Kaden flashed his credentials at the uniform guarding the door. Plywood covered the cabin’s windows. The siding might have been white once. Now it peeled off termite-infested wood. Cement blocks propped up a corner of the wraparound porch. The place would probably blow over in the next tropical storm to hit the coast of Georgia.

Local deputies, DEA and FBI sifted through the crime scene. He took a deep breath and gagged on the stench. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he headed inside.

Plastic bags lay scattered on the floor. Drug residue covered tables lining a wall. An empty garbage can was tipped on its side. Apparently, the dealers had left in a hurry. If they were lucky, they might find prints.

The medical examiner knelt next to a second body.

Six-one or six-two. Male. Caucasian. Must run 220.

“Hey, O’Malley.” Kaden stared at the dried blood on the floor. “Do you have a cause of death?”

“GSW. All three bodies.” The medical examiner glanced up. “How are you, Farrell?”

“Frustrated we can’t shut this ring down.”

The FBI had been chasing Heather Bole and Thaddeus Magnussen for months trying to stem the flow of drugs coming through Georgia and Florida.

He nodded at the vic’s bloated face. “At least Magnussen’s no longer terrorizing the streets. Don’t suppose we got lucky and Heather Bole is here somewhere?”

“Not here. We’ll check the blood type and see if there’s more than our victims.” She shifted. “Need to show you something.”

O’Malley rolled the body onto his side, using her head to point. “Check out the streaks under the body.”

“Is that blood?” Kaden backed up to get the full picture. “It looks like something was dragged out from under him as he bled out. Did he fall on something?”

She shrugged. “Maybe a someone. We found this beneath the body.”

She held up an evidence bag. It contained a bloodstained sneaker. Pink. Small. No laces. Fluff filled the shoe’s ratty Velcro.

“Damn it. A kid was here.” He swallowed.

“Yeah.” O’Malley waved over her assistant. “This one’s ready for the lab.”

Kaden unclenched his teeth. A kid. A little girl by the look of the shoe. He would check the file, but he thought Heather had a daughter who was young. Three? Four? The task force had gotten that intel but hadn’t been able to get the kid to safety.

His granddad had rescued him. Now, getting children away from their criminal, drug dealing parents was his life’s mission. He would save the kid and put Heather Bole behind bars.

July

“ANOTHER DEAD END.” Kaden slammed down the conference room phone in the Atlanta FBI office. “Two months and every time someone spots Heather Bole, she vanishes.”

The partial print at the triple-murder site had a 75 percent chance of being Bole’s. It was enough to bring her in for questioning. If they found her.

“We’re hearing rumors Bole has partnered with Hector Salvez.” His boss rubbed his short dark hair. “Hector’s a hothead. That might make Heather easier to find.”

Roger leaned back in his chair and it let out a loud screech.

The noise crawled down Kaden’s spine. “Not soon enough.”

“Is this about the daughter? Are you worried she’s in danger?” Roger asked.

“Kids shouldn’t grow up in that environment.” Kaden rolled his neck and the vertebrae clicked.

Saving kids from the drug life was why he’d joined the FBI, why he was on the task force. If he could rid this part of the world of drugs and dealers, he’d be content. “Heather is moving...a lot. Could be Magnussen’s brother is seeking revenge.”

“Maybe.” Roger’s chair squealed again. “Maybe they’ll all kill each other and make our lives easier.”

“DEA has a witness that swears Bole had her kid with her before the shootings.” Kaden tugged on his tie. “She and Rasmussen ran together for five years. Now what’s Bole up to?”

“Taking over?” Roger held up the picture of the blood streaks. “If Heather shot him, it was pretty damn cold to shoot her partner with her kid in the room.”

“Five years ago she was a two-bit dealer in Atlanta. Then she moved to rural Georgia and started cooking meth.” Kaden tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash. “Breaking Bad has made people think cookin’ is easy money.”

Roger shook his head. “We’ll catch her eventually.”

Kaden nodded. But this case involved a kid. For weeks he’d worked the streets, talking to as many of Heather’s associates as possible. The other task force members had worked their own connections. Nada. Unless Bole was traveling on a fake ID, she had to be in the area.

Or she’d been dumped at sea. Always a possibility on the coast. He wasn’t worried about Heather, but the kid, Isabella, didn’t deserve this.

Roger tapped the table. “I need updates on your other cases.”

Kaden nodded and they discussed his active cases.

As they were wrapping up, Kaden’s cell rang. He peered at the unknown number.

“Go ahead,” Roger said.

“Kaden Farrell,” he answered.

“Hi, Kaden. This is Abby Fitzgerald. Your grandfather works for my family’s B and B.”

Скачать книгу