Rock Chick Renegade (Rock Chick #4)(106)

“You have a key?” I whispered, not about to make the same mistake as I’d made last night by being loud and calling attention to us.

He looked at me. “Client gave it to us.”

Oh. Right. That made sense.

Luke entered and didn’t turn on any lights. He went directly to a massive kitchen like he’d taken that route on numerous occasions. I followed.

He went straight to a small office off the kitchen that even in the dark I could see it was decorated by a woman. Luke pulled on a pair of plastic gloves then took a small flashlight out of his belt and started to rifle through the desk.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Anything,” Luke answered.

I stood there watching.

The flashlight often slid along the walls and I saw one of those bulletin boards with the criss-cross ribbons on it, business cards, receipts, notes, letters and photos were shoved into the ribbons. The photos were different shots of the same four people, a woman, a man and two young boys.

“They have children,” I hissed at Luke.

Luke didn’t answer, he kept searching.

I got more uncomfortable. I wanted to pretend it didn’t matter but it went against the grain, so deeply against the grain that the grain was feeling raw.

“Luke.”

He straightened and turned to me. “Not our problem.”

“But –”

“Babe.” His voice was a warning. I was trying his patience.

I snapped my mouth shut and crossed my arms on my chest.

I decided a bubble bath was sounding good. In fact, after we were done here, I was going to ask Luke to take me home. Then I was going to put my bath oil in my bag for the cabin and take my bath there when, after I was done, I could cozy up to Vance.

Fuck this shit.

So I would lose my unofficial place on the team.

Whatever.

Luke lost interest in the office and went upstairs. He was nearly as silent as Vance.

I followed trying hard not to stomp and throw a tantrum although I thought the situation warranted it.

We went to the bedroom and Luke rifled some more – drawers, medicine cabinet in the bathroom, nightstand. Then he got on his side on the floor and swung the light underneath the bed then he dropped to his back and shoved in his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“What?” I asked, arms still crossed on my chest, hip hitched, one leg out. My stance said “attitude” but I had to admit I was curious.

Luke came out with a box. He’d opened it under the bed. He got to his feet, put the little flashlight between his teeth and with the box open in one hand, he rifled through it with the other.

I walked forward and looked then stared with my mouth open.

It was a little pharmaceutical cabinet, not just pills (lots of pills), but vials filled with white powder, three of them, two very full, one half-empty, a mirror, a razor blade and a rolled up bill.

“Bitch is a cokehead,” Luke remarked after he’d taken the flashlight from his teeth.

“It could be his,” I suggested.

“He’s payin’ us to search his house. You think he’d leave his shit lyin’ around?”

Damn.

That made sense.

“Maybe he planted it,” I tried again.

“Doubtful. It isn’t hers, he’ll have a problem proving it if she fights it. Considering what’s at stake, she will. Easy enough to find out if she’s smart enough to ask for it to be printed.”

Damn again!

I glared at him.

Luke ignored my glare, dropped down and replaced the box.

“Don’t you need to photograph that or something?” I asked when he was back on his feet and back to searching.

“Call goes out to the husband tonight. They’re at a show. He comes home, knows right where to find it, big scene. He asks for the divorce. He’s got the dirt to nail her. She has no idea he has a woman on the side. She caves because she’s f**ked.”

His scenario left a bad taste in my mouth. This wasn’t about two people, it was about four.

Fuck.

After finding something Luke’s search intensified. In the end he found two more hidden vials of coke both nearly empty and another kit with mirror, blade and bill. He also found so many pill bottles hidden just about everywhere that it wasn’t funny. Finally he found an envelope taped to the back of the dining room hutch, in it a stack of receipts from pawn shops. Pill-Poppin’ Mama Cokehead was pawning jewelry, silver, Waterford crystal and a goodly number of other household items to finance her habit.

Luke yanked off his gloves and I knew we were done. We left how we came in, got in the car and Luke called it in. I sat there not knowing what to feel.

Those two boys had a cheating father who wanted to screw over his wife and a drug addict mother who, from the looks of it, was either high as a kite or significantly sedated on a regular basis.

After Luke was done describing where the bulk of the evidence could be found, he said, “Out,” then he started the Explorer and pulled away from the curb.

“This feels shit,” I told him, staring angrily out the window.

Luke didn’t respond.

“People suck,” I went on.

Luke stayed silent.

I crossed my arms on my chest. “We gonna go somewhere and crack some heads now?” I asked.