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Aiden looked like he was wrestling with how much to tell them. “I need to go.”
“Wait,” Chase said, stopping him. He still didn’t have the answers he needed. “I think they took that picture of you and me from high school. The one after that big homecoming game that always hung on the wall in the hallway outside our bedrooms.”
“Damn.” He collapsed back onto the barrel.
“You need to tell me what’s going on.” Chase was losing what little patience he had left.
“Fine, I guess it no longer matters. The cow pucks are about to hit the fan. About a year and a half ago I reached out to Sylvia out of the blue. I was feeling nostalgic, wanted to see how she was.”
“For the good old days?” Chase asked dryly. Like he believed that.
“Yes,” Aiden said, looking him in the eye. “Sylvia and I were tight. I cared about her, a lot, and I missed her.”
For some reason that sounded like the only honest thing Aiden had said all day.
“Anyway, we kept in touch, spent a couple weekends together. Started a sort of long-distance relationship. One night last summer she called me because a friend of hers had died. She’d been run off the road. The cops said it was an accident, but Sylvia didn’t think so. The friend was dating this guy who was involved in moving meth through Granite Falls. She did a couple runs for them, then got cold feet. A package disappeared. The next thing Sylvia knew her friend was dead.”
“What was her name?” Jacquie asked.
“Stephie Spencer.”
“Clay and Matt’s sister?” she asked. “Her child had been in the backseat at the time and was lucky to have survived. The brothers are now raising their niece. Were you involved with that?”
“Of course not. I wasn’t here then.” Aiden's face looked grim.
“Why would Sylvia call you and not Josh?” Chase asked.
“She didn’t want what happened to Stephie to happen to her. She was scared.”
None of this was making sense. Why would she think Aiden could help her when the police couldn’t? And if he was helping so much, what was he doing hanging out with them. He saw Aiden clearly in the passenger’s seat of the blue truck that ran Jacquie off the road. Chase’s eyes closed. His brother was behind it all and was just trying to cover his tracks, to point the blame somewhere else. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother. “If Sylvia was so scared, then how did she end up being a drug mule?”
“Her roommates were going to Mexico. She was afraid for them and wanted to help them.”
Chase shook his head, then pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?” Aiden asked.
“I’m making sure Josh is on his way. This is all crazy.”
Aiden took two quick steps and was standing in front of him, his hand on Chase’s phone. “Don’t.”
“You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me why I shouldn’t.”
“Sylvia was helping me build a case against these guys. She’s my confidential informant.”
Chase rolled his eyes. He’d heard it all now.
“I’m not part of this drug cartel, I’m investigating them. I’m undercover DEA.”
“No way,” Chase spat. “You’re lying.”
“What are we twelve?” Aiden demanded.
Chase shook his head, unable to comprehend what his brother was saying. “You’re DEA?”
“Yes, and I’ve been doing everything I can to mitigate the damage while still maintaining my cover. Which hasn’t been easy with you walking around; we’re practically twins. I have enough to send Quentin away for a very long time, but it’s his boss out of Charlotte we’re after.”
Chase’s world just tilted. He’d had no clue. None. It never occurred to him that his brother could be on the up and up. That he could be a cop. “You don’t know who this guy is?”
