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“Cool,” Tim breathed out excitedly.
But Dilly looked really worried. “It’s not our mother, is it?” she asked shakily. Apparently, she could wrap her head around her matriarch being a cold-blooded killer, but picturing the woman dealing drugs was beyond her comprehension.
“No. No, it’s not,” Joe was quick to assure her. “It’s a totally unrelated group, and it’s also the reason we need to keep this conversation totally under wraps. With the help of your father and his SWAT team, we’ll be tearing that consortium apart tomorrow, then I’ll be giving my notice to the DEA in Nevada.”
Shit. That was news to Mike. But a reveal he highly welcomed.
“At that point,” Joe continued, “you can tell anyone you want who the woman dating your father really is.”
“We won’t say a word until you tell us it’s okay,” Tim answered. “Promise.”
Mike believed him. Tim had made an error in judgement with his mother; following his heart instead of his brain, but there was no duplicitousness in his son. Of that he was certain.
“Of course we won’t say anything,” Dilly added, then put the ball in Mike’s court. “Now. What are we going to do about Mom?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Joe had to hand it to Mason. He’d played Lester just right when her in-name-only boss had called this morning. Mase had affected a persona that was half bad-ass SWAT chief, and half country-bumpkin cop.
Lester had, predictably, lorded his credentials over Mason, and Mase had purposely caved, obsequiously telling the man that Downeast SWAT would do whatever he needed.
The previous night, as Mike had predicted, the squad staking out Joe’s little motel room had called in with the arrival of Lester and his rotten handful of agents. Opal and Nolan—the SWAT team’s tech personnel—had, earlier that afternoon, set up some fast-tracked, court-approved surveillance, which included both video and audio, and had since commenced monitoring.
It hadn’t taken long.
They had Lester dead to rights, planting drugs in her room and talking smack about how, in death, she was going to get the reputation she deserved.
Now, Mason, Mike, Cisco, and Welker, along with their squads, were all poised to go out and help the arriving DEA “look” for Joe’s body.
And that pissed her off. Not because everyone was mobilized on her behalf, but because she wasn’t invited to the party.
“I need to be there,” she posited to Mason, trying not to whine. “I’ll dress in riot gear. A helmet and shield. The sprick will never know I’m part of the op.”
“Listen, Joe,” Mason returned patiently. “We need this buttoned up, tight. The man can’t be granted an inch of wiggle room, and having you on scene could potentially muddy things up.” He canted his head toward Mike, who nodded.
She knew they were right, but still…
“We’ll keep you posted. I promise. However, you’re sitting this one out.”
“I concur,” Hank Twidelle seconded. “You and I will stay in the bus, Joe, and help run the op remotely.”
Mason had invited Hank, the Portland DEA Chief of Operations, to join them from his office in Portland to make sure the takedown and arrest went smoothly. “As soon as they have Lester Gavin and company on their knees, I promise, you and I will move in and you can confront the asshole.”
Joe had found out in the past couple hours that Hank—another big, burly man like Mike—was the kind of superior she wished she’d always had. He was a person she could seriously get behind. He was even-keeled, fair, and…he swore like a merchant marine. When asked, tentatively, if he minded his female agents having dirty mouths, his answer had amused her.
“Fuck, no,” he’d chuckled gruffly. “I wouldn’t cross verbal-swords with any one of them. They spout terms for things I’ve never heard before, and I take notes so I can keep up.”
Yeah. She’d lost out on the boss-lottery when she’d been assigned to Lester.
Because Hank was being such a straight shooter with her, Joe stopped arguing with Mason and gave in. “Okay. I’ll do command-central with Chief Twidelle, alongside Opal and Nolan,” she capitulated, turning to Mason. “But I’ll have some words for Lester once you have him in custody.”
“Agreed,” Mason replied, just before the intercom on the long table in front of them crackled to life.
“Chief. You have a Chief Lester Gavin and several agents from the DEA here to see you.”
“Time for you two to disappear,” Mason told Hank and her. “Head into the next room and watch from behind the glass.”
Lester would know that the mirror was one-way, but in his arrogance, he’d never think anyone was currently behind it, observing.