Cooper answered. “What’s going on?”
“We found bags of fentanyl at the Krause residence,” Rebel said. “They’re stored inside the framed artwork. We had a spill when we cut into one, so we evacuated.”
“Is everyone okay?” Cooper asked.
“We’re good,” he replied.
“I’ll let Dakota and Providence know,” Cooper said.
Rebel hung up as a car pulled into the driveway. “Jordan and Honor are back.”
“I didn’t think they’d be gone long,” Brit said. “Liliana’s gone silent.”
Honor and Jordan joined them.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Jordan said.
“I’ve got a coupla questions for you,” Rebel began. “Do you own or rent?”
“How is that important?” Jordan pushed back.
“It’s freezing out here,” Honor interrupted. “Let’s go inside.”
“No,” Rebel said.
“What is it that you need to know?” The frustration in Jordan’s tone cut through the night.
“Own or rent?” Rebel repeated.
“Rent.”
“Was it furnished?”
“That’s our stuff,” Honor answered.
“Who owns the paintings?” Brit asked.
“Those are mine,” Jordan said.
“That’s a lot of art,” Brit pressed.
“I see something I like, I buy it. Sometimes I grab the whole collection.”
“How long have you had the paintings?” Rebel asked.
Jordan shrugged. “I pick up pieces along the way.”
“We found bags of fentanyl tabs hidden in one of them.” Rebel’s words hung in the frosty air.
Jordan’s eyes grew wide. “What are you talking about?”
“That can’t be right,” Honor said.
“I don’t know about any drugs,” Jordan protested.
“My stepdad is being framed.” Honor started to head inside.
The officer blocked her way. “You can’t go in. It’s not safe.”
