Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” Jo met his gaze, and for a fraction of a second, he saw the way she’d looked at him before finding out who he was—heat, desire, interest—but it flickered away as fast as it had appeared.
He pulled a chair out for her at the closest table, then chuckled when Andrew grumbled under his breath. Anything to get under the asshole’s skin.
Not thirty seconds later, Jinx re-emerged with Lock at his side.
Jo sucked in a breath and her gaze found his again. This time sorrow and compassion shone from her eyes. The woman sucked at hiding her feelings.
At least from him.
And yeah, Lock looked like absolute shit—dark circles, pale face, sunken cheeks. The speed with which a person’s physical appearance could deteriorate in times of crisis and lack of sleep never ceased to amaze. In all the time Tracker had known him, his brother never looked so defeated. This club was a place where they, those who didn’t quite fit elsewhere, could find family, and it killed him to see his friend’s suffering.
He nodded to Lock, who met his gaze but didn’t react.
Jo stood. “Lock?” she asked, and Tracker could have kissed her for using his road name. A courteous normalcy to make this interview a little less formal. Simpson would have read him his rights straight off. Instead, but he sat at the table glowering and huffing.
“Yes. Do you have any information about Deanna’s death?” He slid into the seat opposite Jo. She settled back down with a nod.
“I’m not sure what you’ve been told, but the toxicology came back positive for methamphetamine as well as fentanyl. The lab believes it’s most likely the meth was laced with fentanyl which caused the extreme overdose reaction and ultimately her death.”
“Jesus Christ.” Lock ran a hand down his haggard face.
“I’m so sorry, Lock.”
Tracker stared at Jo. She meant it. Her face showed anguish and true empathy. The woman should never have become a cop. She was too damn good. Too damn caring.
“You got any leads?” Tracker asked.
Simpson snorted. Seemed to be his favorite fucking thing to do.
“Something to add, officer?”
“Funny that you think we’d tell you shit about an investigation. Especially one where you fuckers are standing knee-deep in it.”
“That’s not true,” Jo said, focusing on Lock. “We aren’t able to give you information on an active investigation, but you are not a suspect.” She glanced up and slid her gaze to each man. “None of you are at this time.”
At this time. A subtle warning that they could be in the future.
“We’re just here today to see if you can give us any details about your sister or her life that could be helpful.”
Lock sighed. “Figured you’d be by at some point, so I’ve been thinking of little else. We weren’t close. At one point, yeah, but not anymore. We’re twins who had a shitty upbringing.” He waved a hand. “Different day, same sob story, but she ended up turning to drugs in her late teen years, and we drifted apart. I saw her once or twice a year. Paid her rent, bought her groceries, that kind of thing. I knew she’d gotten knocked-up, and I tried to help her. I offered to take her to the doctor, buy her vitamins and shit. I even offered to let her live with me.” He dropped his gaze to the table and shook his head. “She knew I’d never let her use around me, so she pulled away even more.”
“Do you know who the baby’s father is?”
“I have my suspicions but no proof. She kicks around with a shady crew run by a guy named Dominic Saltano. Pretty sure they call him Salt. He’s a low-level dealer and a total scumbag. Pretty sure he was pimping her out, but again, no proof.”
Jo jotted in a notebook, nodding as Lock spoke. “We’ll check that out. Thank you. It’s a great place to start.”
The club had already begun looking into it. Saltano most likely worked for Lobo, a piece-of-shit wannabe biker running the drug trade in the area. He’d tried to recruit Curly and the Handlers and didn’t seem to be taking rejection well.
Too bad for him.
“She worked at that sandwich shop near the beach for a while. Shit, I forget the name.” Lock rubbed a hand across his forehead. The guy needed to sleep. They’d nearly had to knock his ass out to get him to leave the hospital and his new nephew in the NICU for a few hours of shut-eye.
“Thank you, we’ll figure it out,” Jo said at the same time Tracker said, “Between Two Slices?”
“That’s the one.”
Jo’s gaze met his. She nodded once in professional thanks, then looked away quickly. Fuck, he had a ton of road to travel if they were going to get back to where they’d been.