Cold Target Part 52

He tried to explain. "Meredith, if they find this, I'll be in jail in a New York minute. There's still people who would like to see me crucified. At the very least, I would be tied up administratively for days."

He could call and report it, of course, but his superiors might well have already heard from an anonymous caller. They would claim he called only because someone tipped him off.

She stared at him, and he saw her weigh the alternatives as well. Then she nodded.

They were still hunting when there was a loud knocking at the door.

He hoped to h.e.l.l they had found it all.

He opened the door. Four officers--two NOPD and two DEA agents--stood there.

He knew the NOPD sergeant. "Joe, what in the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

The sergeant gave him an embarra.s.sed but determined look. "We had a tip that you had drugs here."

"Convenient," he replied.

Meredith stood next to him. "Do you have a warrant?"

Joe looked at him inquisitively.

"My attorney," Gage said.

Joe Tipton blinked, then handed the warrant to Meredith. She looked it over. As she suspected, the tip came from an unidentified source.

She stepped back. "Go ahead," she said. "But don't tear up the place." She turned to Gage. "Want to make me one of your great cups of coffee?"

He looked down at her. She had on her attorney's face. Blank. Yet something danced in her eyes.

"Great idea," he said. He opened the door to the kitchen wide. They all entered. Mack was sitting in a chair, a magazine in his hand.

The sergeant stopped. "Mack?"

Mack stood. "Joe. What are you doing here?"

Tipton looked embarra.s.sed. "We had a tip we might find drugs here."

Mack's brows furrowed together. "Here? Strange. Everyone knows how much Gage hates drugs. He spent years trying to save his brother. They gone nuts over there?"

Tipton's face reddened. "We have to look."

Mack lumbered up out of the chair. "You can look here if you want."

Gage watched Meredith's lips twitch. If nothing else, this had served to break into her grief. "What about that coffee? Mack, you want some?"

"I'd rather have a beer."

"Done," Gage said.

A DEA agent stayed with them. He stood and watched as Gage poured water into a percolator and took the can of coffee from the cabinet. The DEA agent stopped him. Looked inside. Sifted the contents. Then returned it.

Gage noted the agents were more careful than they usually were. Apparently they had been given rather specific information as to where to find the drugs.

When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup for himself and Meredith, then opened the fridge and took out a beer. He offered it to the agent. "Want to check it before I give it to Mack?"

The agent looked embarra.s.sed. "No. I think we got a faulty tip."

"I have a lot of enemies," Gage said.

"Don't we all?" the agent replied, looking as if he would rather be any other place than in a fellow cop's kitchen.

Mack gulped down his beer. Meredith sipped her coffee. If Gage hadn't been so angry, he would have enjoyed watching her play the game. He also realized that now this hadn't worked, more drastic means might be employed.

After another thirty minutes, Tipton returned with one of the other officers. "Sorry about this, Gage. I told them they were crazy but..."

"Do you know who received the tip?"

"Someone from Public Integrity. They pa.s.sed it on to the drug unit."

The second DEA agent came in. "Nothing," he said with a disgusted grunt.

"Anyone in the department will tell you I hate drugs," Gage said. "I've never used them, and I despise anyone who sells them." He couldn't hide the quiet fury in his voice, nor did he want to.

Tipton shuffled on his feet. "We had to check it."

"And now that you have, you can leave," Meredith said quietly. "I buried my mother today, and Gage and Mack were kind enough to look after me. An anonymous tip may be sufficient grounds for some judges, but I find it very questionable. The department, and the judge who signed the warrant, will hear from me tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," Tipton said again.

They left quickly.

She slumped down in a seat. Emotionally and physically exhausted.

Mack went to the door. "I'll be outside in my car," he said.

They checked on Beast. He was still sleepy but his eyes were brighter. He managed to get up and go outside, though he had a lolling gait like a drunken sailor.

She felt better, though, watching him. Whatever he'd been given wasn't deadly. Perhaps that would have been a real giveaway that drugs were planted.

When he came in, Gage kissed her lightly good night. "You go ahead to bed. I want to do some work tonight."

"I'll wait."

"No, you won't. You look exhausted. I'll be in later."

He was being a gentleman. Too bad she really didn't want a gentleman at the moment.

But she was too tired to argue.

Obediently, she went to bed, hoping he would soon join her, and resenting the fact that she did.

*Chapter Twenty-seven*

'BISBEE'.

Marty called as Holly was finis.h.i.+ng up the last details of a laughing frog sculpture. "Can you have lunch with me?"

"If Harry can come. I haven't found a regular sitter yet."

"I know of one. I can vouch for her."

"Perhaps she won't be available?" Holly said hopefully. Since the episode at the library, she didn't want Harry out of her sight.

"Why don't I check?" Marty was at her relentless best. Holly was learning that quality well.

"Who is she?"

"A widow, like you. She's had four children of her own and six grandchildren. She loves children and is the soul of responsibility." Marty hesitated, then added, "She could use the money."

Holly sighed. Trying to outmaneuver Marty was a hopeless task. Now she would not only be refusing lunch with the person responsible for her livelihood but she would also be depriving a poor widow of food money.

"All right," she finally said.

"She'll be over there at one. Is that okay?"

"Perfectly." 'Perfectly not'. But she knew she couldn't hide here in the little cottage forever. She had avoided Doug since going riding on Sat.u.r.day, refusing several invitations for dinner. She'd pled a sore throat, then work.

The woman arrived at ten minutes to one. Holly remembered seeing her before at the library. Lanky with a weathered face that told Holly she loved the out-of-doors, Teresa Stevens was dressed in blue jeans and a plaid short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt.

She had a smile that instantly put Holly at ease, and she carried some children's books with her. Her face lit when she saw Harry and she stooped to introduce herself.

Holly liked her immediately and obviously so did Harry. There was an ease, a kind of peace, that radiated from her. So did competence. Holly liked the fact that she had brought the books.

"He's had a peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwich," Holly said. "He can have a cookie. I should be back in an hour or so." She glanced at the books in the woman's hands. "He loves reading."

"I wish more children did," Mrs. Stevens said.

"Well, a book will make him very happy. In fact, it doesn't take much to make him happy."

"We'll get along just fine."

Holly knew they would and she felt better as she left.

Marty was waiting for her. "I thought we would go to the Copper Queen for lunch," she said. "My treat."

"I can't--"

"Yes, you can. I have a proposition for you."

Holly wasn't sure she wanted a proposition. But she surrendered to a tide stronger than herself and walked the block to the famous old hotel. She had taken Harry inside. It was a legend. John Wayne was said to have made the hotel a second home on his trips to his ranch across the Mexico border.

But she hadn't eaten there. It was one of those luxuries she hadn't felt she could afford yet.

She would have enjoyed it if she weren't so worried about Marty's "proposition."

Her friend didn't waste any time once they were seated.

"The tourist trade will come to a standstill this fall,"

Marty said. "I've developed a website for some of the crafts in the store to even out my business. I've put several of yours on it and they've sold. I would like an a.s.surance of a steady supply. Disappointed buyers can kill a web business."

"How many will you need?"

"I'm not sure. But I would like to depend on at least twenty a week to start."

"To 'start'?"

Marty shrugged. "Don't let me scare you. Perhaps they won't continue to sell as well as I think they will. If they don't, I'll purchase what you've done and keep them in stock at my store, perhaps offer them to other craft stores in the Southwest."

A waiter came for their order.

Holly was grateful. She needed these few moments to think. Twenty sculptures a week was an enormous number. She thought she could do it, but it would mean eliminating walks into the desert, her trips to the library, reading time with her son.

On the other hand, it could mean financial security, something she needed desperately. Her money was going out faster than it was coming in. She was extremely careful, but she was fast beginning to understand the phrase "quiet desperation."

After several moments' consideration, she ordered a salad and shrimp. Marty got a salad and cheeseburger.

When the waiter left the table, Marty quickly returned to the subject. "Do you think you can do it?"

"How much?" Holly asked first. She was quickly discovering that money should always be a top priority.

"I thought I would price them at sixty dollars each, plus s.h.i.+pping. I'll pay you forty."

Holly did the math. Twenty times forty was eight hundred dollars a week. With that, she could quickly build a cus.h.i.+on to finance going somewhere else if necessary. But twenty a week? She was doing fewer than seven a week now.

"Do you think you can do it?" Marty persisted.

"Yes," she said. She 'would' do it. It might be the only way she could really protect herself and her son. Perhaps she could buy her own computer. And computer games for Harry.

"You don't intend to leave Bisbee any time soon?" Marty said.

"No," she said.