Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(33)

Jason didn’t have the foggiest clue what she was talking about but found himself enjoying the conversation. Kisha had always been like a cool breeze. Easy to be around, smart, observant, and curious about life with a whimsical streak. It didn’t surprise Jason that she’d gone into journalism.

“What is the scuttlebutt about Braxton’s murder?”

Kisha cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. “Ah, you want something from me?”

“Just some local gossip from an old friend. Too much to ask?”

“If you take the case, will you keep me in the loop?”

Jason extended his hand. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. How about that?”

She squeezed his hand. “It’s great to see you. How about dinner tonight? I’ll introduce you to my better half.”

“Great.”

“The Rock House. Eight o’clock. We’ll save a spot at the bar for you. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Jason said.

“Perfect,” she echoed, and then Kisha was off down the sidewalk.



Seconds later, Jason was turning onto Blount Avenue. He sucked in a breath as the Porsche began to climb the Veterans Memorial Bridge with picturesque views of Lake Guntersville on either side of him. Off to his right, he saw the piece of shore known as Buck Island and the first of an impressive lineup of mansions that all fronted the water.

Jason put his right-turn blinker on as he saw the GUNTER’S LANDING sign and then Buck Island Drive.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled, trying and failing to relax. He knew this next part might be as hard as or harder than what he’d been through at the jail.

Family . . .





25


Tyson Cade glanced at the number calling in on his phone. He was on Highway 75 headed toward Fort Payne. He had several stops to make. A meeting with a supplier. Another with a buyer. Dealing drugs wasn’t a nine-to-five job. It was a twenty-four hour, seven-days-a-week, 365-days-a-year gig. If you didn’t have the energy, you had no business playing the game. If you weren’t smart, you’d end up in jail. If you were dumb, you’d end up dead.

Tyson was only twenty-nine years old, but he felt like he’d lived two lifetimes. The one before he started dealing, when he graduated near the top of his class at Guntersville High and played baseball for a year at Snead State. And the one after, when he’d risen in the ranks by outworking everyone and becoming Johnny “King” Hanson’s right-hand man. When King finally got caught and sent to prison, the “kingdom” went to Tyson. To oversee it, he had to stay on top of everything. His supply. His demand. His meth cooks.

And his buyers of high-end product like opiates and cocaine. These folks, like Jana Waters, were sometimes the hardest to deal with, but they brought in the biggest profit. A rich doctor’s wife shouldn’t have been a money problem, but damned if Braxton Waters hadn’t chosen to play hardball. He was going to divorce Jana, and he was using her coke habit as leverage.

He’d underestimated Tyson, as had Jana. A fatal mistake, quite literally for Dr. Waters.

Tyson grabbed his cell and focused on the digits. How many burner phones out there had he dispensed to his crew? He’d lost count. This looked like one of the numbers, but he wasn’t sure.

Screw it.

“Yeah.”

“Jana Rich had a visitor today.” Deputy Kelly Flowers’s voice came through on the receiver. His voice was high. Keyed up.

“1-800 GET RICH?”

“Yep.”

“He take the case?” Tyson asked, seeing a green sign indicating fifteen miles to Fort Payne.

“He said he was going to think about it.”

Tyson tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe we should help him come to a decision.”

“You think that’s wise? The sheriff and Shay tried to get him to go out the back door to avoid publicity, and the sonofabitch marched out the front like he was the mayor.”

Tyson chewed on a nail and spat what he’d bitten off into the footwell. “Well, we’re gonna do more than make a suggestion.”

“Who?”

“You let me take care of that.” Tyson ended the call and set the phone in the passenger seat.

Up in the distance, he saw a billboard advertising Miller Lite and then, just past it, a familiar face sporting a dark suit and a big smile.

Tyson almost laughed at the coincidence, but he didn’t. Instead, he sneered at the man on the billboard and tipped his hand to his head, deciding that he would handle Jason Rich himself.

“Be seeing you soon, Counselor.”





26


Jason pulled into the circle driveway and parked behind a silver Toyota 4-Runner. There were a couple other cars in the wide parking area, including a red Jeep Wrangler and Ford pickup. Jason walked toward the front door and rang the doorbell. He had to admit that he was almost as nervous to see his nieces as he’d been to see their mother. Three years was a long time in a kid’s life. An eternity.

The door swung open, and a woman stood in the opening. She was almost as tall as he was with her father’s strawberry-blond hair and mother’s blue eyes.

“Uncle Jason?” she asked, creasing her eyebrows.

“Nola?” Jason figured it had to be Nola because Niecy had darker hair.