chair opposite his, unsure if she was angry with him or angry with herself for playing right into his hands.
“I’m not promising anything, but I’ll admit, you’ve piqued my interest.”
He nodded and stood to grab the coffee carafe. “Ever hear of Adam Mercer?” he asked as he filled their cups with the fresh brew.
“Adam Mercer?” She frowned. “Isn’t he some sort of rich philanthropist?” She watched as he returned the coffee carafe to the machine. Kane moved with an almost feline grace that belied the strength and power she knew him capable of.
He returned to the chair opposite hers and wrapped a hand around his coffee mug. “Adam Mercer…fifty-four years old, wealthy as Midas and the behind the scenes leader of a grass roots coalition called MAD.”
“MAD…as in Men Against Drugs?” Kane nodded and she racked her brain to think of everything she knew about that particular organization. It was easier to focus on the matter at hand than to sort out her emotions about seeing Kane again. “All I really know about the organization is that they run several shelters around town.”
“They run a hell of a lot more than a few shelters,” Kane replied. He paused a moment to take a drink of his coffee, then continued. “At the moment MAD runs dozens of shelters in cities all across the nation. They also maintain several rehabilitation centers specifically geared toward substance abuse.”
“What does this all have to do with the death of thousands of men, women and children?” she asked impatiently. Kane McNabb had always liked the sound of his own voice.
“Adam Mercer and his organization has lobbied for law changes, provided drug education and paid for antidrug advertising. The agency began to monitor the group when it realized that MAD was gaining not only huge political support, but also amassing a cultlike following with the movers and shakers of the country.”
“Just get to the point, please.”
“Patience was never one of your strong suits.” His dark eyes gave nothing of himself away. “Bottom line…three years ago Adam lost his only daughter to a drug overdose. He lost his daughter, then months after that his wife left him and we think he’s gone off the deep end. The man has lost his mind to hatred and an obsessive need to wipe out all drug use.”
He paused to take another sip of his coffee. “Several months ago a new kind of marijuana and cocaine hit the streets. It was called Blue…Blue grass or Blue snow…because it has a faint blue tinge to it. It’s better, purer and stronger than anything that’s hit the streets in years.”
“I heard a couple of vice cops talking about it,” she said and sat up straighter in her chair. “They said it was the most potent stuff they’d ever seen, but if I remember right, nobody ever figured out where it came from.”
“A month ago it dried up. You can’t find any Blue on the streets anywhere in any city right now. The demand is huge, but the supply is gone.”
“So what does this have to do with Adam Mercer?”
“He supplied the original Blue, then he pulled it off the market to create an enormous demand.”
Cassie stared at Kane in disbelief. “That doesn’t make sense. You just told me the man is over-the-top antidrug and now you’re telling me he’s become a drug czar providing the best dope in America? That’s crazy.”
“Yeah, but there’s a method behind the madness,” Kane replied. He shoved his coffee mug to the side and leaned across the table toward her. “He’s managed to create a huge supply of Blue and our sources tell us in the next couple of months he intends to flood the market with more Blue…except this time the drugs will be highly lethal. He’ll kill the users, put the dealers out of business and rid the world of the scourge of drugs.”
Cassie leaned back in her chair, stunned by the ramifications of what he’d just told her. “But that’s insane,” she said softly. “It’s not only insane, it won’t work. The minute people started dying, we’d be able to get an alert to the public about the tainted drugs.”
“You know that and I know that, but apparently Mercer has lost touch with reality.” Kane’s dark gaze held hers. “He’s crazy all right, but also highly intelligent.”
“So what are you doing here talking to me?”
“We need somebody to get inside the organization…get up close and personal to Adam Mercer.”
“And what makes you think I can get up close and personal with him?”
His gaze slowly slid the length of her. “Because Adam Mercer has a weakness for sexy, long-legged blondes.”
The heat that had flickered to life in her stomach moments before intensified beneath his gaze. “So how would somebody go about meeting Adam Mercer?”
“Mercer frequents a nightclub called Night Life. It’s an upscale kind of place and his last two relationships have been with waitresses that work there. We’ve got a contact there and whomever we send in will have a job as a cocktail waitress.”
There was no way she was going to get roped into this, she told herself. “There are plenty of other women in the agency that can do this. I’m not interested.”
She stood and carried her cup to the sink, where she emptied out the coffee, shut off the coffeemaker and turned back to him. “Get somebody else. I have a nice, uncomplicated, complete life here. I don’t intend to screw it up.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want it.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I just thought maybe you’d be personally interested in this particular job.”
She eyed him warily. “What do you mean…personally interested?”
He finished the last of the coffee in his cup and also stood. “Adam Mercer and his team have worked with drug addicts in this city and others for years. Sources tell us he maintains a data base with the names of all the people he’s helped in the cities where MAD works. It’s possible at one time or another he ran into your mother. It’s possible he might have some information about both your mother and your brother.”
“Get out.” She was grateful her voice contained nothing more than the cold command, grateful that there was no indication of the emotions his words had stirred.
“Cassie…”
“I mean it, Kane. Get out of here now.”
He placed a piece of paper on the table, then moved to the back door and grabbed the handle. “Twenty-four hours, Cassie. You have twenty-four hours to make up your mind. That’s the address where you can find us.” With these final words he slipped through the door.
She reset her alarm system, then stalked out of the kitchen and into the spare bedroom that held nothing but her punching bag.
She pulled on the lightweight red gloves, then the padded foot protectors. She drew several deep, cleansing breaths in an attempt to gain control of the emotions that threatened to surface.
Thoughts of her mother always brought with them a strange combination of bittersweet longing and anger. Mingling with those two emotions was a tinge of reluctant excitement as she thought of going back to work for
