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But cocaine, meth, heroin, fentanyl? They were deadly. They were killing people in all walks of life and there were people getting rich off their misery.
"You are," I said to my father, and then, without thinking, "What's up with the case?"
He shrugged. "Probably nothing. Maybe something. I won't see jail time, if that's what you're worried about. And I'm already retired, so there's no job to throw me out of."
"Your pension?" I asked, suddenly worried for a whole new reason.
He made a face, tucking his lips under and trying to look super innocent. He looked rather the opposite and he kind of looked like Woody Harrelson for a second.
"What's that mean?" I asked.
"Um, it might mean I put a little something-something aside for a rainy day," my hero cop father told me.
I sat down again without meaning to. "For real? For real no jail? For real you're set if they go after your money?"
"Would I lie to you?"
"Every Christmas."
He smiled. "I had to. You always guessed what you were getting."
"I always found what I was getting," I said, and he looked appropriately shocked. Everything still ached, my stomach was still upset, and the drive was catching up with me, but I was glad we'd had our time together.
I gave him a kiss on the forehead, and held his hand for a minute, and said I'd be back in the morning.
He let me get as far as the door before he stopped me with a single word.
"Princess?"
My hand was actually on the doorknob. I was so close to getting out of there unscathed. I turned back. He was watching me with the eyes that had made a million perps confess.
"Are you straight yet?" he asked.
Fuck. There hadn't been enough time with Cole. There'd been too many other chances. Too many other traumas. Therapy was no more useful than I'd ever thought it was. And admitting it might get me hospitalized and that might actually work, but the chances I'd be undercover again after that were nonexistent.
"I'm working on it," I said.
He nodded. "Is there anything I can do?"
My automatic reply – No, I've got this – stuttered out. I didn't need money. I didn't need somewhere to stay. I needed the job. I needed the fentanyl. I needed the promised cure.
"I'll let you know," I said, and slipped out of his room.
