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One of Rafe’s many skills was discretion and skirting around details when he needed to. Watching Garrett all these years from a distance, he knew his skills as a detective were unmatched. It was exactly why he needed Garrett’s help. But he had to stick to the plan. It figured Garrett would throw him off his game, no matter how many years it had been.

The years had been kind to Garrett. His soft, feathery blond hair was a rumpled mess from his beanie, and Rafe had the urge to trail his fingers through it. At forty, Garrett only had some crow’s feet at his eyes when he smiled. Not that Rafe had seen him do that yet. Not up close, anyway.

He was afraid of what that smile would do to his carefully laid plans.

“We is everyone trying to take this mysterious leader down. In my intelligence work, we referred to him as el diablo, the devil.”

Garrett’s lips thinned as he listened, and Rafe wished he knew what was going through his head.

“What’s the drug?” he finally asked.

“It’s got a few different names, depending on where in the world you are, but they made it in a lab right here in the U.S. It’s called Anaviqa.”

If Rafe hadn’t kept his gaze trained on Garrett, he may have missed the ever-so-slight widening of his eyes.

“You’ve heard of it?” Rafe asked.

Garrett’s face was blank, and it occurred to Rafe that Garrett wasn’t sure how much trust he could put in him. It hurt, but he understood. Twenty years of thinking Rafe was dead could do that to a guy.

“I’ve heard of it,” he said, revealing nothing.

“Well, I found some of the stuff shipping through Philly, and someone is moving it across South Jersey, but it’s not a one-man job. I need someone to watch my back.”

Garrett sighed. “And you want that person to be me?”

I want more than that.

No. Now wasn’t the time for his childhood fantasies. Lives were at stake.

“You know we make the best team, Garrett. We always have.”

Garrett frowned and turned to face the front of the car. He muttered, “A lot changes in twenty years.”

“In it together ‘til the end, right?” Rafe whispered.

A huff escaped his best friend, and Garrett turned to face him. “And you had to approach me for help by hiding in my backseat? You couldn’t have called? Or knocked on my front door like a normal person?”

“You know I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, and I didn’t expect you to come back out so quickly. Not much of a workout.”

Garrett scoffed, but the corner of his mouth quirked, and Rafe’s heart picked up speed. What he wouldn’t do to make Garrett smile again.

He had to believe it would come in time, once Garrett got over being blindsided by so much.

“So what’s the first task in this shit storm you refused to bring to my doorstep?”

Rafe sighed. This part wouldn’t be easy for Garrett, but it had to be done. Best to rip off the Band-Aid.

“We have to look into everyone you work with because the intel I found shows that someone inside the Cherrywood Police Department is the one funneling this stuff to facilities so they can drug their inmates.”

Garrett stared at him for a moment. Then he kept staring. After a bit, Rafe wondered if he unknowingly entered a staring contest or if Garrett was in shock.

“Garrett?”

Instead of answering, he ran both of his hands through his hair and grunted.

“You really know how to make an entrance, I’ll give you that.”

Rafe wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but he was sure as hell going to take it as one.