Chapter Eleven

The aisles were jammed with people, including small children and toddlers in strollers. Much as Evan wanted to, shouting "Police" or "FBI" to clear a path could cause a fear-fueled stampede.

The man in the red shirt and the woman with him had already left the green tent. If he didn't catch up fast, he'd lose them. He gave Blue more slack, allowing his dog to make a hole. One look at Blue, and people scattered.

They serpentined through the crowd, but the going was too slow. Flashes of red from the man's shirt were becoming less frequent.

A solid flash of red turned left into another aisle. He and Blue darted ahead, then turned the same corner. He tightened up on the leash in the nick of time. Three women pushing baby strollers had blocked the entire aisle. Evan craned his neck, trying to catch another glimpse of red. There was none.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath. "Let's go!"

He and Blue reversed course, pushing through the crowd toward the next intersecting aisle. Several minutes and three more turns later, they were back on course, but the man and woman were gone.

Dammit!

For the next twenty minutes, they meandered through the entire market, including the parking lot. Slowly, he did a three-sixty, looking up at utility poles dotting the perimeter of the parking lot and the storefronts. There were cameras attached to a few stores in the strip mall and one on a utility pole facing South Colorado Boulevard. Maybe he'd get lucky and catch his quarry on camera. Better yet, maybe they'd catch the vehicle they left in. But did these cameras record or just monitor?

The kind of security cameras most stores used probably recorded but were usually taped over after forty-eight hours, making the chances of retrieving footage from the day Manello drugged Noah unlikely. Assuming the camera on the utility pole overlooking South Colorado Boulevard was owned by the city of Denver, who knew if it was even functioning.

There was a slim chance the couple was still here somewhere and he'd missed them, but he didn't think so. Even if they were, he needed to get Noah out of here.

He cued up Marlie's number on his phone. "You and Noah okay?" he asked when she answered.

"We're fine." Her voice shook a bit. "We're in the Yukon. Did you talk to them?"

"No. Stay there." He ended the call and headed back to the green tent.

Minutes later, he and Blue stood in front of a table loaded with baskets of tomatoes, squash, onions, and carrots, yet the distinctly earthy, woody smell of marijuana lingered. Was the vendor smoking it or selling it? While she finished a transaction, he looked around.

People had lined up, waiting for this particular vendor, who'd attracted quite the crowd compared to adjacent ones. The man in the red shirt had handed over a black plastic tub. He'd bet his ass it was loaded with pot.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, smiling.

"I hope so." He smiled back, whipping out his badge. "FBI. I need to talk to you."

The woman's eyes practically popped out of her head. Her Adam's apple bobbed as she swallowed repeatedly. Nervous much?

"I, um." She eyed the small crowd watching and listening raptly. "This isn't a good time. I have customers. Can you come back at the end of the day?"

"No." He held up his badge to the crowd surrounding the table. "Sorry folks, we're closed until further notice."

" What ?" she shrieked. "You can't do that."

"I just did." He stuffed the badge back into his pocket.

Most of the people milling around slunk away quickly, telling him they were here to buy something, all right, and it wasn't tomatoes. This vendor knew something, and he wasn't about to leave until he squeezed whatever it was out of her. "A man and woman were here about twenty minutes ago. The man wore a red shirt. He handed you a black plastic tub, and you gave them cash. What were their names?"

She paused, touching her fingers to her lips. "Um, uh, a red shirt?"

Stalling, touching their face, stammering and repeating what he'd already stated…all classic "tells" of someone about to lie their ass off.

"I, uh. I don't know who you're talking about. I purchase products from other vendors all the time. So many people have come here today. I can't remember all of them."

"What's in the black tub?"

She glanced down to where she'd stowed the tub. "Um…peppers."

Bullshit . He rounded a corner of the table where a space had been left to enter and exit. Blue trotted in behind him and sat directly in front of the woman, forcing her to back up until her ass hit the edge of the table.

"What are you doing? You can't come back here."

Ignoring her, he retrieved the tub, which was about the size of a small microwave.

"Stop! You can't look in there."

He flipped off the lid. The tub was packed to the brim with irregularly shaped, green-and-amber colored marijuana trichomes—flower buds. Most likely, she sold it out the back door without paying license or vendor fees, or a penny of taxes on the sales. He wasn't about to waste time dealing with a regulatory licensing issue. She, however, didn't know that.

"Do you have a valid retail license from the Colorado Department of Revenue?" Not a chance.

Her lips pinched. Momentarily, she closed her eyes. "No."

He pressed the lid back on. "Then you need to start talking. I'll ask you again. What are the names of the people you bought this from?"

She took a deep breath. "I only know them as John and Margaret."

Bingo . "John and Margaret what?"

She shook her head. "I don't know their last names. Nobody does."

So there were other buyers they sold to. "Do you have a phone number for them?"

Again, she shook her head. "No. They just show up here every Saturday."

"Where are they from?"

"I don't know."

Chances were, she hadn't asked and didn't care. The only thing that mattered was making a tax-free buck. No wonder her tent was so popular.

"What else can you tell me about them? Where do they work? What kind of vehicle do they drive?"

"I don't know." This time, her gaze was rock steady, and Evan believed her.

"Does anyone else at this market buy from them?"

"I don't know that, either."

"Get out your driver's license." He set the bin on the table, being careful to touch it as little possible.

When the woman handed him her DL, he snapped a photo of it, then handed it back to her. "If you're lying about anything, your next visitors will be Department of Revenue agents who won't be nearly as forgiving as I am. Understood?" She nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation." Carefully, he tucked the bin under his arm.

"Hey!" She pointed to the bin. "You can't take that!"

"Actually, I can." Mostly, he didn't give a crap about the contents, just the latent prints John and Margaret may have left on the bin. Still, he'd heard about DNA markers used to determine the geographic origin of marijuana plants. Anything that might give them a lead on this case was worth pursuing. "Did I mention the Department of Revenue is about to commence annual audits?" He had no idea if that was true but, as expected, the woman snapped her mouth shut faster than a giant clam. He'd bet she barely reported any of her legal produce income on her tax returns, and she sure as hell wasn't entering anything into METRC—the state's seed-to-sale, track-and-trace regulatory system for the cannabis industry. "I'll mail you a property receipt."

He and Blue headed back to the Yukon. He'd have Sammie run a check on the woman, but he was reasonably certain this was a dead end. Unless they could pull something off those cameras or get prints off the tub.

Blue stopped at a Halloween tent to sniff a skeleton skull. When his nose touched the decoration, a disembodied voice started singing "I Ain't Got Nobody." Blue backed off, curling his lip at the offending decoration and making a few kids laugh.

"C'mon, buddy." He tugged his dog away just as a large black-and-orange monarch butterfly descended out of nowhere, flapping its wings, frantically searching for a landing zone. It settled on Blue's head, in the furry comfort between his ears.

"Hey, look at that!" A woman pointed as she tugged out her phone to snap some shots.

"Playtime's over." That's all he needed, for him and Blue to go viral on social media. Again, he tugged on Blue's leash to get him out of the woman's line of sight. What she couldn't possibly know was that butterflies landed on Blue all the time. One of Mother Nature's weird and inexplicable things.

Blue snorted, but the butterfly had settled in for the ride. Probably on walkabout—make that flyabout—from the Butterfly Pavilion at the nearby Denver Botanic Gardens.

When they made it back to the Yukon, the butterfly was gone. He could make out Marlie's blond head behind the wheel, but he couldn't see Noah. He jogged the rest of the way to the SUV. Finally, Noah's head popped up in the front passenger seat, and Evan breathed a little easier. He tapped gently on the driver's side window.

Both Marlie and Noah flinched. The doors clicked as Marlie unlocked them. He loaded Blue into the back, while Noah clambered over the front seat to sit next to him.

Marlie met him outside. "Well, what did they say?"

"I lost them in the crowd. I went back and talked to that produce vendor." He tapped the black tub under his arm. "She bought this tub of marijuana from the same couple Noah ID'd as John and Margaret. She claims she doesn't know anything about them."

"Do you believe her?"

"Yeah. I do."

"How do you know she was telling the—" She broke off as he reached out to nudge away a lock of hair that had blown across her face.

Vaguely, his rough fingers registered how soft and silky smooth the blond strands were, but his brain was hyper-focused on her lips as she licked them. "The truth?" he finished for her, wondering what supreme lack of judgment had driven him to touch her. Getting that familiar with Marlie was a bad idea, because again, his relationships never went anywhere. Except down in flames . "She doesn't have a license to sell pot. I made it clear if she lied, I'd sic the tax boys on her." Through the tinted rear window, he could just make out Noah scooting closer to Blue. "How's he doing?"

"A little scared, but he's okay."

At least he was safe. If only his next best lead in the case hadn't slipped through his fingers. "I've got some things to check up on. I'll take you and Noah home."

"Okay." She started rounding the hood. "I have to take him shopping for school supplies, anyway."

"Not today." He deposited the bin in the back of the Yukon, then got in, noting the sour look on Marlie's face.

"Why not today?" she shot back after getting in next to him. "He starts school on Tuesday. He barely has any clothes to wear. There's no time to order anything online, and I know he doesn't want to wear any of my clothes."

From the back seat, Noah snorted. "You got that right."

Evan leaned over the center console until his face was only inches from hers. Sunlight made the flecks in her eyes glitter like gold. "I want you to wait until tomorrow." The guy in the red shirt had looked in their direction. Briefly, yes, but he could swear it was a fraction longer than could be considered casual. "I'll go with you. I can't today." He had a meeting at his office, and he wanted Sammy to put a rush on requesting footage from the city cameras.

Her nostrils flared a fraction before she sat back in the seat. "Fine. Does ten o'clock work for you?"

"Yes." That would give him plenty of time to get to his parents' house in the afternoon.

"Are you guys fighting?" Noah's face appeared between the headrests. A second later, Blue's furry face joined him.

Marlie sighed. "No. We're not fighting. We're just working out your schedule."

"Oo-kay." Noah sat back. In the rearview mirror, his lips twisted with worry, and the frown lines on his forehead deepened. He'd been spooked today and needed something to get his mind off things.

Evan started the engine and headed from the lot onto South Colorado Boulevard, checking the mirrors every few seconds for a tail. Up ahead, he spotted a Cones and Cups, one with a drive-thru window. They still hadn't eaten lunch, and turkey sandwiches weren't exactly feel-good food.

After one more check in the mirrors, he hung a quick right into the ice cream shop parking lot and drove up to the order box. "It's time for lunch. What flavor do you want?" he asked Noah.

"Chocolate!" Noah's worried face split into a grin but fell slightly as he looked at Marlie. "Is it okay if we have ice cream for lunch? Please?"

She let her head fall back, closing her eyes and uttering a low groan. "All right. But just this once," she tacked on quickly, aiming an admonishing finger at Evan.

"And you, ma'am?" he asked, unable to keep from grinning. Even she knew Noah needed a little cheering up. "What's your flavor?"

"Butter pecan. In a sugar cone."

A muffled voice came from the box. "Welcome to Cones and Cups. Can I take your order?"

"Four sugar cones. Two butter pecan, one chocolate, and one vanilla." He tugged out his wallet and pulled up to the window.

"Why did you get four cones?" Noah rested his chin on the back of Evan's seat. "There are only three of us."

Blue snorted.

"Are you sure? Who's sitting right next to you?"

Noah looked at Blue. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Blue."

Again, his dog snorted.

"You're going to give ice cream to a dog ?" Marlie asked.

"Why not?" He shrugged. "He likes it."

"Yeah. Why not?" Noah echoed. " I like it."

"I like it," Evan chimed in, knowing it would annoy her.

Marlie threw up her hands. "I give up."

"Wise choice." He winked, which only made her scowl more. Even scowling, she was pretty. "Extra napkins, please," he said when the woman took his credit card.

A few minutes later, she handed him a cardboard tray with four cones and a stack of napkins. Blue stretched his neck between the seats, sniffing and flicking out his tongue.

"Mind holding this?" He held out the tray to Marlie, being careful to keep the cones away from Blue's long tongue.

She sighed, but he glimpsed the corners of her mouth lifting. "I suppose not."

"Atta girl. Why fight it?" The quip garnered him another pretty scowl.

He pulled into a spot in the parking lot but kept the engine running. Marlie handed Noah his chocolate cone.

Evan handed him the vanilla cone. "You'll have to hold it for him."

"Here, Blue." Noah held out the cone.

Blue licked delicately, like a human, the way Evan had taught him, so the tower of ice cream wouldn't topple over. Of course, his tongue was so big it didn't take long before he made his way to the cone.

Noah laughed as Blue crunched down, sending bits of sugar cone dripping with ice cream onto the seat.

"That's what these are for." He gave Noah the stack of napkins. "I need you to clean the seat and wipe his mouth for me. Okay?"

"Okay." He did as asked, then started in on his own cone, which had already begun dripping down his hand.

Marlie gave Evan his butter pecan cone. He licked the top of the scoop, then nearly choked. Her tongue darted out, swiping at her own ice cream, then licking her lips. Full, pretty lips. His abdominal muscles tightened involuntarily. Watching her lick that cone was like watching a sexy striptease, only better. Oh man.

He cleared his throat. This wasn't the time to start thinking about the fact he hadn't had sex in over four months. "Noah, can I ask you a few questions while we eat?"

The kid shrugged. "Sure."

"What kind of buildings were at the camp? Were there any houses?"

"White houses. A lot of them." He took a big lick and swallowed. "And two big metal buildings."

Could be marijuana processing buildings. "The drive from the camp to the farmers market… Do you know how long it took?" It was a needle in a haystack, but if the kid could approximate the time he'd been in the back of Manello's truck, it could help narrow down the search area.

"I don't know. I don't really remember."

"I have an idea," Marlie said. "Did you ever watch a whole baseball game on TV?"

"Yeah." Noah nodded.

Evan saw exactly where she was going. "A whole game is around three hours. Would you say you hid in the back of the truck that long?"

"No. Not that long." He licked the cone again, tilting his head to the side. "More than half a game, though. Maybe two hours."

"Good. That's real good." A start, anyway. "Do you remember if the truck was going really fast most of the time? Like you would if you were on a highway? Or did it go slow, and make a lot of turns, like if you were on local roads with slow speed limits?"

"Fast most of the time. When we started out, we were going really fast."

"Why do you say that?"

"The speed limit was really high."

"How high?" Evan took another lick of his cone.

"Eighty," Noah said without hesitation.

Evan twisted in his seat. Every nerve ending in his body jumped to attention. "Are you sure ?"

"Positive." He nodded. "I saw the sign."

"The speed limit sign?" Another nod. Before he let his brain take off in the direction it needed to go, he had to verify something. "You said you were hiding in the back of the truck, right?" Taking another lick of his cone, Noah nodded. "Then how did you see the sign?"

"Through the opening between the pieces of wood."

"You mean the wood railing? Like the kind people added to pickup trucks so they could load more into the bed?"

"Yeah. Through the railing."

"Why is this important?" Marlie asked.

"Because there are no eighty-mile-per-hour speed limit signs in the entire state of Colorado." This time, he did let his brain take off. "Noah said it took about two hours to get from the camp to the farmers market, and if they started out doing eighty miles an hour, they could have started in only one place. Wyoming." The possible location of the camp had just been narrowed down in a big, big way.

He cranked the Yukon in reverse.

Based on Noah's recollection and the location of the farmers market, he'd bet a month's salary they'd started in Wyoming, then headed south on I-25 directly to the farmers market, which was located right off the same highway. "Tomorrow, we're heading north. To Wyoming."