Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)

“Five dealers? Wow. You have a much bigger operation than I imagined.”

He smoothed a hand over his slicked-back hair. “Go big or go home, I always say. The other dealers are guys.” He ticked them off on his fingers, perhaps in an effort to impress her. “Baumgartner serves Ashland, McNamara has Millersburg, Carver works the upper part of Route 9, and Washington works the lower part. So far, though, Jones is my go-getter.” Jeb laughed and shook his head. “That kid sells a shitload of my shit to his classmates at the community college off the AA.”

Jesus. Right down the highway from the Sheriff’s station. “An all-boys club, huh?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m an equal opportunity employer. What I have in mind for you is to take over the local sales. I don’t want to be dealing out of the bar anymore. It’s too risky. We have a police department now, and those folks are in here all the time. Our new Mayor Buchanan isn’t the sort to turn a blind eye the way the old Mayor Buchanan did.”

“I see your point. So, I’d take a supply from you and deal from…my house?”

“Well, normally, you’d buy a supply from me and deal however you saw fit, so long as you didn’t undercut anybody, price-wise, but I know you don’t have the buy-in right now, and I’m willing to work with you. Because you’re you, and because I know my local customers. I’ll front you the supply every week, all nicely bagged and organized. You charge two hundred and fifty dollars per bag, and you pay me one seventy-five. You’ll clear four fifty a week, easy. More as you start to build your network and hustle up new business.”

“Wow. This seems very organized. Very big-time.” Flattering the mastermind couldn’t hurt.

He flashed white teeth. “Walk with me, Eden.”

After opening the counter gate at the end of the bar, he came through and extended an arm to her. She allowed him to put his arm around her shoulders and lead her down to the main room, through the alcove to the restrooms, and along a dark, narrow hall to an old door with a Management Only sign affixed to the scarred wood at eye level. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and turned a series of locks. When the last one clicked open, he held the door and gestured her forward. Basement stairs descended into an eerie, blue-tinged darkness. She looked at him. “Down?”

“Down,” he confirmed, reached around her, and flicked a switch. A naked bulb above her head flickered on. More lights shone beyond the base of the stairs. “You’ve made a valid observation—the kind of observation a real businesswoman makes—and I want to show you how right you are.”

The flattery was running both ways. At least, that’s what she hoped as she walked carefully down the steep, wooden stairs into some kind of deep, funky-smelling root cellar where she definitely did not want to die… “Oh my God.”

“I know, right?” Jeb stepped past her and extended his arms to encompass the elaborate hydroponic system extending the entire square footage of the basement. “I don’t rely on weather. I don’t worry about how many days of sun we’re getting or how much rain. I grow through summer, through winter, through whatever the fuck is happening upstairs. I guess what I’m saying, Ms. Eden, is that this is a very big-time operation.”

Dobie and Kenny wandered the aisles, obviously unaware of what had been growing right under peoples’ noses. She walked down a narrow row between two grow trays, inspecting the plants. Robust, healthy plants, basking under LED lights. “Did Earl set all this up?”

Jed laughed—a disparaging sound. “My daddy doesn’t have the faintest inkling about this. Yeah, it may, technically, still be his bar, but that old man hasn’t been able to get down here in years—not since arthritis gnawed into his hip. This is all me, sugar. I’m not going to stand behind a bar in Bluelick all my life, eking out a living serving drinks.” He lowered his nose and inhaled a furry bulb. “Ohio’s already prescription legal. Pretty soon, it will go recreational legal. Kentucky won’t lag far behind. Our lawmakers won’t want to deal with all the problems and none of the tax revenue. Once that happens, girl, I’ll set you up in a nice shop downtown—one of those old brownstones our historic society lobbied so hard to preserve—and you can be the face of the business.” He walked over to her and ran a finger along the neckline of her dress. “Would you like that, Eden?”

“Yes.” She forced her lips into a grateful smile. “I think I would love it.”

“Okay then.” He walked to the stairs, grabbing a large, freezer-style sealed baggie from a table, and gestured for her. “Let’s take the first step of what I predict will be a long and beautiful relationship.”

She followed Jeb upstairs with Dobie and Kenny behind her. They made their way back to the bar. Jeb sat the baggie on the bar, opened it, and pulled out several smaller baggies containing roughly equal amounts of product. Each bore initials written with a black Sharpie across the freezer label. “These are already put together for customers. This one”—he tapped an unlabeled baggie full of weed—“is in case someone wants more than the regular, or brings a friend, or what have you. If you get yourself a new customer, you can sell it to them, but at the same price, Eden. Or more. But no less. If you don’t sell it, that’s cool. Whatever you don’t sell, you can bring back to me the following week. Same time, same place. The cardinal rule is no discounts. Got it? I’d rather not sell it then sell it for less than two hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t want to start a price war with myself.”

“I understand.” She watched him put the small baggies into the big baggie, seal it, and push it down the bar to her. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it an overly familiar squeeze. “What’s the number-one rule?”

“No discounts.”

He smiled and winked at her. “Good girl.” His eyes dropped to his watch, and he grimaced. “Staff’s going to arrive soon. Did y’all park out back?”

She, Kenny, and Dobie nodded.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Eden hoped Buchanan and Malone had moved to the back lot while she and the guys had been down in the basement. She hoped the recording devices had worked perfectly, because she’d gotten everything—everything and then some—tied up in a neat, little bow. Keeping a lid on a mix of relief and lightheadedness, she followed Jeb through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the parking lot.

Thunder crashed. Rain splattered down. A low voice—Buchanan’s—shouted, “Police. Face the wall and put your hands up.”

Jeb’s low, heartfelt “Fuck” reached her ears just before a curtain of rain drowned out the world. Eden went to the wall with the others. Someone approached. Somebody who smelled like the same soap on her own skin and the same shampoo she’d used that morning. She stood still and let Swain take the baggie from her hand. He covered her body with his and leaned close to her ear. “Nice job, choux. I don’t appreciate getting shut out without even a heads-up, but at this particular moment, I almost don’t mind being a casualty to your ambition, because you did great. I’m proud of you.”

A casualty to her ambition? That’s what he thought? She’d deliberately cut him out of the op so she could hog the glory? Defensive words sprang to her lips. After getting ambushed by his illicit motel meet-up, she’d scrambled to save an op that was circling the drain by leveraging the only thing she’d had left—the position he’d put them in.

She blinked back burning tears at the unfairness of his assumption. “I can’t get into this with you right now,” she muttered, impressed at how firm and steady her voice sounded.

“I’m not trying to get into anything. Just telling you you played it perfectly.” With that, he backed off and gave her space.

She used it to take a deep breath. Some soft part of her heart soaked his compliment in, but the rest of her was just…wrung out. Relieved to have completed the job. Guilty over using Kenny and Dobie to do it. Proud over a successful sting? Not the