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Trent knew one thing—evil was everywhere. Even in Indian Lake.
And right now, Trent’s home was under fire. Drug lords thought they’d found an easy target here. Little kids, ripe for the picking. Citizens so naive and trusting they couldn’t believe that drug lords would set up shop in their town.
Yes, they were at war in Indian Lake—just like he’d been in Afghanistan.
Sal Paluzzi was talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words.
Instructions.
Sal wanted instructions, and Trent was their leader.
Trent tried to remember. Yes. The chopper. There was always a chopper, and it would be here in seconds. Hoist them out as if they’d never been here.
“...back to the station?” Sal said. “Sir?”
Trent blinked. Only once. He was here. He never stayed back there too long. Couldn’t afford to.
“Copy that. Get these creeps out of here,” Trent ordered, as his eyes scoped the interior. He touched the radio phone Velcroed to his shoulder. “Coming out. Send in Forensics.”
Trent turned and led the way for his men—as was expected of him.
* * *
TRENT POURED COFFEE from the glass pot into a foam cup, sipped the stale, nearly cold brew, then dumped the rest down the drain. He looked around. The break area was vacant. Dead as a tomb. It was nearly midnight. Everyone had gone home. He stared at the stained coffeepot. He guessed the last batch had been made around suppertime—when he’d been bringing in the perps. Booking them. Filling out paperwork. Doing his job.
He shoved the pot onto the warming plate. “Too late for coffee.”
He went to the nearly empty vending machine and bought a pack of jalapeño potato chips. He hated them. But the Doritos were long gone. He knew. He was probably the only guy eating them.
He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. It was the only thing that the department provided free. That and the coffee.
Trent went to his desk and stared at the computer screen. He’d nearly finished his report. He felt as if he’d written a book.
Trent had been assigned to this sting for three months, but it had been ongoing long before his promotion to detective. The Indian Lake police chief told Trent that the Chicago Police Department had been hunting Le Grande for two years. The man was like a shadow. No one knew his real name, but he was a vicious drug lord, and his gang had tentacles from Houston to Chicago to Detroit. Le Grande’s network went straight through Indian Lake. Thanks to geography and unpatrolled country highways and roads, drugs moved from Mexico through Texas all the way to Toronto.
In Trent’s background report on Le Grande, he discovered that Le Grande was the name of the gang, though the members called this man Le Grande, too. His largest contingent gang was based in Chicago. His minions sold drugs on the first floor of the John Hancock Building, the Merchandise Mart and even in the lobby of the luxe Drake Hotel. These were scores of a thousand dollars each. Sometimes more.
There was nothing small-time about Le Grande, and whenever the CPD closed down his dealers, they were replaced within hours. Le Grande grew dealers like an amoeba replicated.
But the one thing that Trent knew was that evil could exist only so long. Sooner or later, Le Grande would be apprehended. Trent had hoped to be the man who took him down. But not tonight.
Just as Trent downed a slug of water, a new email popped onto his screen. It was from Richard Schmitz, a lieutenant with the Chicago Bureau of Organized Crime, with whom Trent had been working for months. Richard wanted to nab Le Grande as much as, or more than, Trent did.
Trent respected Richard’s ability to sift clues out of a mass of information, and he always came up with gold. Richard’s analytical skills were the very reason Trent and the Indian Lake PD had been brought into the investigation. Richard and his superiors at CBOC strategized with Trent and Stan Williams, Indian Lake’s chief of police, about the plan for this sting. They’d all been so certain that this time they would lure Le Grande into their trap.
But Trent had bungled it. He felt guilty. And angry with himself. He was better than this. It had been that split second. That tiny falter where his mind had tripped there. To Afghanistan.
The military said he had PTSD. He hadn’t believed them at first. He’d thought it was just an adjustment to civilian life, but it had been over five years now. He’d tried counseling until he felt he was counseling the counselor. He’d meditated. He took medications guaranteed to stop the flashbacks. He’d been to the mountain of Zen and back. Nothing worked.
Finally, he faced the fact that like the memories, the flashbacks would never go away.
They just were.
And that could get him killed. He couldn’t and wouldn’t tell a soul about his flashback today. It had been a blip. Two seconds. Maybe less. But that’s all it had taken. If Le Grande had been firing his gun, Trent or someone else could have been killed.
Trent had to find a way to push through his demons. He’d learned to focus more on the moment, and that had helped. But it wasn’t perfect yet. He wasn’t perfect.
The email pinged again.
Trent shook off his dour thoughts and read Richard’s note.
Trent—
I can’t believe we’ve been on this guy’s case so long and missed this one. Get this. He’s been married before. Even has a kid. And yes, you guessed it, she’s right there in Indian Lake. My team is all over the news. No wonder the creep is in your backyard.
Keep this on the down low. Except for your COP, I’d play it close to the vest for now. We don’t need anyone alerting her to our knowledge about Le Grande. She could be in on his gang activity. We’re checking that out.
Trent, I have a man on the inside. Undercover cop. Not just an informant, which I don’t trust completely. He’s feeding me intel.
There’s not much on her. We tracked down a divorce decree. No particulars other than that. And there was no mention of a kid in the decree. It was six years ago. So maybe he didn’t know about the kid.
Le Grande chose Indian Lake initially as a transfer station for drug trafficking. This new intel is a game changer. Because of the ex-wife, we believe he’s not lost to you.
Was it possible that he was getting a second chance? Maybe his luck had turned. He and his men had rounded up every man in the building. They’d only missed Le Grande.
So, Le Grande had a family.
Now that was an anchor for any man.
Trent had never had a family of his own and didn’t think he ever would. Not with his PTSD. But even his two undercover agents had wives and kids. Lives. They didn’t seem to have any problems after Iraq. At least none they talked about.
Trent finished reading Richard’s note.
The woman’s name is Susan Kramer. We believe Raoul Le Grande is actually Brad Kramer. They lived on Chicago’s South Side.
She’s living in Indian Lake under an alias. You’ll find her as Cate Sullivan.
Trent slammed back against his chair. “Cate Sullivan? The real-estate agent?”
Cate Sullivan had her photograph plastered on huge agency billboards at the main entrances to town. She was that pretty brunette he’d seen at the Indian Lake Deli from time to time with one of the deli owners, Olivia Melton, who’d just got engaged to Rafe Barzonni. Trent knew the four Barzonni brothers—Gabe, Rafe, Mica and Nate—as well as their mother, Gina, a recent widow, because they donated heavily to the policemen’s widows and orphans fund as well as the City Playground Fund, which Trent spearheaded. He’d even seen Cate with Sarah Bosworth, the wife of his workout buddy, Luke.
Luke was a former navy SEAL and, along with Scott Abbott, a journalist for the local newspaper and owner of the Book Stop and Coffee Shop; they all tested their skills at the shooting range south of town twice a month. Just yesterday morning, Trent had bumped into Cate at Cupcakes and Cappuccino, Maddie Barzonni’s café.
Trent swiped his face. So while he didn’t know Cate Sullivan personally, he definitely knew of her.
This was ludicrous. She seemed like a nice person. A sweet woman, always smiling and polite.
She was mixed up with one of the biggest drug dealers in the Midwest?
Trent stared at the email. The longer he was a cop, the more humanity shocked him. He’d thought he’d seen it all in Afghanistan.
But the thought that Cate Sullivan was part of Le Grande’s heroin trafficking gang—Trent’s heart grew weary with the idea. God help them all.
CHAPTER TWO (#u4555a22a-9ad6-58c6-9069-75acc86152f2)
CATE WALKED INTO the living room during the baby shower for Liz and Gabe Barzonni in time to see her six-year-old son, Danny, holding Liz’s baby, Angelo Ezekiel. Sarah and Luke Bosworth’s children, Timmy and Annie, sat on either side of him. On the floor surrounding the kids was a sea of tissue, boxes and glittery gift bags that Liz and Gabe had clearly opened earlier. The children were oblivious to the mess or the pile of presents to the side of the sofa.
“Danny, be careful,” Cate said as she deposited a silver tray of petits fours on the linen-covered dining-room table. She’d never been to a couple’s shower like this. Nearly every light in Sarah’s house had been turned on, not to mention dozens of taper candles and votives flickering on the tables, mantel and along the windowsills. The house was so illuminated it could probably be seen from outer space, Cate thought. And everywhere laughter suffused the air with joy.
“I’m doing good, Mom!” Danny assured her, tilting the baby into the crook of his arm. He looked so grown-up and sure of himself at that moment, her little man. It seemed only a blink ago that Danny was a baby, and here he was already in kindergarten and making new friends.
Cate looked around. The entire Barzonni family was present, and not one of Cate’s girlfriends was missing. Mrs. Beabots, an elegant eighty-year-old wearing a black vintage Chanel suit with a half dozen ropes of pearls, gold links and colored gems, held court with the newly engaged Olivia Melton and Rafe Barzonni.
Luke walked through the room with an open bottle of sparkling wine. “Gabe’s vineyard is very proud of their first sparkling crop.” He smiled at Cate.
“Oh, Luke, wine isn’t a crop,” Cate joked.
“Why not?” He foisted a wounded look onto the bottle with its gold foil label.
“It’s a batch,” handsome, black-haired Gabe said, breezing through the clusters of guests with empty glasses and another bottle.
Luke winked at Cate. “You watch the kids for me? I have to help pour.”
“Sure.”
Cate had known Luke when he was married to his first wife, Jenny. She’d sold them their lovely bungalow house. She’d also resold it for him after Jenny died. It all seemed impossible to her that Jenny could be dead. And now, Luke was as happy—or happier—with Sarah, who’d been one of the first friends Cate had met in Indian Lake.
“Mom!” Danny called as he looked up from the sleeping baby. “Come here. Don’t you think Zeke is cute?”
“He is,” Cate replied, approaching to look at the baby. “Is his name Zeke? I thought it was Angelo. After his grandfather.”
“Oh, no,” Annie and Timmy chimed together.
“It’s definitely Zeke,” Annie stated.
“Definitely.” Danny and Timmy nodded.
“He’s got a lot of black hair.” Danny grinned proudly. “Like me.”
Gabe walked up, put his arm around Cate’s shoulder and said, “You get yours from your mother, Danny. Zeke’s hair is like mine. I’m told a baby’s hair can fall out and grow back another color.”
Danny’s blue eyes widened. “No way. Is that true, Mom?”
Cate nodded. “Actually, yes. When you were a baby, you were a towhead. Er, blond.”
Danny shook his head. “That’s just crazy. Why would I do that?”
Cate shrugged. “I don’t know. Must have been someone in the family.”
“Well,” Gabe said as he scooped up baby Zeke, “I have to take him to his momma.”
Cate was aware Danny appeared slightly reluctant to release the baby. “She probably needs to change him.”
“Yeah, I know,” Danny said. “Mom, when can we get a brother for me?”
Before Cate could answer, Annie chimed in. “Good luck with that,” she groaned. “We’ve been asking our mom that for months.”
“Yeah,” Timmy said. “She’s not listening to us at all.”
“But you guys have each other,” Danny replied. “I don’t have anybody to play with.”
“Sure you do. Sarah said you can come play with Timmy and Annie after school anytime you want.” Cate held out her hand. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t you want a cupcake or a petit four?”
Timmy jumped off the sofa. “Maddie made them special for us! Let’s get Beau.”
Danny took his mother’s hand as Annie scrambled off the sofa as well and raced away. “Mom, do you think that’s a good idea letting the dog have cake?”
Cate stifled a laugh. “I think if Sarah says it’s okay, it’s fine. Just take one cupcake.”
Danny grinned. “Sure, Mom.”
Cate knew that mischievous look on her son’s face. He was up to something. “Only one treat. No cookie. No petits fours. Just the cupcake.”
“Aw, Mom!” Danny stomped away as if his shoes were lined with lead.
Sarah stood next to Cate. “He’s adorable, Cate. The kids love him to pieces, and they all play so well together. Honestly, anytime you have to show a house or do an open house, we’d love to have him stay with us.”
Cate felt her smile of gratitude bloom. “Sarah, you don’t know what this means. Ever since his regular babysitter moved, I’ve been in a quandary. He hates day care, because all the kids are younger than he is. He’s only six, but he thinks he’s fifteen. He’s growing up so fast.”
Sarah smiled wistfully. “I know what you mean. Annie is so much the young lady now, it scares me. Her piano playing is astounding and her voice... Last week she asked me if she could enter the Indiana Junior Miss Pageant.”
Cate’s jaw dropped. “For real?”
“Uh-huh. You know? I think she’d win.”
“But that’s...so much, er, notoriety. I mean her photo would be everywhere. She’d be on television,” Cate replied, trying to suppress a wave of niggling fear.
“Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Oh, absolutely,” Sarah said.
“So what are you going to do?” Cate put her fingers to her lips as if to stifle her fearful words. Cate hated that her buried demons crept up on her at times like this. Sarah’s decisions had nothing to do with her—or Danny. She and her son were safe. Secure. She’d made certain of that.
“We’ll go for it. The one thing that Luke and I agree on is that we don’t want to hold the kids back from anything within reason. Too many people go through life trying to do the sensible thing. When it’s all said and done, they wish they’d taken more risks. If the kids fail, at least they tried.”
Cate kept her gaze on Danny as he and Timmy sat on the floor with Beau, petting him. Danny was the happiest, most well-adjusted little boy she’d ever seen. She loved him beyond measure and would do anything for him.
Cate knew all about risks. She could write volumes about the determination that came from terror. Half the people in this room didn’t have the first clue about life-and-death risks. Except Luke, possibly.
He never talked about his time as a navy SEAL, but Cate had always been curious.
