She stayed where she was.“That’s a funny thing to say, seeing as I haven’t done anything wrong.”
McCoy nodded once.“Fair ’nough.Just figured you’d want some privacy.”He clicked his pen over the notepad.“When’s the last time you spoke to Connor?”
She had to think about it; that alone made her flush.“Maybe six months ago,” she eventually muttered.“Why?”
“And before that?”
“I don’t know.Why?”
McCoy scratched at his pad.“You know who he was runnin’ with lately?”
“No.”
“What about money?He ever hit you up for cash?Send you any?”
“No.Are you going to tell me why you’re asking me this?”
“When exactly was the last time you saw Connor?”
Cassie’s nostrils flared, anger flashing.“I’m not answering another goddamn question until you tell me why you’re asking them.”
McCoy’s pen paused; his eyes lifted slowly to hers.“Ms.Berry, your brother was found with a hefty amount of fentanyl and meth—bagged up neat.Had to log it as intent to distribute.Had a wad of cash too, the kind you don’t carry unless you’re movin’ product.Now, Connor’s been picked up before, sure, but between you and me?When you’re usin’ like he was, you ain’t got the head for runnin’ a business.Which means somebody else was callin’ the shots.We aim to find out who.”
Cassie took a step back, her hands curling tight around her bag strap.“All I know is what I was told at the hospital.I don’t know anything about drugs, or money, or whatever it is you’re insinuating.Now, are you going to get me Connor’s things—or do I need to call a lawyer?”
McCoy raised his brows.“That’s your choice.You ain’t under arrest.But if you’d rather have counsel present—”
“I’d rather have Connor’s things and get the fuck gone from this pig-stinkin’ pen,” she spat, her mountain accent slipping out.
His eyes narrowed briefly before he shut the notepad.“All right then.Wait here.”
McCoy brushed past her and disappeared down the hall, returning a minute later with a clipboard and a cardboard box marked in Sharpie:Berry, Connor—Personal Effects.
“Sign here.This is everything we collected when we found him.What we could release, anyhow.”
“Got it,” she snapped, signing her name and snatching the box.“So not the meth or the money.”
Box tucked tight against her, she pushed past him and made it halfway to the lobby before a large man stepped out of an office, nearly colliding with her.
“Easy there, honey.Where’s the fire?”
He was tall, broad-shouldered, big-bellied.Mid-fifties maybe, with a full head of gray hair and deep creases around his mouth.A gold badge sagged from the pocket of his button-down, the wordSHERIFFstamped across it.
Cassie, mouth clamped shut, only lifted her eyes to his and waited for him to move.
“You need a hand with that?”he asked, gesturing to the box.
She gave the smallest shake of her head, lips still pressed tight.
“You Connor’s kin?”he continued.
When she didn’t readily reply, McCoy answered from behind her.“His sister, sir.Cassandra Berry.”
“Sheriff Vernon Tate.Sorry for your loss, hon.”He paused, then—as men like him never could seem to help themselves—pushed further.“Connor was…well, he was known to us.Part of them Kings of Anarchy boys.Had his own troubles, too.”
Tate studied her a moment longer, his expression hardening.“You wouldn’t happen to know somethin’ about them Kings of Anarchy boys, would you?Somethin’ that might help us out?”
Ah, so there it was.The real reason for this impromptu interrogation.The cops wanted the Kings.
