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AN UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCEfilled the car while Dorcas waited for her sister to speak. Her right leg bounced with restless energy, and it took a bit of effort to still it. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or do I have to pry it out of you with a crowbar?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” Though her patience was wearing thin.

Rita stared out the window for a good long minute before turning her gaze back to Dorcas. “It, uh...it started my junior year at UCF. I’d been putting so much time into soccer that my grades began to slip. I got a C in cost accounting.” She said the last part in the same way others might talk about contracting herpes. “I couldn’t afford to let sports get in the way of my studies, so I quit the team and gave up my scholarship.”

Somehow, Dorcas managed to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. “You never said anything.”

“I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you or Mamá to know I was struggling. But without my scholarship, I had to find a way to cover my expenses, and my new dorm ended up costing a lot more than I anticipated. I got a part-time job at the admissions office, but it didn’t pay enough. And if I worked full-time, I’d be in the same position that I was in when I was playing soccer.”

A sour feeling churned in Dorcas’s stomach as she thought of the types of jobs a young, attractive woman could land that would pay that kind of money for part-time work. “You didn’t...”

“Oh, no. I’d never do anything like that. One of the girls in my dorm told me about a company that was hiring people with clean driving records, and that she’d put in a good word for me. I applied, and that’s how I got the job at Orlando Premier Auto Auction. Five hundred dollars to drive a car to Miami, and then drive a different car back to Orlando. They agreed to work around my class schedule, and they paid cash, so I didn’t have to report it on my taxes. I drove for them once or twice a week until I graduated, and after that, they offered me a job in their accounting department. Every so often, I still drove for them, but only when it fit into my schedule.”

“Oh, Rita.” She’d always known her sister was naïve, but she hadn’t realized the extent.

“Don’t give me that tone. I thought I was doing a good thing by solving the problem myself. I checked them out; they’re legitimate. They’re a family-owned business that’s been around for decades with locations across the state. They have an A-rating with the Better Business Bureau. And the way Brett explained it to me seemed plausible: if a car doesn’t sell at the auction after a couple of weeks, they transfer it to another location to see if they can sell it there. It was easy work for really good money. I could make more in a single weekend than most students made in two weeks, and it gave me plenty of time to study.”

The urge to roll her eyes—and thwack her sister—was almost overwhelming. “It never occurred to you to question why they were paying so much? Or why they didn’t just hire a trucking company to transport the cars?”

“No, I—” Rita threw her hands up in the air. “I just didn’t, okay? I needed the money, and the hours were flexible. Besides, it’s not like I’m some sort of expert on the cost to transport vehicles.”

Dorcas pressed her thumbs to her temples, where the headache was gaining steam. The I-95 corridor was notorious for its role in the drug trade. The artery ran from Florida to Maine, making it the perfect pipeline for drugs along the eastern seaboard. And with cops always on the lookout for potential smugglers, it made perfect sense to use someone as clean-cut—and trusting—as Rita.

“How long did it take for you to figure it out?”

Rita’s lips flattened. “A couple of months ago, I spotted a few unsupported entries in the accounts payable ledger. I flagged them for Brett to review, but he said they were normal and not to worry about them. But that didn’t make sense. They didn’t match up to any of the invoices, and I got worried that someone was embezzling funds, so when it happened again, I sent him another email. That’s when he called me into his office and explained that they were private transactions where the buyers didn’t want to be identified.”

Nate snorted, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror for an instant before returning to the road. “Can’t imagine why.”

She glared at him. “Can I finish?”

“Be my guest.”

Rita settled back in her seat, her expression as dour as her apparent mood. “Anyway, it didn’t sound right to me, so I asked him about why there weren’t any invoices, because we’re going to need some sort of paper trail if we get audited by the IRS. He got mad, and he told me to just do my damn job and stop poking into stuff that I obviously didn’t understand.”

“Did you let it go?” Dorcas was pretty sure she already knew the answer but asked for the sake of being thorough. Her sister was born with a strong moral compass. Plus, it always got under her skin if somebody thought—or implied—she was dumb.

As expected, Rita shook her head. She began absently chewing on a fingernail, but then must have realized it was already chewed down to the quick and dropped her hand into her lap. “Something wasn’t right, and I had a responsibility to perform my due diligence.”

Outside, traffic had slowed to a crawl, most likely because of the fender bender that had been moved to the side of the road. It didn’t look bad, just some minor front end damage to one car and a crumpled bumper for the other, but that didn’t stop people from slowing down to rubberneck.

Rita blew out a heavy breath. “I don’t know how, but Brett found out what I was doing. He called me into his office again and told me to stop wasting time on frivolous tasks or he’d have to let me go.”

“I take it you didn’t,” Dorcas said.

She didn’t answer, her eyes downcast as she picked at a loose thread on her shorts. “A few nights later, I was working late at the office when one of his friends came to visit. A cop. I’d seen him there a few times before, but I don’t know his name.”

“Which department does he work for?” Nate asked.

“I’m not sure. He’s a plainclothes cop. I’ve only seen his badge from a distance.”

“What does he look like?”

She paused, her gaze distant as if picturing the man in her mind. “Tall white guy, late twenties—maybe early thirties. Short blond hair. He’s kind of hot with a nice build, but he’s got no butt to speak of.”

Nate made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Any visible scars or tattoos?”