flashed up at Dante. “Yes. Yes, sir. We’re cool. Please don’t shoot me, sir.”
Dante smiled at him, covered his gun and shield with his jacket, and kept his head down until the meeting came to a close. Taffy was stopped a few times on her way out to her car—but not by Spider-Man. The way she managed to extract herself from the 13 steppers was impressive. Dante hung back from the parking lot lights and observed her get into an outrageous pink Coupe de Ville that he placed as a ’75 or ’76. He had to stifle his laughter at her choice of transportation.
Once she’d pulled into the street, Dante hopped in his government-issued sedan and tailed her, calling in the plates on the way. Within seconds, he’d learned the car was registered to a Vivienne Newberry, 28 Willamette Road, Bigler, DOB 6-2-38, no outstanding warrants. Not that old ladies usually had them.
He made a couple more calls, staying three cars behind the Caddy. It was probably the easiest tail of his career, since it would be awfully hard to lose a giant-assed vintage pink pimpmobile, even on a dark and winding mountain road. Yes, Taffy was indeed Tanyalee Marie Newberry, of the same address, and her rap sheet was just as colorful as she was.
It took twenty minutes before she arrived home. Dante turned off his headlights and stopped three houses down, partially hidden by a large tree. He watched Taffy do her girl walk up the front porch steps of a pretty, old house. She entered and shut the front door behind her.
Dante sat in the car for another ten minutes, letting his breathing settle and his mind retrace everything he’d learned that night. Two counts of misdemeanor shoplifting? Probation and a suspended sentence for felony forgery? This was getting better by the minute.
He absently reached into the glove compartment for the bracelet, twirling it between his fingers, telling himself that he needed to be solid on the facts and proceed with extreme caution.
Taffy was right under his nose. Despite everything, he wanted her. She wanted him. But she was supposed to keep her distance from men for a year and he had no business messing around with a felonious femme fatale—this year or any year. In fact, associating with a known criminal was against DEA policy.
That should be it—case closed. And yet, he could not let that happen. Dante couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this conflicted about a woman. About anything, really. And as much as he respected her commitment to recovery, he was going to explode if he had to wait a year to get her in bed again.
He threw the bracelet back into the glove compartment and slammed it shut. He would redouble his efforts to get a transfer. It was his only option.
* * *
Tanyalee hooked her handbag strap over an arm and opened the door to a repurposed 1950s elementary school near the edge of town. Loud, pounding music echoed from what looked like the cafeteria, but she put on a brave face and continued on. So what if these girls liked horrible music? Perhaps she could still be of some help to them. In fact, on the drive over here, Tanyalee prepared for her interview by making a mental checklist of how she could be a good mentor to a tween-age girl.
She could do her colors, explaining whether a winter, fall, summer, or spring palette was most flattering for her. She could advise her on how to style her hair, dress for her body shape, and set a proper table. She could warn her about boys and how to protect her valuable assets when she began to date.
Wincing as she entered the cafeteria, Tanyalee amended that list. It would be nothing less than her moral obligation to introduce her charge to quality music—like the Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls, Madonna, and Britney Spears—because what she was hearing wasn’t music even in the broadest definition of the word: it was garbage.
Then she got an eyeful of the dance routine that went with it.
Tanyalee headed to the volunteer office across the multipurpose room, as instructed. She sat down in a chair, placed her bag on the floor, and stared at the tasteless performance. Four girls gyrated, cartwheeled, and threw themselves around like they suffered from some kind of pornographic seizure disorder. She surely hoped she hadn’t been assigned to one of those girls. Tanyalee was never one to shy from a challenge but