Page 79 of Armed ’N’ Ready

At the front door, he pressed a small white button and heard the doorbell peal from inside the house. A dog barked—presumably Meera’s Bouvier. They waited a full minute, then he knocked on the front door. Again, the dog barked, louder this time.

Nick tipped his head to Eric, indicating he should check out the back of the house. His friend hadn’t gotten three steps when they heard a woman’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Scottie, no bark!”

The dog quieted, and a few seconds later the door opened. Nick immediately recognized Meera and the Bouvier he’d seen many times in the dog run at the DPC. The good-natured dog stood at her side, wagging its cropped stub of a tail.

She gave them a pleasant smile. “What can I do for—” Her eyes widened, and her gaze lowered then raised, taking in his uniform. “Nick? You’re a policeman?”

“I’m with the state police.” He nodded to Eric. “This is Special Agent Miller with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.”

“I don’t understand.” Confusion showed in her eyes, and she shook her head as if to clear it. “I thought you were a bartender.”

“May we come in?” he asked. “I’ll explain why we’re here.”

“Of course.” She stepped aside for them to enter.

When the door shut behind them, they followed her into the living room. Along the way, Nick scanned the hallway and kitchen, taking in the many photos of a rugged coastline that hung on the walls. He didn’t know where the photos had been taken, but something told him they’d been snapped in another country. Scotland.

Scottie—and no, the symbolism of the dog’s name wasn’t lost on him—trotted in front of them, his long gray coat swaying with the air currents created by his movement.

Despite Meera’s seeming compliance, Nick never took his eyes off the woman. Body language could provide information about what a person was thinking and feeling. He particularly watched her hands, having learned long ago not to be distracted by a person’s words.

She sat on the edge of the sofa and indicated two wingback armchairs for him and Eric. Nick sat across from her, while Eric stood off to the side, so he could watch her and, at the same time, see into the kitchen and hallway. Scottie lay down at her feet.

Meera clasped her hands on her lap, then raised her brows. “What can I do for you?”

No sense fucking around. There wasn’t time.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and cued up the photo with Meera’s reflection. He held it up for her to see. “Would you agree that the person in this photo is you?”

She leaned forward and peered at the screen. Her brows lowered. “Yes. But how did you get it?”

“It was found on a gang member’s phone. The same gang member who tried to kidnap Andi Hardt at gunpoint. This was the photo he used to identify her as the person to be kidnapped, and that’s your reflection. You took that photo, didn’t you?”

“What?” She straightened, looking alternately from him to Eric. “Someone tried to kidnap Andi? Is she okay? Was she hurt?”

“Cut the shit, Meera.” He paused to watch her as his words sank in, and he knew Eric was doing the same.

“What do you mean? I—”

“It’s over,” he said in a hard tone. He wasn’t buying into her feigned-innocence act. “Unless you start talking and tell us who hired you, you’re looking at up to twenty years for your part in a kidnapping conspiracy involving firearms.”

Her eyes began darting back and forth. Her knuckles whitened as she clasped her hands tightly and rocked in place on the edge of the sofa.

Classic signs of someone stalling for time to make shit up.

Quivering lips pressed together. Her nostrils flared, and she began blinking rapidly.

“Tell us what you know,” he demanded. “And don’t even think of lying. You’re already neck-deep in hot water as it is.”

Without looking at him, she began shaking her head. “I can’t tell you.”

“You can. The only way to help yourself is to start talking.”

“I can’t!” she cried.

“Who hired you?” Based upon her body language, he was close to breaking her. “Who ordered you to take a photo of Andi and Joe Myer and send it to the gangs? Was it Brian Argyle?”