Page 11 of Second First Kiss

“Are you asking me to snitch?”

“I’m asking you to do the right thing.” He programmed his number into her phone.

Thankfully one of R. J.’s buddies was rounded up with the rest of the partiers.

Nolan rested his elbows on the metal interrogation table and leaned in—all the way in. At six three and two-twenty, he knew he was an imposing man and he often used it to his advantage.

“I’ve got you on providing alcohol to minors,” he said to Chet, a kid he’d arrested for selling stolen vape pens at the trailhead last fall. Instead of pressing charges, Nolan pressed him for information about R. J.

Chet sat back in the metal folding chair with enough fake bravado to have Nolan chuckling. He might be feigning smugness, but he was shitting his pants. “One more arrest on my record and this time they’ll try me as an adult.”

“You are an adult, so why were you partying with a bunch of high schoolers?”

“They joined our party, man. Not the other way around.”

“Were you selling drugs?”

Just like that, all the attitude vanished. “No way. I might have brought a few six-packs, but I’m not into that stuff.”

“Someone at the party was selling weed and ecstasy, and since the dealer was described as wearing a gray hoodie, black jeans, and red ball cap, that someone is sounding a hell of a lot like you.”

“Shit,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand down his face in a nervous gesture. “I was selling weed, but that’s it. I don’t screw ’round with the hard shit.”

Nolan believed him.

“What do you want?” Chet asked.

“The truth about tonight.”

“When have I not come through?”

“The last time you passed me info, it was wrong and one of my agents got hurt.” On his watch. That’s what pissed Nolan off. He should have trusted his gut, called it in, but his partner didn’t want to risk losing their first chance at stopping the dealers.

Retired IBS Agent Eli Brannon and Nolan got to the old hunting cabin in the woods right as the suspects were fleeing the scene—as if they’d had a heads-up that agents were headed their way. In the chaos, he and his partner had split up and Eli had been shot, ending his career. The dealers and drugs had vanished.

“What I told you was true. I overheard R. J. talking about meeting some guy at the old Jessup Cabin,” Chet said.

“Then tell me what I’m missing.” Because from the word go, Nolan felt as if he’d been one step behind the manufacturers. But he couldn’t figure out what he was overlooking. “Did you double-cross me and tell R. J. we were coming?”

“No, man. I swear. I didn’t say a word.”

“Then who did?”

Chet shrugged. “I don’t know. Honest. But it wasn’t me.”

And the only evidence they had that R. J. was there was the word of small-time dealer who wanted a get-out-of-jail-free card. “What about the gun tonight? Did you see it?”

“No, but R. J. was bragging that he had some stolen gun.”

Nolan’s heart stopped. “You want a pass, you’re going to have to help me prove it.”

“Like wear a wire?” Chet shook his head. “No way. R. J. finds out and my life will be over. I’d rather take my chances with a judge.”

“And what happens next? Do you lock us up and throw away the key?” Kat asked Deputy Carl, who was the intake officer. He’d been giving the same answer, which was clearly from some How to Piss off a Civilian handbook.

“The sheriff’s on it, Miss Rhodes,” Carl responded, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. He was built like a pitbull, one with puppy-dog eyes and a kind smile. They’d gone to school together and he’d always been nice to her. She knew he was just doing his job, but right then she needed that big goofy guy who used to hug her in the hallways and cheat off her papers in math class.

“You said that four hours ago and yet here we are. It’s one in the morning. Every other kid has gone home.”

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