Nicole sexually involved with the drug lord? That would give more weight to the idea that he would spring her from prison rather than kill her.
Maybe. Maybe.
Lucy walked around again and then it hit her. While the master bedroom was the most lived in, there was still little personal here. According to the records, Nicole had bought this house three years ago, when she first transferred to San Antonio. But there were no photos, no mementos, no personalization of any kind. It was one thing to be a neat, meticulous person; it was quite another to have no human footprint.
Had the DEA taken these things? If so, Lucy could see why Nicole wouldn’t want the DEA or the FBI rifling through anything personal. That would give the police an edge, and Nicole didn’t want them to have any clues as to where she was or who she was with. Perhaps a photo of her with the owner of the boxers and condoms?
If they had a photo of Tobias, it might change everything.
* * *
DEA Agent Adam Dover III had sold his soul to the devil twenty-three years ago and never looked back.
It was impossible to look back when regret would put a bullet in your head.
He looked over at the redhead tied to the straight-backed chair. Her face had swollen from when he’d slammed it into the wall. But the bitch had tried to escape. Feisty little thing. His cock stirred, but he calmed himself down. He had a job to do, and he wouldn’t be caught with his pants down.
After he captured Kane Rogan, before he killed the redhead, he might
Lucy stood in the middle of the bedroom.
Who are you?
Nicole had no remorse for her crimes. She’d shown no remorse during her initial arrest. She’d taunted Brad when he met with her two weeks ago regarding the murders of several drug dealers with ties to Tobias. She faked remorse in court to help get her plea deal—but it was the information she could provide, not the remorse for her actions, that tipped the scales.
Nicole was patient. Was the plan as she’d told Sam Archer, that when she had enough money she was going to skip the country? Or was there something else? And why stay so long? Did she enjoy the double life? Was the double life—access to a constant stream of information—her job?
The money was part of it, but there was more. That her people had killed the DEA agents but not the marshals told Lucy that Nicole had a deep animosity for the DEA. Why? Had something happened in her past that made her hate the DEA? Or were the murders practical, because the regional office was small, and killing DEA agents would limit their resources? Were those agents specifically targeted, or random?
Slowly, Lucy opened the drawers again. One by one, looking for anything out of place. Underwear. Socks. Lingerie. Sexy lingerie, and a lot of it. Nicole had been unmarried, and according to the files hadn’t had a regular boyfriend when she was arrested. But what about past boyfriends? A secret boyfriend?
In the bottom right drawer of the dresser were male clothes. T-shirts, running shorts, boxers, socks. Old boyfriend? Current boyfriend? Where was he? Who was he? He didn’t live here, but he’d been here.
Lucy walked into the bathroom and went through all the drawers. She found one filled with men’s items—deodorant, shampoo, an electric razor, condoms.
Did these items belong to Tobias? Was Nicole sexually involved with the drug lord? That would give more weight to the idea that he would spring her from prison rather than kill her.
Maybe. Maybe.
Lucy walked around again and then it hit her. While the master bedroom was the most lived in, there was still little personal here. According to the records, Nicole had bought this house three years ago, when she first transferred to San Antonio. But there were no photos, no mementos, no personalization of any kind. It was one thing to be a neat, meticulous person; it was quite another to have no human footprint.
Had the DEA taken these things? If so, Lucy could see why Nicole wouldn’t want the DEA or the FBI rifling through anything personal. That would give the police an edge, and Nicole didn’t want them to have any clues as to where she was or who she was with. Perhaps a photo of her with the owner of the boxers and condoms?
If they had a photo of Tobias, it might change everything.
* * *
DEA Agent Adam Dover III had sold his soul to the devil twenty-three years ago and never looked back.
It was impossible to look back when regret would put a bullet in your head.
He looked over at the redhead tied to the straight-backed chair. Her face had swollen from when he’d slammed it into the wall. But the bitch had tried to escape. Feisty little thing. His cock stirred, but he calmed himself down. He had a job to do, and he wouldn’t be caught with his pants down.
After he captured Kane Rogan, before he killed the redhead, he might
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