Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter #2)(14)

“Let’s let Jake sleep it off back at the station,” Zane said.

“No!” Jake straightened, his eyes wide open. “That’s where Bob was killed! They’ll get me too!”

“Who, Jake?” Stevie asked. “Who will get you?”

The man started to struggle in her grip. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to sit there all locked up and waiting for someone to come slash my neck.” Panic flooded his features.

“He under arrest?” Angie stepped forward, looking from Stevie to Zane.

“That depends,” Zane said. He glanced at Tony. “You pressing charges?”

Tony glared from Jake to the other men in the bar, who were listening and watching intently. “No.”

“Then he’s not under arrest. But I can’t let him drive home drunk,” said Zane.

“I’ll drive him home,” said Angie. “I’ve done it enough times before. He’s been a wreck since we found out about Bob, that’s all.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Jake slurred.

“You want Angie to drive you home?” Zane asked him. “You swear no more fighting tonight?”

“Yeah. I wanna go home.”

Zane nodded at Stevie, and she removed Jake’s cuffs. Angie grabbed an arm and steered him into the back of the bar. The tension level in the bar dropped twenty degrees.

“Go home, Tony,” Zane ordered. The man glared at everyone but turned and left.

Stevie took her first deep breath as Zane looked around the room. “I don’t want to come back tonight,” he said to the crowd. Murmurs of agreement went through the group.

Zane gestured to the door. “Let’s go.”

Stevie was ready to leave. Her man was in one piece, and she couldn’t wait to tell Carly she’d finally gotten some satisfaction with a boot to Jake Powers’s crotch.





CHAPTER SEVEN





The next morning Zane held the diner door open for Stevie. The scent of eggs, bacon, and coffee greeted them.

“I’m starving,” Stevie muttered. She held up a hand to Hank, who was sitting at a lonely table near the back, waiting for them.

Good choice. Zane didn’t want half the town listening while Hank updated them on Bob Fletcher’s autopsy results. He hadn’t liked the meeting location, but Hank said his schedule was tight, he needed to eat, and Zane would have to wait until his official report unless he wanted a briefing now.

Murder and maple syrup.

They greeted the medical examiner, and Zane held up two fingers to the waitress, signaling for coffee for Stevie and him. They needed it. They’d had a hard time falling asleep after the brawl at Fletcher’s last night. Nothing like an adrenaline dump in one’s stomach to make sleep stay away. Stevie had gone home with him and clung tight to him all night. They’d needed the one-on-one time.

He knew she was close to agreeing to move in with him. One of the hardest things he’d ever done was sit back and let her come to the decision in her own time, but Patsy had assured him it was the right path to take. Clearly the universe was trying to teach him patience.

Moments later they both had gotten coffee and ordered omelets, and now they watched as Hank wiped his mouth with his napkin, a time-for-business look on his face.

“Bob Fletcher had the remains of a Suboxone tablet under his tongue,” Hank announced quietly, glancing behind Zane and Stevie to make certain no public ears were listening.

Zane set down his coffee cup. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s Suboxone?”

“A treatment for opioid addiction. It dissolves under the tongue and helps relieve the addict’s withdrawal symptoms.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Stevie.

“It’s been around a few years,” said Hank. “It can become addicting itself, so it’s controlled. Bob had classic symptoms of a narcotic addiction.”

“Damn it!” Zane wanted to hit something. “I’m tired of finding out about people’s drug habits in this town. It’s like discovering dangerous mold inside your home’s walls. It can contaminate everything.”

“Did one of you give it to him?” Hank asked. “Or did you check to see if he had it on him?”

Zane looked at Stevie, and she frowned in confusion. “We didn’t give him any medication. And I know he was thoroughly searched before he was put in the cell. He wouldn’t have had access to anything like that in there.”

“Well, he got it somehow. I imagine during the time in your cell he was craving his narcotic fix pretty bad. Shakes. Sweats. Nausea. Someone gave him something to take the edge off.”

“Kenny wouldn’t do that,” said Zane. Stevie nodded vehemently in agreement.

“So that leaves your killer,” stated Hank. “He gave him something to make him feel better and then murdered him. Don’t know what I think of that.”

“That makes no sense,” said Stevie.

“Unless the murderer did it to get close to Bob,” suggested Zane. “Show him he had something to take the edge off and then killed him when his guard was down. Bob was a beefy guy, used to handling the drunks in his bar. To kill him by slashing his neck, you’d have to be up close and personal.”