Page 47 of Mike

The problem was, xylazine was also hella dangerous to humans. Being a system depressant, it would lower blood pressure and heart rate, slow breathing in a victim, and often lead to death.

Joe grumbled angrily. As if fentanyl on its own wasn’t bad enough. When cut with xylazine, it was drammed deadly.

Joe extracted a pair of nitrile gloves from her pocket, along with a small plastic bag. Being extremely careful, she used the small scrap of cardboard she’d picked up, and scooped a tiny bit of the substance into the container. Adding the cardboard to the baggie so as not to leave it behind, she sealed the sample up, and tucked it into her pouch.

Looking around, she snapped a few more pictures, satisfied she had everything she needed, then climbed the ladder to the small mezzanine. Nothing there but a mattress and blankets. It must be where they went to have a snooze when things were slow.

She descended quickly.

It was time to get gone.

Joelle was just as vigilant leaving as she had been, coming, and without incident, made it safely back to her car.

As she drove back to her small digs, she had plenty of time to think about her next move, knowing that on this occasion, she was questioning how she would proceed. If she sent the sample—like she normally would—overnighting it to her office, snick-head Lester would know she’d broken inside the facility to get the specimen, and that she’d pushed the parameter limits of what he allowed her to do in her investigating. Once in possession of those facts, he’d reem her ash, and write her up again, keeping her in the downtrodden role to which she’d been relegated for years before he swooped in and took over.

Flock no. She decided, pounding her hands on her steering wheel. She was done with that. This time she’d dot all her I’s and cross all her T’s herself, making the bust on her terms before handing Lester a closed case. Then…

Yup. She’d give her notice.

Lester would be beyond pissed she’d buttoned things up on her own. But shouldn’t he also be rubbing his hands in glee because her insubordination had caused her to resign? Uhh, maybe not. Her speculation earlier about his actions where she was concerned told her it was more likely her defection would hurt his future. Since he’d no longer be able to take credit for busts where Joe had done all the leg work, his case-success numbers would plummet.

Joe narrowed her eyes. Old Lester wouldn’t let that fly. He’d find a way to get back at her, and chances were, whatever he planned, wouldn’t be pretty. He might even make something up that would send her to jail.

Not a pleasant thought.

Joe pondered other options for how to handle her current case as she got out of her car.

If she contacted the agent she’d met in Portland with her findings, citing a need to have the substance she’d bagged analyzed immediately to find if it did, indeed, test positive as powdered xylazine, that agent would know it was her legwork that had uncovered the warehouse. Which meant that Lester couldn’t push her to the side of this case and steal her intel for his own glory.

Not a bad idea. But…

Spammit, there was an old-boy network among a lot of career agents, and she didn’t know the head of the Portland office at all. What if he was of that ilk, and ended up calling her dear buddy Lester to let him know that Joe had gone over his head to have intel disseminated? She’d be screwed.

Nope. She couldn’t take that chance.

Option number three—and the more Joe thought about this one, the more she liked it—she could get Mike to send the sample off for analysis. Or Mason, since he’d said he would also help. Whether the substance got curated through the SWAT team, or the pair’s local PD lab, they at least wouldn’t out her to Lester, since they knew he was a flippin glick.

The down side of that one, was that the team would want to back her up for whatever takedown occurred. But was that really a negative? Joelle had gotten herself into a few jams in the past, biting off more than she could chew as a solo agent. Having an entire SWAT contingent to help her “storm the castle” so to speak—now that she’d found said castle—might be a good move.

Lester would go ballistic when he found out, but scrooge him. She was ready to call it quits with his bull-pucky, anyway, and Mike and Mason would vouch for her doing everything by their book, so she might escape incarceration.

Done.

Strategy decided, after standing in her little room pondering for an unknown length of time, Joe removed all her gear and stowed the bagged powder sample in the small safe her motel room provided. She stripped to her underwear and flopped back on her bed, her phone in her hand.

Should she…?

Mmm. Mike had told her to be careful, and she certainly didn’t want him worrying about her, if that’s how he rolled.

Joe snorted. Of course, that’s how he rolled. It was written in his DNA. He might even be awake, wondering how she fared.

She quickly shot off a text.

Home now. Got some good intel.

When he didn’t answer, she sighed. He must be asleep.

She added; talk tomorrow night.

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