With Extreme Pleasure by Alison Kent

glass had splintered into his gut.
    Fitz took a deep breath. “We weren’t sure until last night’s explosion exactly what Malling was up to.”
    “But now you know.”
    “We have an idea,” he said, giving King a bit of a nod as he palmed his mug. “We wouldn’t have made the connection except Cady’s name popped up on our radar when the locals plugged it into their system.”
    Huh. Interesting. “You were watching for it?”
    “We watch for anything related to Nathan Tuzzi,” McKie said, and brought his mug to his mouth.
    And that anything included a black-haired waif from New Jersey. “Back to this Malling. He’s after Cady?”
    “Best we can figure he’s supposed to make sure she knows that Tuzzi doesn’t forget or ever forgive.”
    “But if Malling’s been inside until recently, who’s been giving her grief all this time? Never mind. You’ve only been working the case a year.” King frowned, wished he had another cup of coffee because he was taking way too long to put this puzzle together. “What I don’t get is why Tuzzi blames her for his conviction.”
    This time Fitz considered him more closely. “Has she told you any of what led up to the break-in?”
    “Not much. Just that she holds herself responsible for her brother’s death. Nothing about why Tuzzi or any of his bunch would blame her for their situation.”
    “It started out as a college prank. One Cady got caught up in without intending to, I’m quite sure.”
    “Why are you sure?”
    Fitz cast a glance toward the third member of their strange little party before looking back at King. “She might like to tell you herself.”
    Or she might like not to, since this was the first he’d heard of any prank so far. “I’ve got a bald spot the size of Montana on the back of my head thanks to her. I think that buys me something.”
    “Nothing in the case files are sealed,” Fitz said, after several moments spent studying the floor as if searching for permission to speak. “Everything’s public record. So it’s not like I’d be betraying a confidence.”
    And if he was, King wouldn’t care. He didn’t have time, energy, or the means to do a search through courthouse files right now.
    Begged, borrowed, or stolen, he wanted the information so he and Cady could get out of here, and he could get some sleep. “Speak, man. I don’t have all day.”
    Fitz gave him a look that reminded him his day was no longer his own. “A friend of Cady’s had a beef with another girl at school. This girl belonged to a sorority that did a lot of charity work. They had a sculpture of their mascot, a Persian cat, in the sorority house’s front hall. Cady’s friend lifted it as a joke.”
    So far, all Cady seemed guilty of was a bad taste in friends. “That’s it?”
    “No, but it is where the story starts.”
    Patience, once his strong suit, no longer was. “Can we move on to the part where it gets good?”
    “The friend knew Cady was going home for the weekend, and asked her to take the sculpture with her and keep it for a while.”
    “Did she know what it was? Cady?”
    “She did, yes, but says she didn’t think much about it. Figured the prank would play out like these things do.”
    “How did this one get so out of hand?”
    “There was more to the figurine than met the eye.”
    “What was inside?” King asked, though he knew.
    Fitz shook his head. “A kilo of smack.”
    “Shit,” was all King could think of to say, though he was now keeping tally of all the things Cady hadn’t told him that he would’ve liked to have known. “Dealing drugs was how the sorority funded their charity work?”
    “The heroin belonged to the boyfriend of the sorority’s president, the girl who got into it with Cady’s friend.”
    Now things were cooking. “Let me guess. His name was Nathan Tuzzi.”
    “It was. And the stuff was ninety-two percent pure, just off the plane from Thailand with his number one mule, Ryland Combs.”
    “A