A Shot to Kill (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 26) by Elle Gray

Author:Elle Gray [Gray, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elle Gray
Published: 2024-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Eastern Blooms, Chinatown-International District; Seattle, WA

“If all those drugs are in this shop, why are we tiptoeing around it?” Kramer asks. “Why don’t we bust her for what she’s got, then lean hard on her?”

I look at Kramer, doing my best to keep from rolling my eyes. “They did teach you about probable cause at the police academy, right? We can’t just bust in there and search the place until we find something we can use. We’d need a warrant for that. And we don’t have anything close to probable cause for a warrant. A judge would laugh us out of his chambers.”

He grunts. “Then what are we even doing here?”

“I want to size the woman up,” I tell him. “Maybe if we rattle her cage hard enough, we can get her to slip up. If she’s even involved, that is.”

It’s going to take a few days for SPD to finish processing the SUV, so I decided to use that time productively. Since he showed me trust by letting me tag along to see Jack, his informant, I figured I can extend an olive branch by letting him join me as I question Fish’s biggest rivals. It’s easier to seem magnanimous since Hua Meng isn’t one of my CIs. Besides, having some backup when questioning some of the most ruthless people in the city isn’t a bad idea.

“So, we’re just fishing,” Kramer says.

“Hope you brought your pole.”

The bell over the door rings as we step into the cool air of the shop. The wall to our left is one large refrigeration unit filled with buckets of loose flowers as well as pre-arranged bouquets, all vividly colorful, behind the sliding glass doors. Several tables and stands are set up on the floor of the shop, displaying the different accessories—balloons, stuffed animals, etc.—that can be included with your arrangement. The air is… fragrant. The aroma of so many different flowers saturating the shop is almost cloying. Soft string and flute music plays, and despite the nearly overwhelming floral aroma, there is a sense of peace and calm in the store.

A woman in her mid-fifties carrying a broom steps through a doorway behind the counter on the far side of the shop. She’s small, no more than five-three and thin, almost pixie-like, with a smooth, olive-colored complexion. Her short black hair is flecked with gray, and she has gentle lines at the corners of her obsidian-colored eyes. In blue jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt with short sleeves, she’s casual and, to me, doesn’t look like the head of a brutal crime family.

“Welcome in, how can I help you?” she asks.

We badge the woman as I make the introductions. “This is Detective Kramer of the SPD. I’m Unit Chief Wilder, with the FBI.”

Her face is completely neutral, and if she’s surprised to have a pair of cops in her shop, she gives no hint of it. If anything, she looks completely unimpressed.

“As I asked a moment ago,” she finally says, her voice soft and lightly dusted with an accent, “how can I help you?”

“Hua Meng?” I ask.

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