Page 3 of Four Cards Exposed

Just three hours away from here.

In the city.

Susan stared at the second picture. This one was taken from above, under hostile industrial lighting. The photographer had carefully centered the frame to capture the young woman, who was lying on a metal slab. A white sheet, draped just below her shoulders, spilled out of the frame.

Although Sharp’s Cove was a quiet town, Susan had unfortunately seen several such shots before.

Typical morgue shot.

Lorraine remained silent, her face expressionless, as she waited for Susan to finish her perusal.

The woman was pale in this picture, as if all the blood had drained out of her. Her eyes were closed, and for that Susan was grateful, but it was clear she wasn’t sleeping. There was no animation on her face. It was almost as if she’d never been alive, except the photograph on the table next to this one proved she had.

This is what I would look like, dead.

A chill ran through her. If she’d suffocated inside that trunk, if Darryl hadn’t gotten to her in time, this is what her parents would have had to see.

Susan forced her attention back to the picture. There were no apparent wounds, nothing in the picture to indicate what had happened to the woman.

“How did she die?”

“Heroin overdose. Not unexpected, given her level of consumption. But her death was … untimely.”

Untimely.

Interesting choice of word.

It made it clear Lorraine was here in some official capacity.

“What does her death have to do with the FBI, Lorraine?”

“It’s not about her, but rather about her relationship with Daniel Guerrero.” Lorraine paused for a second, as if that name might mean something to her.

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s a Mexican American national. He’s been in prison for the last seven years—doing time for a drug trafficking offense. He’s part of the Mendoza Cartel, an up-and-coming cartel known for its high degree of diversification.”

“Diversification?” Susan asked stupidly. Sharp’s Cove didn’t have a significant drug problem, beyond some kids smoking pot in the harbor in the summer months, so Susan’s understanding of the drug industry was limited.

“They still import cocaine and heroin, but have shifted their business towards synthetic drug production, mainly meth and fentanyl, or a combination of the two.”

“Meth and fentanyl? That doesn’t sound great.”

“It’s deadly. Easier to transport and to consume. You could say it’s the next phase in the national drug epidemic we’re facing. And the Mendoza Cartel is one of the players responsible for making these drugs easily accessible on the East Coast.”

Susan waited for Lorraine to continue. She knew there was more to the story. Finally, after another pause to gather her thoughts, the older woman went on.

“So Guerrero’s been in prison for seven years. He was given the choice to reduce his sentence—nobody cared about him, it was Mendoza we wanted, and seven years ago the cartel was small enough that we could have stopped things, with a little help from Guerrero.” Lorraine sighed, pushing her dark hair away from her face. “He refused to cooperate. It didn’t matter what we offered—he didn’t give us a single name or location.”

“And you think he’s going to talk now?”

“No. We know he’s not going to talk. Years ago, we made it clear that Guerrero wasn’t talking … and we waited.”

Susan’s eyes widened in understanding. “You set a trap for him. For when this man—Guerrero—got out of prison.”

They’ve been waiting for seven years.

Her mind reeled.