No Perfect Hero(87)
I should. But fuck, it barely takes an ounce of pressure for her to pull me down onto the bed.
I’m not exactly fighting her, and with a laugh, I tumble down to sprawl next to her.
“Guess I could stay a little longer.”
“Good.” She burrows into me again. “Because your pillows suck, and you make a much better one.”
“Ouch. Don’t leave that on the feedback card when you check out.”
She laughs. “I’d never say that to Ms. Wilma.”
“She’d let you. I’m starting to think she likes you better than she likes me.”
“Of course she does. I haven’t disappointed her by not giving her grandchildren yet.”
That saucy little minx’s grin is back, sunny and bright, and I narrow my eyes with a growl. “I’m not planning on making any babies for a while, Hay,” I say, tumbling her, squealing, back against the bed. “But I sure wouldn’t mind demonstrating how they’re made.”
*
I actually end up dozing off for a bit, after Haley and I rip each other apart one more time.
Deeper into the night, when it’s quieter and everything around me goes still, I drift awake and linger on Hay’s sleeping profile, the edge of moonlight making the faint peach fuzz of her cheek shine like silver.
Gently, I brush her hair back, then peel out of bed with careful steps, leaving her happily snuggled into the pillows she said suck so much.
Heading out into the living room, I snag my laptop and prop myself up on the couch, flicking through a few emails.
Nothing useful except a few potential leads for Bress’ contacts on the other side of the swath of forests walling Heart’s Edge off from the main roads into northern Idaho, that’s my major stumbling point. He wouldn’t keep anything damning here in Heart’s Edge.
Still, I’ve got to find a reason to get to Spokane and trace the center of his distribution hub without being noticed. He’s setting something up in Missoula, too, but Missoula’s small-time.
Spokane's where I get him for crossing state lines with illegal distribution.
As much as I hate it, it won't be Jenna’s death that takes him down. I’ve only got thirteen-year-old testimony from an unreliable eyewitness or two in the middle of pitched combat and uncertain circumstances. But the drug running, the money laundering?
I can have Bress locked away for life.
Doesn’t matter how it happens.
It just has to happen.
An email with a large attachment stops me. It's from a contact in Spokane, a local who doesn’t know why he’s watching a vacant warehouse from his nearby apartment window. Just that I’m paying him sickening amounts to take discreet photos of any activity. He’s done me one better.
He’s sent me a video, starring none other than Dennis Bress.
It’s shot at a distance, but there’s another man and an exchange.
A briefcase opened, money counted.
A duffel bag, and inside...what looks like bricks of white powder. Bress looks around nervously, then gestures to one of the thugs flanking him. The man slits the end of a brick open, licks a line of powder from his fingers, sniffs, then nods tersely to Bress.
Fuck.
Considering the size of the distribution network I’ve sniffed out, there’s no way in hell this is a full consignment. I’m guessing he’s meeting with a new supplier for a trial run before they start moving larger quantities through his various businesses across the Pacific Northwest.
He’s never gonna get to that trial run.
Gotcha, asshole.
*
It’s almost dawn by the time Doc, Blake, and I convene outside the cabin.
I don’t want to wake Hay, and I don’t need their probing questions about the woman sleeping in my bed. We settle on the tailgate of my truck, drinking coffee from white ceramic cups and watching the video on my laptop.
“Well,” Doc says in the slow, measured way he has that makes him seem like he’s a wise old man of the mountain, considering every word and wasting none. “It’s not hard evidence, but it’s incriminating enough for a citizen’s arrest.”
“I don’t know,” Blake says. “You could get bagged just as easy for stalking.”
“I’m not the one who took the video, and I paid my informant in cash. I’m just following up on a tip sent by a person in the know,” I tell them. “Besides, bounty hunting and skip tracing are just licensed stalking anyway.”
Blake smirks. “That why you’re hiding the chick from us? Don’t want her to overhear that you’re basically a well-paid creep?”
Doc arches one sharp eyebrow. “What girl?”
“Her name is Haley, not ‘the chick’ or ‘what girl,’ and I’m hiding her so you mouthy assholes don’t wake her up.” I take a bracing sip of my coffee. “You in or not?”
With a snort, Blake smacks my shoulder. “I’ve got your back no matter what, bro.”
Doc muses thoughtfully, then adds, “I suppose someone needs to be the cooler head to keep you two idiots out of trouble.”
“Cooler head, my ass,” Blake snorts. “Guess you were cool as a damn cucumber when you got yourself all mixed up with Nine.”