Chapter 15

It was 2 AM before there was movement at the warehouse again, and Joe went on quick alert. As the overhead doors creaked open, she moved as close as possible to the building without leaving the cover of the trees.

Seconds passed.

The car that finally rolled out was a newer model white sedan with no distinguishing features. Her only hope was to get the license plate and see if it turned up any information on the driver.

Her NVG's went on again, and sure enough it was "Mr. Nugget" driving. The large door closed behind him once he rolled out, and as he moved slowly past Joe's position, she committed his plate to memory.

"Gotcha," she whispered to the departing taillights.

But now…

She had a problem. Did she go with her gut and enter the warehouse? Or did she obey the vague edicts laid out by her boss and leave the site for an infil team to clean up? It was the way things had been for ten years, but this time…

Joe didn't spend too long speculating. Since the main office hadn't gotten back to her with any useful information regarding what she'd already sent them, she'd move forward and execute this additional, unsanctioned reconnaissance, making smart use of what was available to her; the hulking metal building that surely held secrets.

It was difficult to wait until she was certain things were safe, but Joe put a half hour between the time Mr. Nugget left and her mission, beginning a steady and stealthy trek toward the people-sized door the man had previously used.

Once in position next to the suspiciously well-maintained portal, she placed her ear to the metal, listening intently for any noise on the other side. It would suck eggs if someone were still in there and she broke in.

Joelle paused, holding her breath.

Hearing nothing, not even the low humming noise from before, she took her lock-picking set out of the small pouch she wore around her waist, and—noting the mechanism she was about to manipulate was a wafer tumbler lock—she extracted a tension wrench and a half-diamond pick before going to work.

Twenty seconds later…

Huh.She must be losing her touch. It normally took her ten to breach. She needed to brush up on her skills.

With the lock disengaged, Joe put her tools back in her kit, and lifted her gun from its holster, holding it aloft with one hand while grabbing the doorknob with the other to slowly swing the heavy egress, outward.

She gave a relieved sigh, when luckily the door didn't squeak.

When nothing inside moved that she could hear, Joe, still outside with her back up against the building's metal siding, poked her head in quickly to garner a look, and…

The place was pitch black.

Good, and bad.

Good because she was probably alone. Bad because NVG's without periphery light—which Joe didn't have—wouldn't work in complete darkness. In order to see anything, she would have to use the flashlight on her phone. If anybody—i.e. guards—were inside sleeping, they'd have her made in a blink.

She had to take that chance.

Walking quietly across the threshold, she slid inside and closed the door behind her, keeping her back to the wall as she calmed her breathing and listened. Minutes passed, and as far as she could tell, she was alone. There was no snoring, farting, or coughing that would indicate men sleeping, so she'd go with the well-studied assumption she was alone.

Squatting, she set her phone on the ground, screen side down. She managed to turn on the flashlight, then in one smooth move, she flipped over the device while scooting it across the floor so it ended up five feet from where she crouched.

Joe once again held her position, waiting.

The phone lit up a good portion of the area around it, and…no one shot at the thing.

That was good.

Joe was now confident that she was, indeed, alone.

Inching her way rapidly toward her device, she picked it up, and at last dared to stand. She shined it around.

The interior was one, big room, with a loft above—an open mezzanine—that was accessed by a ladder. A large number of small bags were lined up on a shelf on one wall. The central ally leading back from the large doors was empty of any equipment or detritus, obviously so trucks or cars could drive in and execute whatever they came here to do. Opposite the doors, at the far end of the space, there was a setup that really caught her attention. It was an easily identifiable "cooking station" of glass beakers, tubes, and burners.

Joe sniffed. She could definitely smell something funky in the air.

Behind the apparatus, were stacked cardboard boxes, contents unknown from Joe's distance, but she'd find out soon enough.

Before she moved closer, she shined her light around and took in the rest of her surroundings.

In the far back corner of the building, Joe spotted the only other thing in the main room. A small generator. That made sense. It had to have been the noise she'd heard while outside, probably giving Mr. Nugget electricity and lights with which to work.

But now…it was time to find out what was in the boxes and bags.

Walking over to the cooking set-up first, Joe snapped pictures of the contraption, then hastened behind it to shine her light into one of the open cases.

Well, hello.Joe gave a wry, but knowing smile.

Xylazineliquid. In bottles. Animal tranquilizer. Obviously in quantities larger than any vet would have on hand. Therefore, it had to be black market. Joe snapped more pictures, taking great care to record the manufacturing dates and skew numbers on the boxes, to hopefully ID where the substance had been illegally obtained.

She then ripped off a small piece of cardboard from a box that had been discarded, to use for her next task. No longer faced with the mystery of what was in the bags because she'd seen it all before, Joe walked to the first satchel in the stack. Opening it, she looked inside, and sure enough, as she'd expected, there was powder. It was light brown, and she knew from experience it was a cooked version of the liquid she'd already catalogued.

This powder, made from the tranquilizer in the bottles, had clearly been manufactured here. It was set to be cut into the fentanyl, which would in the end, maximize profit for the dealers who were selling.

The problem was, xylazine was also hella dangerous to humans. Being a system depressant, it would lower blood pressure and heart rate, slow breathing in a victim, and often lead to death.

Joe grumbled angrily. As if fentanyl on its own wasn't bad enough. When cut with xylazine, it was drammed deadly.

Joe extracted a pair of nitrile gloves from her pocket, along with a small plastic bag. Being extremely careful, she used the small scrap of cardboard she'd picked up, and scooped a tiny bit of the substance into the container. Adding the cardboard to the baggie so as not to leave it behind, she sealed the sample up, and tucked it into her pouch.

Looking around, she snapped a few more pictures, satisfied she had everything she needed, then climbed the ladder to the small mezzanine. Nothing there but a mattress and blankets. It must be where they went to have a snooze when things were slow.

She descended quickly.

It was time to get gone.

Joelle was just as vigilant leaving as she had been, coming, and without incident, made it safely back to her car.

As she drove back to her small digs, she had plenty of time to think about her next move, knowing that on this occasion, she was questioning how she would proceed. If she sent the sample—like she normally would—overnighting it to her office, snick-head Lester would know she'd broken inside the facility to get the specimen, and that she'd pushed the parameter limits of what he allowed her to do in her investigating. Once in possession of those facts, he'd reem her ash, and write her up again, keeping her in the downtrodden role to which she'd been relegated for years before he swooped in and took over.

Flock no. She decided, pounding her hands on her steering wheel. She was done with that. This time she'd dot all her I's and cross all her T's herself, making the bust on her terms before handing Lester a closed case. Then…

Yup.She'd give her notice.

Lester would be beyond pissed she'd buttoned things up on her own. But shouldn't he also be rubbing his hands in glee because her insubordination had caused her to resign? Uhh, maybe not. Her speculation earlier about his actions where she was concerned told her it was more likely her defection would hurt his future. Since he'd no longer be able to take credit for busts where Joe had done all the leg work, his case-success numbers would plummet.

Joe narrowed her eyes. Old Lester wouldn't let that fly. He'd find a way to get back at her, and chances were, whatever he planned, wouldn't be pretty. He might even make something up that would send her to jail.

Not a pleasant thought.

Joe pondered other options for how to handle her current case as she got out of her car.

If she contacted the agent she'd met in Portland with her findings, citing a need to have the substance she'd bagged analyzed immediately to find if it did, indeed, test positive as powdered xylazine, that agent would know it was her legwork that had uncovered the warehouse. Which meant that Lester couldn't push her to the side of this case and steal her intel for his own glory.

Not a bad idea. But…

Spammit, there was an old-boy network among a lot of career agents, and she didn't know the head of the Portland office at all. What if he was of that ilk, and ended up calling her dear buddy Lester to let him know that Joe had gone over his head to have intel disseminated? She'd be screwed.

Nope.She couldn't take that chance.

Option number three—and the more Joe thought about this one, the more she liked it—she could get Mike to send the sample off for analysis. Or Mason, since he'd said he would also help. Whether the substance got curated through the SWAT team, or the pair's local PD lab, they at least wouldn't out her to Lester, since they knew he was a flippin glick.

The down side of that one, was that the team would want to back her up for whatever takedown occurred. But was that really a negative? Joelle had gotten herself into a few jams in the past, biting off more than she could chew as a solo agent. Having an entire SWAT contingent to help her "storm the castle" so to speak—now that she'd found said castle—might be a good move.

Lester would go ballistic when he found out, but scrooge him. She was ready to call it quits with his bull-pucky, anyway, and Mike and Mason would vouch for her doing everything by their book, so she might escape incarceration.

Done.

Strategy decided, after standing in her little room pondering for an unknown length of time, Joe removed all her gear and stowed the bagged powder sample in the small safe her motel room provided. She stripped to her underwear and flopped back on her bed, her phone in her hand.

Should she…?

Mmm.Mike had told her to be careful, and she certainly didn't want him worrying about her, if that's how he rolled.

Joe snorted. Of course, that's how he rolled. It was written in his DNA. He might even be awake, wondering how she fared.

She quickly shot off a text.

Home now. Got some good intel.

When he didn't answer, she sighed. He must be asleep.

She added; talk tomorrow night.

It would have been nice to chat, but he'd clearly had a busy day and night doing drills, so she wasn't going to begrudge him his sleep.

And speaking of which, she needed her beauty-rest, as well. Joe went to put her phone on her bedside table when…

Snickerdoodle.She needed to text the office her findings—at least on the latest suspect—and see if the computer geniuses could get her an ID on Mr. Nugget.

She started typing out her description, and…

You know what? Spew it.

She deleted everything she'd written.

Lester hadn't contacted her yet with intel on the previous guy whose picture she'd sussed out with the agency's forensics artist. And the composite had been so very accurate, they should have gotten a hit on the perp almost immediately.

Even if that hadn't happened, they would have called her to pick her brains for more info; a call she'd never received. That could only mean that Lester—the self-serving rock-smucker—was once again hording intel until he could swoop in and make the bust.

Okay.So, no Mr. Nugget for him. That data would also go to Mike's team, and she'd frammed-well solve this one with the help of the locals.

Joe stuck her tongue out at the ceiling, a gesture she found herself making far too often.

It felt childish, but oddly satisfying.

One problem solved, but another…

She sighed.

What the flub was she going to do about her future? She'd been an agent for eleven glob-durned years. She wasn't trained for anything else. The law degree she'd earned before getting her current job seemed like ancient history, and the last thing she could see herself doing, anyway, was practicing law or teaching. She'd shuck behind a desk. Her love was all about the intrigue and the action, most of which her agency role had provided, albeit with write-ups about her forays outside the box that probably made her look like a failure on paper.

Who would hire her if she didn't have the stellar references she was certain Lester wouldn't provide?

No one?

Could she go to work on her own? Maybe start some kind of investigative agency?

Joelle scoffed. She didn't have that kind of money. Her nest-egg wasn't healthy, due to her lack of raises and the cost-of-living which had risen exponentially during the years of her low-compensation employment. She was fammed lucky to make rent and eat.

Fruck.She turned over and punched her pillow.

The only thing she had going for her right now was her insane attraction to a man who lived on the opposite coast from her home digs. And Mike not only lived in Maine, he had deep roots here. Family. Career. Friends. There was no way he would leave any of that. And time, for Joe, was ticking. She was thirty-six years old, and needed to make up her mind where she wanted to live when the dust settled on her resignation.

How would it work out if she approached Mike with her proposition? She could hear the conversation now.

Gee, Mike. I've only known you for a week, but how about I cut all ties with the west coast, move here, and insert myself into your very well-ordered and established life?

Could Joe say crazy?

Yup.

All that was certain right now was that Mike had the hots for her, just like she had for him. And in that regard, she needed to get some sleep. It was four in the morning, and he'd talked about a date tonight. If she didn't want to yawn in his face over dinner, or conk out on him if they managed to get horizontal, she needed to shut her brain off and get some z's.

Easier said than done.