He held the door for Hassan and Malone and came through last, deliberately hanging back to make sure he had himself under control.
Buchanan, another officer he didn’t recognize, Ginny, and Eden stood in a circle in the middle of the otherwise empty salon, talking. Rattan blinds covered the big front windows, filtering the light and preventing any passersby from looking in. Eden had her back to him. Even so, a sharp pain lanced his chest, hollowing his lungs. She wore the white sundress she’d worn that day at the Riverview Inn. He couldn’t fault the choice. She looked like an angel. A luminous being with dark, silky hair and skin so golden it could make a mortal man cry just beholding her.
She glanced over her shoulder as they filed in, and her eyes met his for an instant—just long enough for him to detect a spark of green through the misty gray before she turned away. Shadows under her eyes suggested she’d had a rough morning, too. The knowledge should have made him feel better, but it didn’t.
Malone handled introductions, and Swain shook hands with West Donovan, the other officer from the PD. Everything about Donovan, from h
is clean shave and trimmed hair to his firm grip and forthright stare, rubbed him the wrong way. The guy had no-bullshit, straight-shooting officer of the law written all over him—basically the male counterpart of Eden Brixton. Single, straight-shooting officer of the law, if the lack of a wedding ring provided any indication. Donovan was someone she’d work with day in, day out. Someone she’d trust without hesitation, possibly even admire. Someone she’d…date? Fall in love with?
“Good outfit,” Deputy Hassan said to Eden. “We can work with this.”
Eden offered a faint smile and fingered one of the small pearl buttons running down the front of the dress. “Instead of a badge and gun, I was instructed to wear buttons.”
“It’s an easy way to hide the camera and microphone.” Hassan picked up the zippered black laptop bag she’d placed by her feet during introductions. “Ready to get wired?”
Eden nodded.
“Wait a minute.” Swain couldn’t hold his tongue. “Why no gun?” He addressed the question to Buchanan. “She goes in unprotected?”
“We’re her protection.” He pointed at all of them, then Hassan’s bag. “The mic and the camera are her protection. If anyone searches her bag, a gun will raise a lot of questions. The Eden Braxton folks around here have gotten to know doesn’t pack heat.”
“It’s fine.” Eden leveled her gaze at him. “I don’t need it, and a gun doesn’t fit my cover.”
Donovan clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Deputy Swain, we know you’ve been a valuable part of this op, but for whatever reason, the target wants to meet with Eden—deal with Eden. If you want to continue your participation, let this go.”
He stared directly at Eden. She refused to look at him. “It’s gone,” he muttered and spun away.
Hasson looked around. “Is there a place where we can…?”
“You can use the treatment room,” Ginny said and led them to a small walled-off area at the back of the salon. To the rest of them, she pointed to the room across the way and added, “There’s pizza and soda in the kitchen if y’all want some lunch.”
As the women walked off, Buchanan said, “We’ll park just up the street from the pub. I understand that, if Hassan works her magic, we’ll be able to monitor everything”—he held his smartphone up—“from here.”
“That’s the plan,” Malone agreed. “Brixton’s going to drive to the pub, meet up with Dobbins and Whelan, and then their source?”
Buchanan nodded. He ran through the basic script Eden would follow to ensure they gathered the recorded evidence they needed to take down all the players. Kenny and Dobie would get picked up as well and charged with drug conspiracy, but as they weren’t growing or distributing, merely facilitating an introduction, Swain suspected the county prosecutor would plea them out if they agreed to cooperate.
A few minutes later, when Hassan and Eden returned, they all took out their phones and tested the feed. They had ears. They had eyes. He and Malone walked to the far edge of the parking area and played with the range. The transmission remained strong.
“It’s like a tiny video doorbell,” Hassan explained around a bite of pizza. “Distance won’t impact reception.” She turned to Eden. “But don’t worry; we’ll be nearby. I’ll record everything on my laptop from the back of Malone’s vehicle.”
“I’m not worried,” Eden assured her.
That made one of them. He was freaking out. Kenny and Dobie posed no threat, but he couldn’t vouch for whomever they planned to meet. The idea of Eden going into the pub without him, without a weapon, to run a con on an as yet unidentified drug dealer, presented a known unknown he found hard to calmly accept. But calm or not, he had to accept it. Besides, he’d spent a decent part of his day considering the identity of their dealer and, given the totality of the circumstances, felt like he knew who to expect.
Or did he? Nothing thus far had gone as expected.
Buchanan looked at his watch. “Okay, team. Saddle up.”
They walked to the parking lot. He watched, impotent, as Eden slid behind the wheel of the Prius, closed the door, and pulled away. Alone.
No, not a fucking thing had gone as he’d expected.
…
Eden glanced into her rearview mirror just before making the turn into the empty Rawley’s parking lot. Buchanan would pull his truck over before they reached the pub. He and West would monitor from there. Malone’s SUV drove past. He’d pull to the side just beyond the pub. He, Hassan, and Swain would monitor from there.
Swain, whose blue eyes had shot hurt and anger at her whenever she’d landed in his crosshairs, as if he considered himself the one genuinely wronged. How dare he turn that look on her? It made her want to get right up in his faithless face and tell him…