Mercy: Second Chance Military Romance (72 page)

“I guess.”

“Oh, you’re one of those people.”

“One of those people?”

“You know, someone who has never smoked but grew up being taught about the dangers of marijuana.”

“I’ve smoked before.”

“Yeah?”

“Not excessively like you probably do, but yeah.”

“I’m not an addict,” he said defensively then repeated his question. “What are you doing in here?”

“I told you, I needed to find a bathroom.”

“Okay.”

The tone of his voice made me think he didn’t believe me.

“I just stopped by to say hello and ask you a few more questions.”

“Sounds good, but I think we should smoke a bit before you start asking.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Come on,” he said, pulling out a vaporizer pen. “Follow me.”

He walked past me and out onto a balcony off his room that looked out over the pool and backyard. I followed him, looking down at all the guests – mostly women in bikinis or even less clothing.

“You have a lot of these parties?” I asked as I sat down on a cushioned seat near the railing.

He took a seat next to me and said, “I guess. To be honest, I find them boring. Most of the people here are after one thing.”

“Your weed?”

“Weed or money. Take your pick.”

“Must be horrible,” I said sarcastically.

“You’re not like most women.”

Damn straight
, I thought, staring down at the partiers below.

“You don’t like parties?” he asked.

“I do, but only ones where I know everyone.”

“I could go around an introduce you as my new girlfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “I bet you could, but no.”

He took a deep hit from the vaporizer then passed it to me. I looked at the shiny metal object then shook my head.

“No thanks. One of your strains?”

“A new one we’re working on. I’m actually hunting for a new grower right now.”

“Yeah?” I asked, not bothering to tell him about my father, Sammy Hill, the best grower in Colorado.

“Yeah. The business is getting crazy competitive. I need to come up with something new all the time if I want to maintain my dominance.”

“Does being dominant make you happy?”

“I don’t know about all that, but it’s made me rich.”

I nodded, reminding myself that greed wasn’t necessarily a crime.

“Not as rich as the cartels,” I said, trying to push his buttons.

“No, but I’m not evil like the cartels either. Everything I do is above board.”

He took another hit then tried to pass the vaporizer to me again. I shook my head as he stared directly at my face, making eye contact briefly.

“It’s good stuff,” he said.

“Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe. Smoking makes me so…”

I cut myself off right before I said horny.

“So what?” he asked.

“Tired,” I lied.

He didn’t need to know.

“Work makes me tired,” he said, turning to glance at all the people downstairs.

“Haven’t you thought about retiring? Or are you one of those people who never have enough?”

“I have more than enough for several lifetimes, but I like to keep myself busy.”

I looked over at him.

“Isn’t there a glass ceiling you hit with legal marijuana?”

“I’ve not reached it yet,” he said, still studying his guests.

“What if you do?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he said. “Are you sure pot doesn’t make you curious?”

“Just doing my job,” I said. “Journalists ask questions.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t invite you to my party to work.”

“No?”

“No,” he said, turning his attention back to me.

Damn those blue eyes!

We stared at each other a moment. I looked away first, wondering if I should leave before things got any weirder. While I hadn’t had a chance to plant any listening devices in his bedroom or home office, doing so wasn’t a necessity. In fact, doing it without a warrant would probably get me in trouble.

After everything I’d seen during my few short years at the DEA, I had no problems with bending the rules when necessary. And to get off this case and onto another that might actually go somewhere, I had to get as much information on Brent as possible.

“Weed must make you quiet too,” he said.

“Yeah. It’s been a crazy week, and I’m tired. I should get going.”

“So soon? I haven’t even given you the tour yet.”

I stood up.

“I don’t want to make you a bad host.”

“They can wait,” he said, also getting to his feet.

Our eyes met again as if they were drawn to each other.

“I’ll call you soon for another interview maybe.”

“You don’t have enough for a story?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Well, that’s good news. I’d love to see you again.”

I bet you would
, I thought but smiled.

“Thanks for inviting me. Maybe next time I’ll stay a bit longer.”

“Anytime,” he said. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Thanks.”

As we went back downstairs to the party, walking side by side, I noticed how well he moved. He walked me all the way to my car. I waved then got in and drove away, the image of him standing in the driveway getting smaller in my rear view mirror as I drove away.

SIX

Heidi

I don’t Believe You

Maurice wasn’t the most reliable criminal informant, but he occasionally gave me information that led to a break in one case or another. I decided to shake him down and find out if he had any information on Brent Stone.

The more I’d gotten to know about the millionaire, the more I thought he was innocent and honestly making money with marijuana in Colorado. At the same time, my boss wanted me to keep digging, so talking to Maurice was my next logical step.

As I waited for him at our usual spot in a grocery store parking lot, I thought about Brent Stone. Something about the man made me suspicious, but I couldn’t figure out why. I saw Maurice walked across the parking lot toward my car, looking left and right to make sure he wasn’t seen.

I unlocked the passenger door of my Sebring. He opened it and got in.

“You’re late,” I said.

“I had to make sure I wasn’t followed.”

“Someone threaten you or something?”

“Not specifically, but when you’re informing on others, you have to be careful.”

I nodded. “Speaking of which, what do you have for me this week?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Is it about Brent Stone?” I asked, turning to study his face.

He looked out the passenger window then back to me.

“No, it’s not about him. I’m telling you that guy is as clean as they come.”

“Fine. What do you have that might be useful to me.”

“There’s word on the streets that a DEA agent is working with the cartels.”

I frowned and shook my head.

“Nice try, Maurice. I’m not paying for that tip.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “But you should know. I’ll ask around more to see if I can get proof.”

“You do that. Anything else?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want you making stuff up if you don’t have anything.”

“That DEA rumor is hot,” he said. “I’d look into it if I were you.”

“Thanks for your advice, but I think I’ll be fine.”

He glanced out the window again.

“I need to go.”

“Something wrong?”

“I’m just nervous.”

“You’re not getting into trouble with other drugs again, are you?”

His scraggly beard, pock marked face and missing teeth were testament to his problem with meth.

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Damn. Can I go now?”

“I’ll call you in about a week,” I said. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

He opened his door.

“Hold on.”

I reached into the center console and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

“What’s that?” he asked. “I didn’t have any real information this time.”

“Let’s call it a bonus. Keep your eyes open about the rogue DEA agent.”

“I will.” He snatched the money. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

After he got out of the car and shut the door, I turned the key in the ignition.

Someone in the DEA playing dirty?

The tip sounded more like bullshit than truth, but time would tell me whether he was feeding me wrong information – for whatever reason – or if he was onto something. I’d been dealing with Maurice for over a year, and he’d never given me false or wrong information. Not even once.

I put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, heading to my father’s house out in the middle of nowhere. He owned over two-hundred acres south of Denver, the ranch where I’d experienced the joys and pains of childhood – mostly the latter.

* * *

When I reached Dad’s property, I stopped and got out to open the gate. As a child, the act had fascinated me. Now, as an adult, it was nothing more than a chore. I’d bought him an automatic gate opener, but he still hadn’t installed it. Stubborn didn’t begin to describe him.

After I opened it, I got back in my car and drove down his long gravel driveway toward an old two-story farmhouse in the distance. As I got closer, I noticed the weather-worn exterior. He needed to scrape and paint, but he would never get to it. I parked in front of the house and got out of my car.

Instead of going inside, I headed around back to his greenhouse. A vast field of marijuana stretched into the distance, surrounding a rectangular building with glass walls. The smell of the pungent plants hit my nose, also triggering memories of my childhood, back when Dad grew underground.

I made it to the front of the greenhouse and stopped with my hand on the doorknob. There was no telling what kind of mood he would be in, so I took a deep breath and prepared myself for anything. He looked over at me as soon as I opened the door and stepped in.

A smile came over his weathered and wrinkled face as he walked over.

“How are you, pumpkin?”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“You don’t look fine,” he said, throwing his arms around me and squeezing tight. “You should come visit me more often.”

“I was here like a week ago.”

“I’m sorry. I spent every day with you for eighteen years, and it’s still taking me time to adjust.”

I smiled as he pulled away.

“What are you working on?”

“An Indica and Sativa blend.”

“Still chasing the super plant?”

“I’m going to grow a plant with fifty-percent THC before I die.”

“Such lofty goals,” I said.

He nodded his head toward a nearby workbench with a few baby plants on it.

“Come and check this out.”

I followed him over, always amazed at the things he could accomplish with his green thumb.

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

“Look at the leaf of that plant.”

He handed me a magnifying glass.

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

I bent over and peered at the leaf of the plant through the magnifying glass. Small crystals covered the leaf. As I peered at the rest of the plant, I saw it was covered with red and clear crystalline structures.

“What is it?” I asked, standing up.

“THC,” he said proudly. “Well, it will be in a few weeks.”

“But these plants are so young.”

He smiled and put his hands on his suspenders, pulling them out in excitement.

“That’s the whole point, pumpkin. The trick to breaking the thirty-percent THC barrier is training the plants to begin producing THC earlier in their life cycle. This could change everything.”

“Wow,” I said. “Companies would be able to make even bigger profits.”

A little of the light in his face went away.

“I guess. That’s not why I’m doing it.”

“I know, Dad, but you have to realize people are going to use what you come up with. You need to keep this quiet.”

He smiled and put his hand on my arm.

“I will, for now.”