doing, stop it. I fully expected to pay for these pink pills myself but I see you’ve beat me to it. I don’t know how you’re earning this money . . .”
“The Pitt offered . . .”
“Kylie. We both know you’d make a horrible waitress. And to make tips like this . . . whatever you’re doing has changed you. You’re distant, secretive—more so than usual—leaving home early and coming in late. I just want my daughters to be happy and safe, emotionally and financially. I’m doing my part, you need to do yours.”
“It’s not that simple,” I’d confessed.
“Life isn’t simple. But where there’s a will . . .”
“There’s a way. Fine. I just need a little more time.”
“Don’t we all, my dear. Don’t we all.”
Time. I just need a little more of it to convince Mama those pills will help, I thought as I headed off to Franco’s party, one I wrangled an invitation to from his girlfriend Veronica. The first real opportunity to act on my assignment. Yet with Mama’s announcement clouding my thoughts, I ignored something important. Problem number three—I didn’t report in to Hayden three days ago.
Now it’s critical that I get Franco to open up. Who knows what kind of consequence Hayden will be dishing out if I don’t make amends for my screw up? If I can offer him information the others failed to get…
I study Franco from beneath my lashes. Things look promising because, at present, my target is liquored up, high as a kite, and having a sudden case of loose lips.
So far I’ve learned that business is booming. Franco’s distribution channels are expanding. With the amount of money he now has up front—which Novák is supplying—more product is being smuggled in from Mexico. His cut of the profit from drug distribution is making him a shitload of money. And wouldn’t you know it, but goddamn Sheriff Rush is receiving kickbacks in return for minding his own business. At this point, I’m not sure who the bigger asshole is.
Speaking of loose-lip assholes . . . I scan the room, searching for Francis, then scowl when I don’t find him. Yeah, I have a funny feeling I know exactly who’s been running his mouth.
In a short time, I’ve gotten Franco to talk. I just need to steer the conversation away from my sister and back onto a better topic—Novák.
I feel Franco staring at me. I’ve been quiet too long. Widening my eyes like I just remembered something important, I say, “You’re a successful businessman. Shelby’s too small a town for a man like you. I bet you travel around the world all the time. First class, too. No Eurail Pass for a man like yourself. Am I right?”
Franco takes the bait and I can’t keep from smiling.
“Fuck the trains. Chauffeur-driven cars is the way to travel. You can stop anytime and see the sights. Mix business with pleasure.”
I mentally cringe, not wanting him to elaborate on what pleasure-filled sights he’s seeing . . . except since he’s game for a discussion . . . “The Colosseum must be breathtaking?”
“My ancestors are likely to rise from their graves and pop a bullet in my head for admitting this, but I don’t get to Rome much. No, I go where business takes me.” His lively smile fades. “But I’ve only been to Europe a few times. My business associate does most of the traveling. He’ll be back again at the beginning of the month.”
“What a shame you can’t go more often.” I raise my glass of white wine to my lips. Take a sip and count down the seconds before continuing, “I would have thought Italy would be your playground.”
Come on. Tell me where.
Instead his smile returns.
“Playground, eh? I’ve got one upstairs.” He nods toward the stairs by the entryway. Like I’m going to jump at the opportunity to get close and personal with this polyester-wearing monster who’s a direct link to America’s drug crisis.
Damn it, he was this close to saying exactly where in Europe he meets up with his associate . . . Novák.
I’ve got to think fast. My assignment or not, there is no way in hell I’m going up those stairs. I consider the mixed drink he’s holding. Too late for topping it off with a little Kylie spritzer.
And where the hell is Francis when you need him?
My gaze falls on Veronica. Perfect.
“Whoo whoo, over here,” I holler, waving my arms over my head until I catch her attention. Mercifully, she