Part 1 (1/2)
Bluegra.s.s Undercover.
A Bluegra.s.s Brothers Novel.
Kathleen Brooks.
For Chris, Milo, Marcia, Pat, Mike, and Kathy. Thanks for all the hard work and support.
And most importantly, to my wonderful readers.
Prologue.
He wiped his sweaty hands on his mesh shorts and took a deep breath to calm himself. If he got caught, it would end his high school football career, cost him a chance at a college scholars.h.i.+p, and his parents would be p.i.s.sed. Those factors were outweighed by the fact that he was a full two tenths of a second slower in the 40 than his backup, and that meant if he didn't pick it up, he'd be riding the bench this season.
The gla.s.s doors were looming in front of him as he approached the dealer. His hands left sweaty imprints as he pushed the doors open and tried to casually walk inside. His heart pounded as if it were up to him to make the last-second play to win the big game. He smiled to those he knew, which, thanks to being such a small town, was practically everyone. Did they all know what he was about to do?
The locker room was just ahead of him now. This was it. He put his hand in his pocket and felt for the cash he'd stolen out of his mom's and dad's wallets over the last couple of weeks. He'd had to empty his piggy bank and save up his allowances for a month, but if this worked, it would be worth it. He'd be faster, stronger, and maybe even Mr. Football in Kentucky. A scholars.h.i.+p to a Division I school would make everything perfect. Even his parents couldn't get mad about taking a couple hundred from them if he was going to be on ESPN every Sat.u.r.day.
”Hey, man.”
”What's up?”
”You got the five hundred?”
”Yup.”
He pulled out the cash and handed it to him. His eyes darted around the momentarily empty locker room. Someone could walk in at any minute, but his dealer was as calm as could be counting out the cash. Shouldn't he hurry and give him the stuff before the police barged in?
”Here you go kid. Ten cc's three times a week.” He caught the small, black duffle bag and nodded his head toward his dealer before he walked as fast as he could out of there.
He managed to get home before his parents got back from work, but his little sister was already home and would be a problem. If only he had a lock on the door. He moved his desk chair over to his door and shoved it under the doork.n.o.b. It would have to work. If Cindy knew he was home, she'd come running in, wanting to play or talk about the gossip going on in cheerleading camp. G.o.d, little sisters were a trial.
He placed the duffle on his bed and slowly unzipped it. Inside were a handful of diabetic syringes and a small gla.s.s bottle with a black rubber stopper. Pulling off the orange cap on the needle, he slowly poked it through the rubber stopper and measured out ten cc's. He dropped the bottle back into the bag and pulled down his shorts. He heard the garage door open and knew his parents were home. He had to hurry. Would he feel stronger by tomorrow? Would he be like Spiderman? He envisioned himself as the best football player in the country, shredding defenses and scoring every time the ball was in his hands. He'd be a hero.
He grabbed the skin at his waist between his thumb and middle finger. This was it. The needle met resistance as he pressed it against his skin. It p.r.i.c.ked, and he winced as he pushed it through his skin. His thumb pushed the plunger down, and he watched the drug that would change his life enter his body.
”Honey! Dinner!”
”Coming, Mom.”
Chapter One.
Annie Blake felt the ocean breeze ruffle her sweat-drenched hair. It was Miami in August. Even being on the beach did nothing to cool her off. She hardly ever went to the beach. Who had time? But, she must admit, the sand did feel good between her toes, and the smell of the salt floating by and the feathered waves of the breeze did relax her.
She looked over the sparkling blue water as far as she could see and took a deep breath. It was going to be a great day. She scanned the beach and saw kids playing, sunbathers in barely- there swimsuits, and a thug by one of the beach bars. He was shorter than she, probably around five six to her five seven. His black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck. His body was s.h.i.+ny with sweat, which made his tattoos sparkle in the sunlight. His jean shorts started at his thighs and ended at his ankles. She had no idea why thugs liked this style of clothing, but it worked for her. It was hard to run with your pants falling down.
A young boy, maybe fifteen, sauntered over to the thug with a c.o.c.ky att.i.tude. His athletic shorts fell to mid-calf as he hiked them up over plaid boxers. The thug nodded his head to the nearby ice cream cone stand. The kid and the thug walked over, got in line and started talking.
She had been tracking this thug for weeks. He was a drug soldier for Juan Carlos's gang. About six months ago, Annie's team at the DEA had been notified by an ER doctor of his suspicions of a new drug being pushed to kids, a drug that caused heart attacks in young, athletic boys. Annie investigated and found all the victims were local high school football players ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen.
Then, two weeks ago, she got a call from the same ER doctor. A kid was admitted for collapsing during a friendly football game. She rushed to the ER and interviewed the kid before he went in for heart surgery. She had been told of Diego, the friendly neighborhood drug dealer. She had tracked him to this beach as his primary place of dealing while the kids were out on summer break.
She adjusted her dark pink sarong to make sure the small Sig 9mm Mosquito that was tucked into her pale pink bikini bottoms was hidden from view. The last thing she needed was for someone to see her walking down the beach with a gun. She pulled her long, red hair from the ponytail and shook it out. The guys told her they liked seeing long hair dancing in the breeze, so she went with it. She pushed up her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so they were almost spilling out of her triangle top. She was pretty sure Diego wouldn't become suspicious of a big-breasted, beach bimbo.
”Geezus, Blake! You trying to garner attention? You're supposed to be undercover,” her earpiece crackled. Annie looked past the ice cream stand to the ice truck parked in the lot. She gave the DEA agents who filled the truck along with surveillance equipment a little wink.
Annie gave one last toss of the hair and started walking across the beach to the ice cream stand. Her voluptuous hips swayed, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s teetered precariously in her top as she banked the intelligence behind her dark green eyes. Diego and the kid had just bought their cones and were now standing to the side of the ice cream stand. She headed right toward them and gave Diego a sultry smile when he looked up and saw her.
”Hey,” she bit down seductively on her pouty, lower lip. ”I heard you were the man to contact if I wanted to score,” she winked.
”Dios mio. I would love to help you, but I don't sell what you're looking for.”
”But, I was told you were the man. That you could give a girl anything she wants.” Annie paused, ”Well, how about whatever you're giving the kid. Maybe that can hold me over until I find a real man to give me what I want.”
”Oh, lady, you're killing me. This stuff is for athletes. How about you both meet me here tomorrow at two?” Diego turned to the kid, ”You bring your buddies. Tell them it's five hundred a vial.” Annie bit her lip again in a pout and wrapped some of her straight hair around her finger. ”And you, hmm,” he said to her as he rubbed his crotch, or what she guessed to be his crotch. She couldn't tell where anything was under his baggy shorts. ”You meet me here, too. I will get something special for you. Three hundred.” He gave one last rub to his crotch and started walking down the beach, holding up his shorts as he went.
”Good job, Blake. We lost sight of the kid. Do you have eyes on him?”
”Yeah, he's with five other boys, ages fifteen to seventeen. Looks like they're going to be playing a little beach football.” She lay down on her towel and pulled out her camera. She snapped some photos of the beach and then swung the camera around and got some photos of the boys. She zoomed in on the t-s.h.i.+rt of one of the boys with the name of a local high school football team. Bingo.
”Hey, s.e.xy, how about we put that camera to good use?”
”Get lost, jacka.s.s.”
”Aw, don't hate the player, hate the game.”
She looked up at the muscled beach b.u.m, ”How about I hate both. Now get lost, I'm not going to have s.e.x with you now or ever.” He looked stunned at the rejection and slowly walked off towards his next victim.
”Ouch, Blake. We thought you were a b.i.t.c.h because you couldn't get laid.”
”Bite me.”
”With pleasure.”
”The boys are leaving.” She watched as they started to walk toward a minivan that had just pulled up and honked its horn.
”Copy that. Go home. Same place and time tomorrow.”
Annie stood up, rolled up her towel, and stuffed it into her beach bag. She closed her eyes for a second and felt warm rays of the evening sun on her face. She'd have to try to make it to the beach more often.