this thing out by its roots, so to speak. Shut it down swiftly and completely.”
“Do you want to start a zero-tolerance policy, arrest for each and every instance of possession, and pressure them to name their source?” Brix asked.
Swain shook his head. Book smarts had their limits. “That’s going to take forever and ultimately miss the mark.”
Brows arched, she glanced at him. “Why?”
“Why would anyone talk?”
Now she looked at him like he really was a cooyon. “Oh, I don’t know…maybe to stay out of jail?”
“Jail? Nah, choux. Unless someone’s caught with a shit ton of weed, possession is still a Class B Misdemeanor in Kentucky. Nobody’s going to get jail time for a first or second offense, but they’re likely to get their asses kicked, and kicked hard, for ratting out their dealer. ‘I found it’ is the preferred response to the source question for a reason. Why create the risk of violence? Besides, the dealer is definitely not going to roll on the supplier, at least not before the supplier has an unfortunate ‘fire’ and all traces of a grow house are dust in the wind. Especially in a small jurisdiction. Word starts traveling back to the powers that be almost before the first pothead to get a baggie pulled out of his pocket can say ‘I found it.’”
“But if you keep working it,” Brix insisted, tapping her pen to her notebook. “Keep pressing for names. Keep building the case—”
“You might slow down the traffic,” Malone interjected. “You might even put enough heat on things to shut it down completely. But that’s all you accomplish. Maybe we catch a few little bugs, but the big ole spider who built the web scuttles away and spins himself a new one in a place that’s not as hot.”
“The kind of localized operation we think we’re dealing with,” Buchanan said, “would be more efficiently and effectively dismantled from the inside. That’s where you two come in.”
“They don’t know us,” Brix murmured, proving why she was number one in the class. “In a small town where everybody knows everybody, nobody knows us. Nobody knows we’re the law.”
Buchanan nodded. “Exactly. Right now, we have a rare opportunity to conduct a joint sting. We get one or both of you in there, then take the whole web down, and all the spiders with it.”
His stomach sank, but Eden sat up a little straighter. “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing,” he said before Malone or Buchanan could respond. Maybe she didn’t yet see where this was leading, but he did—a place she would definitely not like and would probably result in failure for both of them. Pointing at her, he added, “Y’all don’t need the A team for this.”
Her mouth dropped open. Before she could argue, he clarified, “You don’t need two people,” and topped it off with a “nothing personal” shrug, although the heart of it was personal, plain and simple. “It’s a relatively straightforward undercover job. Not dissimilar to what I did in Afghanistan, mostly without a partner. Set me up with a cover. I’ll get in, gain trust. I’ll get it done.”
His boss shook his head. “This isn’t the Marines. On my team, you’re a rookie. But even if you were both seasoned officers, I’d still go with a two-person team. However, as it happens, this is bigger than a simple drug sting. We want to demonstrate to the greater community that there is no bad blood between the Bluelick PD and the Sheriff’s Department. We want a joint effort.” Malone lowered his chin and skewered him with a hard look. “A successful joint effort.”
“So, you’re thinking we set up house. Married? Engaged? Young couple who like to party, like to live a little beyond our means. We could use some extra cash to pay for the…what? Maybe turns out we have a baby on the way?”
Now Eden shot out of the chair, scattering pen and notebook, and faced Malone. “You want me to go undercover as a pregnant party girl, and he’s the baby daddy?”
Malone put up his hands. “I didn’t say that, although a financially challenged couple on the verge of a wedding or a baby would create a credible need for a fast, free-flowing income stream. I personally like the engaged option. Our department will provide cover IDs. Buchanan assures me we can get Swain crewed up with a local contractor and situate you as the light of his life. You circulate in town. Shop like you’re feathering the