“Same here.” Reese bent down and kissed Reggie’s cheek, then her mother’s. “Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”

“I’ll take her home with me,” Kate said, “so either you or Tory can pick her up, depending on which one of you finishes first.”

“Thanks.”

“Be careful,” Kate called as Reese went out the door. She waited a few more minutes, listening to the sound of Reese’s Blazer revving in the driveway and then disappearing down the highway. She hadn’t asked the question that she really wanted answered, which was what Reese would do if the war dragged on and her Marine unit was activated. She didn’t ask not because she believed Reese didn’t have an answer, but because she wasn’t certain she was ready to hear it.

Chapter Three

When Reese drove into the small parking lot behind the single-story, sprawling wood building that housed the sheriff’s department on Shank Painter Road, one squad car, a red Honda Civic, and Sheriff Nelson Parker’s GMC Jimmy were parked in a neat row. Otherwise it was empty. At one in the afternoon with still a few weeks to go before the tourist season got into full swing, there was unlikely to be much going on other than the daily fare of fender benders, minor thefts, drunk and disorderlies, and domestic disputes. They hadn’t yet signed on temporary seasonal help, and only a few officers were on duty each shift.

Reese parked next to Nelson’s GMC and let herself in to the main office area through the side door. Their dispatcher and secretary, Gladys, was ensconced behind the array of computers and radio equipment. The matronly, middle-aged woman in a neat cranberry sweater set and dark slacks glanced her way with a look of surprise.

“I thought you weren’t due back here until tomorrow.”

“The chief called.”

“Hmph.” Gladys looked over her shoulder at the closed door of Nelson’s office. “He’s been in there since I got back from lunch.”

Reese didn’t ask what was going on, because if Gladys knew, she would have told her. And her mild annoyance indicated that she didn’t know. Gladys had worked in the department for a lot of years and was an integral part of the team, so whatever the chief was doing behind closed doors had to be unusual. “You want to let him know I’m here?”

Gladys punched the intercom, waited a second, and then said, “Reese is here.”

Through the static, a deep male voice rumbled, “Send…in.”

Reese rapped on the door, then pushed it open and stepped into Nelson Parker’s office. The chief, in his fifties with a full head of dark hair laced with gray, a broad face ruddy from a lifetime in the wind and sun, and a waist starting to show the thickness of a few too many years at a desk, sat behind a plain wooden one now on the far side of the room. His eyes were intelligent and quick, and…at the moment…telegraphing a sense of wariness and caution. A visitor occupied one of the two folding metal chairs in front of Nelson’s desk, her body angled so that Reese could only see part of her face.

“Chief,” Reese said, walking forward to stand behind the empty seat. “You wanted to see me?”

“Take a seat, Reese,” Nelson said, tipping his head toward the chair.

Reese obeyed the order although she would have preferred to remain standing. She never liked to be in anything less than a superior position when facing an unknown situation. However, Nelson was in charge. As she sat, she got another quick glimpse of the woman. Brown and hazel, five or six years younger than Reese, dressed in civilian clothes…navy blue crewneck sweater, jeans faded nearly white, and scuffed brown boots. A dark brown leather jacket hung from the back of the wooden chair. Her face was honed down and edgy. Reese had seen her before.

“This is Massachusetts State Trooper Carter Wayne,” Nelson said. “Special investigator.”

“How’re you doing,” Reese said, extending her hand.

“Not bad,” Carter said as she returned Reese’s handshake. “Sorry to call you in.”

“No problem.” Reese regarded Carter thoughtfully, picturing her getting out of a black SUV, a briefcase in her hand. She’d been wearing the same leather jacket, dark trousers, and a dark shirt. “The sign on that office you opened on Bradford says you’re an attorney.”

Carter grinned. “You don’t miss much. I’ve only had the office there a month or so and haven’t actually done much business yet.” In fact, she hadn’t done any business, and probably never would. As soon as the investigative unit had learned that Rica had purchased a house in Provincetown, they’d worked out a cover story to make use of vacation property Carter already owned. Posing as an attorney in town would afford Carter a perfect opportunity to make contact with the subject. Carter had waited for Rica to get settled before putting in an appearance. “I really just got moved in this past weekend. Surprised you noticed.”

“It’s not a very big town.” Unlike many local cops, Reese wasn’t predisposed to disliking members of other law enforcement agencies. She had spent almost her entire life within the strict hierarchy of the military where the chain of command was absolute. She issued orders that she expected to be obeyed without question, and she followed orders from her superiors with the same volition. The system would not work any other way, and in moments of crisis when the difference between life and death was measured in seconds, the system had to work. Still, she wasn’t naive enough to think that the agendas of other agencies would necessarily benefit her community, so she waited for the state trooper to answer her unspoken questions. What else are you and why are you here?

“I am an attorney,” Carter said. “I got my degree at night. Took me four years. I thought when I finished I’d switch from law enforcement to practicing law, but”…she shrugged…“it hasn’t happened.”

“I take it you’re here about more than opening a law office.” Reese looked over at Nelson, whose expression was a mix of concern and annoyance. “Something going on around here we should know about?”

“I don’t know yet,” Carter said. “I thought I’d check in with you. As a courtesy.”

“What would have been a courtesy,” Nelson said gruffly, “is if someone had told us you were coming a few months ago, and why.”

He was right, and Carter had argued from the beginning that the local law enforcement people should be advised of her presence, but the FBI had vetoed the request. She had agreed in part with their objections, because the more people who knew who she was and what she was doing, the greater the likelihood that her cover would be compromised. On the other hand, Provincetown was geographically isolated, perched as it was on a strip of sand three miles wide on the very tip of Cape Cod. She had no immediate backup, and even though she was used to working under deep cover, it wouldn’t do the operation any good if she learned vital information only to be taken out because she had no one to call in an emergency. In the end, after much debate, her superiors and Special Agent Allen had compromised. She spread her hands and told them as much as she could. “I’m not sure anything is going on. I’m here following a thin lead that may go nowhere. But it’s best I not advertise what I’m doing. If anybody were to check, I am a duly licensed attorney. I wouldn’t be the first to set up a satellite office here, draw up a few contracts, and spend the rest of my time enjoying the scenery.”

“That works fine as a cover for anyone who’s not looking too closely.” Nelson slid open his desk drawer and fished around for his roll of Tums. He tore off the silver foil, tossed one in his mouth, and chewed it vigorously. “Now you want to tell us why you’re really here?”

“We think some of the pleasure boats coming through are carrying drugs. Probably picking them up out at sea and handing them off when they come ashore. One link in the chain, all the way up the coast from Miami.” It was the truth, but far from the whole truth. Carter had found that the best way to preserve her cover and her credibility was to tell the truth, but to only tell as much as she needed to. The subterfuge with fellow law enforcement officers bothered her, but her mission was primary. If the situations were reversed, she had no doubt they’d do the same.

Reese contemplated the information. On the surface it was feasible. Provincetown had a year-round population of only a few thousand, and major crime was very unusual. Nevertheless, their proximity to the Atlantic Ocean and the enormous number of wealthy vacationers and part-time residents made the possibility of illegal trafficking a worry. Four summers earlier, when she and Tory had just met, there had been a major confrontation with the crew of a vessel that had run aground while ferrying drugs. Nothing of that scale had happened since, but drug-related problems on the entire Cape were escalating.

“And how do you expect to identify the couriers?” Reese asked.

“I’m hoping they’ll come to me,” Carter said, a small smile softening the edges of her predatory expression for a fleeting second. “Some distributors prefer to have an agent broker their deals. It keeps them one step removed. That’s where I come in.”

“You didn’t set up those kinds of connections overnight,” Reese observed. There was more to this story than they were getting.

Carter was impressed, but not surprised. She knew who Reese Conlon was. Most state police officers did. Conlon had made a name for herself when she’d risked her life to save a fellow officer and got shot in the process. She’d solved some other high-profile crimes but had steadfastly refused any kind of promotion or transfer that would take her out of the small town. “I’m inside a few places. I’ve been working at it for a while.”

Reese looked at Nelson and caught his barely perceptible nod. They’d worked together long enough to almost read one another’s minds. “Any major takedowns, we need to be involved. If there’s a local distributor, we want the name. This is our town. It’s our job to keep it clean.”