“Fine,” she muttered. “I had a couple of joints, and this bitch was hurting so much after having her entire pubic area waxed smooth, that I felt sorry for her. I gave them to her, so it wasn’t a sale or a distribution. It was one woman helping another.” She glared harder, focusing somehow close to where I stood. “I hope you get ingrown hairs.”
I winced. Was that a possibility?
“There’s a lotion called ‘Smooth Lava’ that will make sure you don’t,” Nick said matter-of-factly by my side.
Heat ripped into my face, which only got hotter when Pierce turned and looked over his shoulder at me, his gaze both interested and irritated. Great. Now everybody knew I was clean shaven. “How does he know where I’m standing?” I whispered.
Nick shrugged. “Good guess?” He started to say something else and caught himself, snapping his mouth shut. Probably something about my smooth bikini area, which as my boss, he couldn’t say.
I didn’t ask what comment he’d held back.
Through the glass, Detective Pierce flipped open the top of a manila file and pushed a photograph toward Cheryl. “We found Randy a couple of hours ago,” he said. “This is what he looks like now.”
She froze, her gaze on the photo. All the color faded from her already pale face. Then she lifted her head, her face hardening, and sat farther back in her chair with her arms crossed. “I’m done.”
“Tell me everything, and we’ll protect you,” Detective Pierce urged, leaning toward her.
“Like you protected Randy?” she asked, her shoulders hunching. “Not in a million years.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she wiped them away as if in slow motion. “You idiots have no idea what’s going on.”
“Then tell us,” Pierce said. He worked Cheryl hard for another hour, but she didn’t give a thing up.
Nick finally entered the room, his gait casual and his position obvious, even in the sweatsuit. “I’m the prosecuting attorney, and I’ll get you a deal. Protect you.”
She eyed him head to toe. “Right. You can do that?”
“Yeah. Work with me.” His voice was low and sure, his manner comforting. At least it would be to me, but I wasn’t in the hot seat right now. Not really.
She blinked. “Wh-what do you want to know? I’ve just seen the pot. Honest.”
Man, Nick was good. The woman was already opening up to him. He didn’t look at Pierce. “Ah, sweetheart. You already know I don’t give a shit about marijuana,” he murmured.
Pierce’s head swiveled, and his brows drew down as he studied Nick. But he didn’t say anything. What the heck was happening? I moved closer to the glass; my heart kicking awake even though I was clueless. Why was Pierce looking irritated and curious at the same time?
Cheryl scowled, her pink lips drawing back. “It’s all about pot. That’s what I have. What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say I want to bake a nice loaf of bread,” Nick drawled.
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but Cheryl paled even further. Fine blue lines showed beneath the thin skin on her forehead. “I want a lawyer,” she blurted out, her voice shaking.
What the heck?
Nick cocked his head. “I know what you know, lady. Tell me everything, and I’ll protect you. It’s too late to play dumb.”
“Law-eeee-er,” she spat, the terror in her eyes obvious.
“Get out,” Pierce snapped at Nick, scooping up his documents. He strode out of the interrogation room and into my room with Nick on his heels. They’d barely entered when Pierce turned and shoved Nick up against the wall. Pictures of a dead Randy Taylor fell out of the case file to land on the floor. “What the fuck is going on?”
I instinctively backed away from the mass of testosterone.
Nick didn’t so much as blink. “I have what you have, detective.”
“Bullshit,” Pierce muttered, right into Nick’s face. “This is my case, and I want to know what the hell is going on in my city. What has the DEA told you about the drug trade that I obviously don’t know?”
“Nothing.” Nick shoved Pierce back a step. “You’re the investigator, Grant. Figure it out.”
Huh. Pierce had a first name. Grant Pierce. The name even sounded like a cop’s name. Though none of this made sense. The county prosecutor should be working with the county and state police, not the federal DEA. Just who was Nick Basanelli, and what the heck was he doing in Timber City?
Pierce turned and pinned me with that hard green glare. “What about you? What would you use to bake bread?”
