Page 36 of Hannah's Truth

Hannah shifted in herseat so she could see him around the ice bag she held up to her eye. The throbbing in her cheek was easing off thanks to the cold compress, but she knew she’d have a colorful bruise by morning, no matter how many rounds they did with the ice. It was a minor issue and the least of her concerns in this case. She’d taken harder hits during training and other conflicts in her career.

Keeping quiet about the little intelligence she did have wouldn’t do either of them much good. She’d come to Bart because she wanted to stay on this case. She wanted to find a weak link the DEA could exploit to break up the new supply chain for these emerging mobile meth labs. Embarrassing as it would be to admit her outstanding error in judgment regarding turning Krystal into a witness, her back was against the wall. The murder of his cook only underscored the cartel’s determination.

“Not as much as I should.” God bless him, Bart didn’t say anything, didn’t even shoot her an accusing look. He just stared at the road ahead while she decided how much more to share.

“All we can be sure of is the Mexican gangs are developing a supply line so they can infiltrate the Maryland and D.C. markets with mobile meth labs.”

“Heard of those. The latest advancement in the destruction of the people,” he said. “Disgusting habit.”

“Agreed.” She looked out at the view, amazed at the dense cover the trees provided. She and her fellow agents focused on urban areas, and they understood gang and dealer behavior in that environment. But she wasn’t sure she knew how to hunt an enemy who could slip into hiding a few yards off the roadway.

“The mobile meth is a no-kitchen required thing and almost pure profit for the runners.”

“And aside from being a cover-story husband, how can I help?”

“Your place is an ideal hub to transfer product and supplies.” She cleared her throat. “Possibly even personnel.”

“No way Tim would have anything to do with that.”

“The tag on the grill suggests otherwise,” she said carefully. “He was involved somehow, if only by accident. That symbol means the murder wasn’t random.”

“Not arguing that,” Bart replied, shifting in his seat. “Maybe he saw or heard something and paid the ultimate price before he could pass it on. Hell, they might have only wanted his place in the woods.”

“It’s secluded,” she hedged. “But they dumped his body in public. This new cartel isn’t known to act without information. Tell me more about Tim.”

“He wasn’t a user. Never had been. Enlisted in the Army right out of high school and the man makes—made—the best mashed potatoes I’ve ever tasted.”

“Was he involved with anyone other than Mary Lou? Did he have family?”

“I have a file at the store you can read.”

“You can’t tell me anything about her?”

Bart propped his elbow against the frame of the open window. He leaned forward and his t-shirt peeled away from the cracked vinyl seat with a wet pop. She could tell from the scowl on his face he’d been trying to dismiss the possibility his cook had been duped by the new girlfriend.

“Was the dumpster where they found your witness tagged like mine?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone at your office know about you and me?”

“I guess so. I only told my boss about getting married this morning, but plenty of people in both offices knew I stopped in to see you whenever I was in the area on business.”

“I think we need to decipher that notebook.”

She gave up on the ice bag, dropping it to the floor between her feet. Her cheek was numb and her hand nearly so. “Agreed. If we’re lucky, we’ll figure out why he started keeping weird notes.”

Hannah was grateful for the lack of conversation during the rest of the ride. She needed to pull her thoughts together. Bart was implying angles to this case she hadn’t considered, hadn’t wanted to consider. If someone in the DEA was involved, and she had to admit it was possible, this could turn ugly in a hurry.

He parked the car back in the shop and headed toward the store. She was taller than most women, but still at a disadvantage next to the long legs that anchored his six-foot, five-inch frame. Hurrying, she managed to walk through the door right behind him.

He greeted everyone, employees and customers alike, while she smiled at the few faces she recognized. Holding his wallet up to a gray sensor on the wall, he unlocked the door and urged her through ahead of him.

“That’s a cool trick. Does your wife get one of those?”

“Ex-wife. She wouldn’t want one,” he said. His gaze snapped to hers. “Sorry.” He tucked his wallet back in his pocket and twisted the wedding ring. “I’ll get you a key. It would look weird if you didn’t have one now.”

“I won’t abuse the privilege.”

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