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She’d been up until five this morning searching, digging through papers.
She stood. Swayed for a bit until she found her bearings.
“Cross, it’s Snipes. Open the fucking door.”
The concept that Snipes had what she needed prodded her into action. She staggered to the door and unlocked all the dead bolts. Pulled the door inward.
“Holy shit.” Snipes made a face. “You look like hell.”
Sadie blew out a breath. “Feel like it. No sleep.”
Snipes made a knowing face. “You need coffee and a shower.”
Sadie held up a finger. “Coffee I can do. The shower will have to be later, when I’m feeling reasonably human.”
She turned and launched herself toward the counter, where the coffeepot waited to revive her. The sound of the door closing confirmed that Snipes had let himself in.
“What’d you find?” She asked this while going through the steps to load the machine that would ultimately resuscitate her.
Snipes laid a stack of spreadsheets and the thumb drive on the counter. “Lots of numbers and dates. I don’t know what any of it means, but there it is.” He tapped the stack. “Enjoy.”
The scent of brewing coffee awakened a few more of her senses. He was halfway across the room before she managed, “Hey. Thanks, man.”
He waved without looking back.
Sadie shuffled to the door, closed it behind him, and engaged the four dead bolts. As much as she despised the idea, she headed for the bathroom. A hot shower would help clear her head. By the time she was finished, the coffee would be ready.
She peeled off her clothes on the way, leaving them wherever they fell. While the shower spewed out cold water, she took a piss. Once the steam started to fill the tiny room, she climbed into the thirty-two-inch-by-thirty-two-inch shower stall and leaned against the plastic wall while the water pummeled her body.
Why was it that everyone she cared about ended up dead?
The whole thing had started with her mother. Cancer had taken her and left Sadie with her coldhearted father. Who was currently being held for whatever the hell he’d done. She could only imagine. Apparently, he’d had some affiliation with the Osorio cartel and had made a bargain for her release. No doubt whatever he’d given in return for her release was official information that made him a traitor to the DEA. That would be the sacrifice he’d mentioned, she suspected. If she was a really good daughter, she would pretend her gallant father hadcrossed the line only to save his only daughter. But that was bullshit, and she knew it.
Whatever line he’d crossed, he’d done so for himself. Not just for her.
She had spent most of her life trying unsuccessfully to impress him for reasons a dozen shrinks would never be able to help her understand.
Then there was Eddie. He’d really loved her. She had known it, which made her screwed-up life even more complicated, considering she had killed him.
Don’t kill her ... think of the child.
She never allowed the baby she had lost to enter her head beyond a fleeting thought. She could never go there. Ever.
Then there was Pauley. The idea that someone could possibly be responsible for his death made her want to scream murderously.
No matter how unrealistic she deemed the possibility, she would be looking into it. The autopsy lab work had confirmed the medication Pauley had been prescribed for his heart had not been present, which meant he hadn’t been taking it. This was the reason he’d had the fatal heart attack. She wasn’t an idiot. There were ways to make that happen without Pauley being the one responsible. Fury tightened her lips. She’d never once considered it. Pauley was like her. He’d more often than not allowed work to blind him to everything else ... even taking care of himself.
But now she had reason to believe his death might not have been that simple.
Knowing the coffee would be waiting for her by now, she ran the soap over her body and even managed to shampoo her hair. When she shut off the water, she realized she’d forgotten a towel.
“Shit.”
She walked out of the bathroom, dripping water as she went. She needed that coffee.Now.
The first eight ounces she sucked down burned her tongue and scalded her throat. She didn’t care. Another cup followed. Three were required before she no longer cared if the world ended.
When she’d dried her skin and hair, and pulled on clothes, she picked up the spreadsheets and had a look. Lots of columns, representing dollars. Lots of dates, representing what appeared to be deliveries. Everything seemed to involve two individuals or entities.
