saying a whole bunch of stuff we both know. Why don’t you get to the part where you fill me in on the stuff I don’t.”
“For the last few months, we’ve been getting reports of a new drug. Some new form of MOMA.”
“Ecstasy?” Caleb pushed his beer away since they appeared to be getting down to business. “What’s new about it?”
“It’s been refined. Higher-grade ingredients, some obscure herbs that counteract a few of the side effects.”
“Herbs? Like, what? Holistic shit?”
“Right. Not a major change, really. Enough to give sellers the ‘healthier choice’ pitch, but that’s about it. The problem stems from the addition of pheromones.”
Eight years in the DEA had told Caleb that just when he’d thought he’d seen and heard everything, some clever asshole would come up with a new twist to screw with the human body. He sighed and shook his head. “So not only does it give the user a cheap sexual zing, but they can drag unsuspecting suckers down with them?”
“Pretty much. As far as the labs can tell, it’s not a high enough grade to classify as a date-rape drug, but the potential is there.”
The potential to make things worse was always there. Once upon a time, Caleb had figured he could make a difference. But he’d been wrong. After years of fighting drugs in the ugly underbelly of society, Caleb was pretty much done waging the useless battle. He’d turned in his resignation two days ago, but his boss had refused to accept it. Instead, he’d told Caleb to take some time off. To go home, visit family, come out of deep cover for a few months and reconnect with himself before he made any major decisions.
The only piece of that advice Caleb had planned to take was the time off.
He noted the rigid set of Hunter’s jaw, then met the man’s steady gaze and gave an inward sigh. Looked as if he was wrong on that count, too.
“Can’t you feebs get in there on your own?” he asked. The bureau didn’t have the same mandate as the DEA, but still, they should have the resources to go in themselves.
“Let’s just say I’d rather use my own resources first.”
Caleb nodded. He’d figured it was something like that. Second-generation FBI, Hunter had a rep for playing outside the tangled strings of bureaucracy more often than not. His close rate was so high, though, that the higher-ups tended to ignore his unorthodox habits.
“You’re looking at Black Oak as the supply center. Have you narrowed down any suspects?”
Caleb wasn’t a fool. He knew where Hunter was going with this. But he wasn’t biting. He’d pony up whatever info he had on the town that might help the case, but that was it. He wasn’t going back to Black Oak.
Which Hunter damn well knew. One drunken college night, Caleb had opened up enough to share how much he hated his father, how glad he’d been to get the hell out of Black Oak. And how he’d vowed, once he’d left, to never return.
“Black Oak appears to be the supply center, yes. But that’s not the big issue for me.” For the first time since he’d strode into the bar and sat across from Caleb, Hunter’s eyes slid away. Just for a second. That’s all it took, though, to let Caleb know he wasn’t going to like whatever came next.
No matter. Wasn’t much about life these days he did like.
Still, he took a swig of the beer. Never hurt to be prepared.
“We’ve tracked the source. As far as we can tell, there’s only one suspect.”
Caleb waited silently. Most people, when faced with six feet two inches of brooding intimidation blurted out secrets faster than a gumball machine spewed candy. But Hunter wasn’t most people.
“A reliable source tipped me to the suspect.”
Caleb dropped the chair back on all four legs, bracing himself.
“Tobias Black.”
Caleb mentally reared back as if he’d taken a fist to the face. He managed to keep his actual reaction contained to a wince, though. So much for bracing himself.
“He’s out of the game,” Caleb said, throwing Hunter’s own words back at him. He didn’t know if it was true, though. Sure, his father might claim he’d quit the con, gone straight. But the only thing Tobias was better at than playing the game was lying. Still, while cons were one thing, drugs were an ugly place Tobias wouldn’t go.
“He’s been making noises lately.” Hunter’s dark gaze was steady as he watched Caleb.
“Noises don’t equal manufacturing drugs.”
Hunter just stared.
Fuck.
“It’s not his style,” Caleb said, none of his frustration coming through in his tone. “I’m not defending him—without a doubt, he’s a crook, a con and a shill. The man’s spent his life pulling swindle after scam. But he operates on his own. Drugs come with partners. Unreliable, unpredictable partners.”
Which had been the crux of his family’s explosion. Tobias had found himself a lady friend. A lonely widower, he’d become a cliché, falling hard for a nice rack and promises made between the sheets. She must have been damn good, because she’d blinded the king of cons into letting her into his game. Fifty-fifty split.
His little sister, Maya, had screamed betrayal, claiming her father cared more about his bimbo than his own kids, the memory of his late wife and the legacy they’d built together.
His younger brother, Gabriel, had been pissed over losing half the take.
Caleb had just seen it as a sign to get the hell out.
He ignored Hunter’s arched brow. For the first time since sitting down, Caleb looked away. His gaze rested on the mirrored wall behind Hunter. In it, he could see the tattoo on his own biceps. The sharp, snarling teeth of the lone wolf was clearly visible beneath the black sleeve of his T-shirt.
A teenager’s ode to the father he’d worshipped before the idol had fallen. An adult’s acceptance of the simple fact of life—that he could depend on no one.
“What do you want me to do?” Caleb asked, swinging his eyes back to Hunter.
“Just nose around. You can get into town, get close to the right people, without arousing suspicion. Nobody there, other than your father, knows you’re DEA, right?”
Caleb shrugged. “Most think I’m the lowlife I use as a cover. The rest probably figure I was shivved in prison years ago.”
“That’ll work.”
Caleb sighed. He could walk away. It wasn’t his gig and nobody was pulling his strings. But Hunter’s accusation was a game changer. Whatever went down, Caleb would be the one uncovering the truth. How or what he’d do with it, he had no clue.
“I’m not making any promises,” Caleb said. “Dear ole dad isn’t much for welcoming the prodigal back into the fold, you know.”
“I
