Page 78 of Axe-ing for Trouble
I used the restroom, then padded to the kitchen to make myself another cup of tea and find snacks.
Jude was practically perfect in all ways. Physically a specimen out of a men’s fitness magazine, but with the ironic T-shirts and hipster glasses. He was kind and decent and brushed my damn hair and adored his dog. His dick was straight and thick and he knew how to use it. Truly masculine perfection.
But the man did have a flaw. A major flaw. His obsession with healthy food. Yes, I was well fed. In fact, I was slowly gaining back some of the weight I’d lost over the past year. But sometimes a girl just needed a dose of high-fructose corn syrup after a hard day.
I rooted around in the cabinets, eventually settling for fruit leather and pistachios.
Ripley appeared, tongue lolling, clearly wanting a treat.
I plucked one from the cute container on the counter, and before I even gave her the command, she sat happily, her tail thumping on the tile floor.
As she chomped on it, I let out a sigh. “Ripley girl, what is going on? What’s happening on Friday the thirteenth?” I slumped against the counter. “And more importantly,whereis it happening? And why the fuck is a real estate company involved?”
She tilted her head and hit me with those sweet doggie eyes. While I was generally anti-emotional attachment, I couldn’t help but love her. When this was over, if I managed to survive it, I’d get a dog.
The problem was that I didn’t want any dog. I wanted Ripley.
I stroked her fluffy ears. Leaving her would be impossible. And I didn’t even want to think about leaving her owner. Nope. Wasn’t doing that. Danger bang. That’s all. Nothing more.
I finished my snacks and got back to work. This mess was not going to untangle itself.
Hours later, when the front door opened, I launched myself out of the makeshift office.
“Jude,” I screamed, running down the hall. Ripley perked up and followed me, galloping across the living room.
He stood in the entry, his face creased with concern, as I ran at him. Without slowing, I jumped into his arms.
“Careful,” he chided, holding me to his chest. “Your shoulder is finally starting to heal.”
“Jude,” I said, my heart pounding. “I figured it out.”
He blinked at me from behind his lenses.
“The bats.” I threw up my good arm, causing him to wobble. “The fucking bats.” I shimmied out of his hold and danced around while he hung his coat and toed off his work boots.
“Explain.”
I grasped his hand and dragged him into the spare room. There was so much to fill him in on. How could I distill years of spreadsheets into a simple explanation?
“Look.” I pointed to a series of photos and newspaper clippings. “It all comes back to the bats.”
He frowned. “The bats?”
Anticipation zipped through me. “Yes, the northern long-eared bat. They’re endangered.”
“I’m aware.”
“Hugo and the Maine DEP track and study the bat habitats. It’s illegal to drive on or cut on those lands.”
“Yes.” He dipped his chin. “This is my job, Trouble.”
I took a deep breath and worked to organize my thoughts.
When I’d found some semblance of order, I cleared my throat. “It all comes back to the money. The trail. It’s all here.” I pointed at the stack of papers.
“I’m trying to decipher what the hell you’re saying, but I’m lost.” He scratched at his beard.
“They’re using the bat land to traffic the drugs. That’s why they haven’t been caught. There’s no movement, no surveillance. Nothing allowed on those lands. That’s the path they’re taking from Quebec.”
