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“You still have family there.”
“Maybe.” Probably. He knew his sister was living just outside of San Francisco, playing the good girl. And who the hell knew where his brother was. A chip off the ole block, Gabriel was probably fleecing some rich widow of her wedding ring. But their father’s family had founded Black Oak, and while Tobias Black hadn’t ever gone for the political game, he’d always kept his fingers on the strings of his hometown.
But Caleb hadn’t lived there since he’d left for college twelve years before. And he hadn’t been back at all since he’d graduated and joined the DEA.
Eight years before, two months before Caleb had graduated, they’d had one helluva family brawl. Ugly accusations, bitter recriminations and vicious ultimatums.
Tobias Black had raised his three kids alone when his wife had died, keeping the family tighter than peas in one very conniving pod. But with that explosion, they’d all gone their separate ways. Caleb had grown up with an almost smothering sense of family. These days he was more like an orphan.
Just as well. Spending time with Tobias was an emotional pain in the ass at best, a conflict of interest at worst.
“It’s an interesting little town. Quaint even. Your maternal aunt is the mayor, but word is that it’s actually your father who runs the town. Tobias Black, a known con artist with a huge FBI file and no convictions. Estimates of his take over the years is in the millions. And even knowing he was behind some of the major scams of the century, they’ve never gathered enough evidence to convict him.”
Arching his brow, Hunter paused. Caleb just shrugged. So his dad was damn good at what he did. Maybe it was wrong to feel pride in the old man, given Caleb’s dedication to the law. But you had to admire the guy for his skills.
“Five years ago, for no apparent reason, Tobias Black pulled out of the con games. He reputedly went straight, focusing his attention on his motorcycle shop and the small town he calls his own.”
“You’re 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 have faith in your powers of persuasion.”
Caleb smirked, tilting his beer bottle in thanks. “You’re buying.”
“One last question,” Hunter said as Caleb pushed back from the table.
“Yeah?”
“Do you really do Christmas shopping?” For the first time that night, emotion showed on Hunter’s face. Skepticism with a dash of amusement.
“Yeah. But now you can consider this little favor your gift, instead of the blow-up doll.” Caleb stood, shrugging into his worn denim jacket. “She was a nice one, too. Vibrated and everything.”
2
A LUNCH-LADEN TRAY held high over her head, Pandora nodded at Fifi’s frantic signal to let her know she’d make her way into the store as soon as she could.
Rehiring Fifi, a young blonde as cute as her name, was the second smartest thing Pandora had done since she’d taken over the store. The first, of course, was to serve up the promise of hot sex.
She wound her way through the throng of customers packing the solarium attached to the back of the store. It was amazing how a few tables, some chairs and minimal investment had transformed what two months ago had been storage into Pandora’s brainchild, the Moonspun Café.
All it’d taken was a list of her skills, a couple bottles of wine with Kathy and a huge hunk of Pandora’s favorite seven-layer chocolate cake to nail down the details. She’d spent years off and on working in restaurants. She was a really good pastry chef, but sandwiches and salads had been an easy enough thing to add to the menu.
Between Great-Grammy’s cookbooks, a list of foods reputed to be aphrodisiacs and the judicious start of a few rumors, and she’d launched the lunch-only venture last month.
And it was a hit. If this kept up, Pandora was thinking about starting a little mail-order business. Sexy sweets, aphrodisiac-laced treats for lovers. A great idea, if she did say so herself. And—ha!—one that didn’t require any special family talent.
She grinned and shifted the heavy tray off her shoulder.
“Here you go, the Hot-Cha-Cha Chicken on toasted sourdough for two, a side of French-kissing fries and ginseng-over-ice tea,” she recited as she set the aphrodisiac-laced lunch order on the small iron table between a couple of octogenarians giving each other googly eyes.
Pandora carefully kept her gaze above the table as she smiled into the couple’s wrinkled faces. Yesterday, she’d bent down to pick up a dropped fork and saw more than she’d bargained for. She’d never be able to look librarian Loretta and the office-supply delivery guy in the eye again after seeing Loretta fondle his dewy decimals.
“This looks lovely, dear,” said the elderly woman, who’s granddaughter had babysat Pandora back in the day. The woman giggled and shot the age-freckled man across from her a naughty look before adding, “You’ll bring us up a slice of the molten hot-chocolate cake, won’t you?”
“Wrap that cake up to go,” the gentleman said, his voice huge in his frail body. “We’ve got a little siesta loving planned.”
Pandora tried not to wince. She loved how well this little venture was taking off, but holy cow! She sure wished people wouldn’t equate her making their sexy treats with wanting to hear the resulting deets.
Proving that wishes rarely came true, Mrs. Sellers leaned closer and whispered, “Since you started serving up these yummy lunches, I haven’t had to fake it once. This stuff is better than Viagra. Now my sweet Merv, here, is a sex maniac.”
Ack, there were so many kinds of wrong in that sentence, Pandora couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. Trying to block the images the words inspired, she winced and shook her head so fast her hair got stuck in her eyelashes. “No. Oh, no, Mrs. Sellers. Don’t thank me.”
“Don’t be modest, young lady. You’ve done so much for the sex drive of Black Oak as a whole. Not just us seniors, either. I heard Lola, my daughter’s hairdresser who can’t be much older than you, telling the gals at the salon how you’ve saved her marriage with your mead-and sexy-spiced chocolate-dipped strawberries.”
What was she supposed to say to that? All she could come up with was a weak smile and a murmured thanks. She caught Fifi’s wave again and held up one finger to let the girl know she was on her way.
“My favorites are those sweet-nothings ginger cookies, Pandora. I’d ask for your recipe, but I know you put a little something special in there. You have your gramma’s magic touch, don’t you?” Mrs. Sellers joked, poking a bony elbow into Pandora’s thigh. “Your mom must have been so happy to have you come back to Black Oak. Are you running the store on your own now?”
“Mom’s thrilled,” Pandora said, the memory of Cassiopeia’s excitement at her daughter’s plans to save the store filling her with joy. “But if you’ll excuse me, I need to check in with Fifi. Don’t forget to look over the fabulous specials for the holiday season. We’re offering a Christmas discount in the store for our diners, if you wanted to do a little shopping.”
With another smile for her favorite elderly couple, Pandora gratefully excused herself and hurried over to the wide, bead-draped doorway that separated Moonspun Dreams’ retail side from the café.
“What’s wrong?” Pandora asked.
Two months ago, whenever she’d asked that question it was because the store seemed to be spiraling into failure. She’d been freaked about vendors demanding payment, customers complaining about a lack of variety in the tarot card stock or, on one horrific occasion, a mouse so big it had scared the cats.
In the past five weeks, Moonspun Dreams had done a one-eighty. Now she had vendors begging her to take two-for-one discounts, customers complaining about waiting in too long a line and the health department stopping in for lunch.
And yet, her trepidation of that question hadn’t lessened one iota. Funny how that worked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Fifi said, her smile huge as she bounced on the balls of her feet like a kid about to sit on Santa’s lap. “Sheriff Hottie’s here again. Lucky girl, this is the third time he’s been in this week. He’s the best catch in Black Oak. And he’s here to see you.”
Pandora’s smile was just a little stiff. It wasn’t that she had anything against Sheriff Hottie, otherwise known as Jeff Kendall. He was a nice guy. A former class president, Jeff had an affable sort of charm that half the women in town were crazy about. She glanced over to where he was chatting with a shaggy-haired guy who kept coming in to moon over Fifi and winced.
She had no idea why he rubbed her wrong. Her mother would claim it was intuition or her gift for reading people. But Pandora knew she had neither.
Christmas carols crooned softly through the speakers, singing messages of hope as she crossed the room. It took a minute, since the space was filled with shoppers, quite a few with questions.
“Sheriff,” she greeted as she stepped behind the counter. She offered him a friendly smile, then folded her hands together before he could offer to shake one. “What can I do for you today?”
He gave her an appreciative glance and a friendly smile that made it easy to see why the town called him Sheriff Hottie. Blue eyes sparkled and a manly dimple winked. Still, a part of her wished she could be back in the café, listening to Mrs. Sellers share the details of her last passionate excursion with Merv the sex maniac.
“Pandora, looks like business is booming nicely for a weekday,” he observed, his eyes on her rather than the store. He was tall, easily six feet, and still carried the same nice build that’d made him a star quarterback in school. “Cassiopeia must be thrilled. Is she coming home soon?”
Having combined her yearly spiritual sabbatical with the psychics’ conference, Cassiopeia was still in Sedona, Arizona. Pandora’s mother was, hopefully, too busy balancing her chi to be worrying about the store.
“She’s due home by Yule,” Pandora answered. At his puzzled glance, she amended it to, “The week before Christmas.”
“Ah, gotcha. Your mom is really into that New Agey stuff, isn’t she?”
Pandora just shrugged. She wanted to hide away from that friendly look. There was no innuendo, no rudeness, but she still felt dirty. Instead, she made a show of lifting Bonnie, cuddling her close so that the cat was a furry curtain between Pandora’s body and the sheriff’s gaze.
“My mother’s interests are many-faceted. Right now, I’m sure if she were here, she’d be asking if you’d finished your holiday shopping, Sheriff. We’re running a few specials in the café and have a stocking-stuffer sale on tumbled stones and crystals today. Maybe you’d like to check it out?”
“Maybe. But I’m thinking if I did all my shopping now, I wouldn’t have an excuse to come back and visit you every day,” he said, putting a heavy dose of flirt in his tone. Leaning one elbow on the counter, he gave her a smoldering look before he glanced at the shoppers milling around, many with wicker baskets filled with merchandise swinging on their arms.
“I really am blown away by how you’ve increased business here,” he said. “That whole aphrodisiac angle is really drawing them in, isn’t it? How’d you come up with that? Don’t tell me it’s from personal experience or I might have a heart attack.”
His flirty grin was easy, the look in his eyes friendly and fun. Pandora still inwardly cringed.
“Actually,” she corrected meticulously, her fingers defiantly combing through the soft, fluffy fur of the cat, “the recipes have been handed down from my great-grandmother. Do you remember her? She’s the one with all the experience.”
Pandora tried not to smirk when his smile dimmed a little. Nothing like offering up the image of a white-haired old lady to diffuse a guy’s sexy talk.
