The three men surrounded him. I got out, pumped the shotgun to get their attention and walked over. Keifer stepped back toward me.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Everything okay?”
“We’re from the DEA, Mr. Stone.”
“I’m following all the state laws,” I said. “Are you seriously going to bust me?”
“No, no,” the lead man said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “We’re here to talk.”
I shook his hand. Weak-ass grip like most government men.
“Talk about what?” I asked, resting the shotgun on my shoulder.
“Our boss wants to have a discussion with you.”
“About what?”
“That’s for him to say.”
“Who’s him?”
“Again, that’s for him to say.”
“You’re not giving me a lot of information to work with,” I said, tilting my head back. “What’s this really about?”
“It’s not bad, Mr. Stone. Take this number.” He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card. “Call him soon. It will be worth the trouble.”
I took the card and stuffed it into my back jeans pocket without looking at it.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“No, sir. Call him.”
As they walked back to their Suburban and piled in, I stepped over to Keifer.
“What did they tell you?” I asked.
“About the same as what they told you.”
“Fucking weird,” I said as the SUV pulled away.
My phone buzzed. I looked down and saw an address near downtown Denver with the message, “Be there at six.”
“Let’s make this quick,” I said. “Then I need to go downtown.”
He nodded, not questioning me at all.
* * *
An hour later, Keifer parked on the street in front of her apartment building.
“You sure you want to be messing with a woman who lives in a place like this?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine. Wait out here for a bit, okay?”
“Sure thing, boss man. Not like I had plans.”
“Quit with the dramatics.”
I opened the back door and climbed out. My head tilted back as I looked up at the five-story brick apartment building that looked like it had been built in the 1950s if not earlier. After checking the address on my phone to make sure I had the right place, I went inside.
The smell hit me as soon as I opened the front door to the lobby, which wasn’t even locked.
What the hell am I doing here?
I thought as I climbed the stairs to the second floor. An image of her long, curly red hair answered my question as it flashed in my mind.
In front of her apartment, I stopped and knocked on the door.
“Hold on,” she called on the other side.
I heard someone moving furniture.
When she opened the door, I became mesmerized immediately. Beyond her good looks, something hid behind her eyes. I had to know more about her.
“Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
I glanced around the bare living room, an old couch the only furniture visible.
“You just move in?” I asked.
She shut the door.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Journalists really don’t make a lot of money, do they?”
“Not the writers. You want something to drink?”
“No,” I said while watching a roach scurry across the floor.
Without blinking an eye, she stepped forward and stomped on it.
“You can run away now,” she said.
“What do I care about a roach? You need help with an exterminator or something?”
“I’m fine. You said you have something for me?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said with a grin as I reached into the inside pocket of my suit jacket.
I pulled out a copy of my birth certificate and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Proof my last name is Stone.”
“I believed you.”
“I know, but it gave me an excuse to come see where you live.”
“And now you’re ready to run away, right?”
I waved a hand through the air, disregarding her worry.
“Have you eaten yet? We could go get some dinner?”
“Not tonight,” she said. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“You work from here?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“I had a strange visitor at my grow operation today.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, the DEA stopped by, but they wouldn’t tell my why.”
Her face twitched slightly at the news.
“I’m doing everything above board,” I said. “My operation is entirely legal in Colorado.”
“That’s what you said. Has the DEA visited you before?”
“There you go with all the questions again.”
“I am a journalist.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s why I stopped by,” I lied. “Make sure you don’t write a hit piece on me.”
“You think I’m writing a hit piece?”
“I’m not sure, and that’s why I’m here.”
“Well, I’m not writing a bad article on you. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, stepping toward her.
She didn’t back away as our eyes met. Her hazel pupils appeared magical, like they belonged in a fairy tale of one kind or another. I took another step forward, wanting to kiss her so bad.
“You should go,” she said, turning her head. “I have work to do.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering if I should press forward and kiss her.
“I’ll call you soon if I have any more questions.”
“Call me anyway,” I said.
“Yeah. Maybe. Let me know if the DEA is poking around again.”
“You should do a story on them,” I joked.
“Yeah, I should.”
She walked to the front door and opened it. I walked over and stopped to put my hand on her arm. We made eye contact again.
“Goodnight,” she said.
I smiled, acting unconcerned.
“You too.”
Outside in the hallway, I heard the door shut behind me. I headed toward the stairs, wanting even more to know her – everything about her. From her favorite color to her comfort food to her preferred sexual positions, I wanted to devour her like a book, movie, or fine glass of wine. I had to make her mine.
NINE
Heidi
Better Plants Matter
The morning after Brent asked to see my apartment, I went to see Ron Glass. While I didn’t approve of his old school attitude when it came to the Drug Enforcement Agency, he might know about who went to see Brent Stone without me knowing about it.
While the pot millionaire wasn’t a dummy, I hoped he had bought that I lived in the rundown dump downtown we rented to maintain my cover. He knew my first name and now my address. I had to act quickly if I wanted to catch him doing wrong.
Even with the attack from the one of the cartels, I wasn’t sure if his legal weed guy was an act or if he had actually built a pot empire from the ground up in a few years. Either way, I would get to the bottom of the situation. I always did.
Outside Ron’s office, I stopped and took a deep breath, preparing myself for the mind games he would likely play. He never failed to remind everyone he had twenty years at the DEA under his belt. Something about him hit me the wrong way.
I knocked on his door.
“Yeah?” he called from the inside.
I turned the handle and opened the door partially.
“Got a minute?”
“For you? Anytime, sweetheart.”
Internally, I groaned, but I didn’t make any waves for the sexist remark.
I walked in, shutting the door behind me.
“What can I do you for?”
“Just a quick question,” I said, not sitting.
He raised his eyebrows as he glanced up at me from behind his desk. I hated the Burt Reynolds moustache under his knobby nose because it always freaked me out and reminded me of male porn stars from the eighties.
“Shoot, cupcake.”
“Did you talk to Brent Stone today?”
“Who?”
“The pot billionaire.”
“Oh, yeah, him.” He shook his head. “I haven’t. Why?”
“Keller assigned me to look into him, but I’m not finding anything. I thought you might know something about him. A small lead or anything would help.”
I kept quiet about knowing DEA agents had shown up at Brent’s grow operation.
“Nothing comes to mind, dear. Maybe we could get a drink later and talk more? A shot or two would clear the cobwebs out of my noggin.”
He smiled like a pervert in a seedy adult movie theater.
“Maybe some time,” I lied. “I’m busy with some stuff, but thanks.”
“Suit yourself. You know how to get ahold of me if you change your mind.”
I nodded, not smiling. As one of the few female agents in Colorado, I had to always project a serious attitude, especially around people like Ron Glass.
“Thanks again.”
As I turned and stepped toward the door, I could feel his eyes staring at my ass. My plain, black suit pants failed to hide the fact I had curves, but I hated when men like him stared. Brent Stone on the other hand. The thought of his ogling turned me on, surprising me.
When I got back to my cubicle with the other junior agents, I sat down and rolled my chair closer to my desk. Unsure of what to look into next, I tapped the spacebar of my laptop and waited for it to wake up. Before I had a chance to type in my password, my cell phone rang.
Brent Stone? Why is he calling?
“This is Heidi,” I said after answering.
“Hey, Heidi. I need a favor.”
“You saw my apartment last night, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
I sensed confusion in his voice.
“Well, you’re a millionaire. I’m not sure how I can help you.”
He laughed.
“Funny. Seriously, though, I thought you might be able to help me because you’re a journalist for High Times. You have a lot of connections in the marijuana industry, right?”
“I guess so,” I said, wondering where he was leading the conversation. “Why?”
“I need a grower.”
“Colorado has more growers than we know what to do with.”
“Yeah, but I’m looking for someone special,” he said.
“Special?”
“Someone who can help me grow a plant with more than fifty-percent THC.”
“That’s never been done before. Some say it’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible for me,” he said confidently.
“I might know someone…”
I stopped myself.
“Yeah? Who?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve just heard rumors of a super grower.”
“Yeah, me too. I’m having a hell of a time locating the guy.”
“And you thought I could help?”
“You’re smart and sexy.”
“What’s sexy have to do with it?”
“I’m just saying.”
A smile crept over my face.
“Anyway, I’m not sure, but I’ll ask around.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll have to take you to dinner sometime to thank you.”
“I’ve not found anything yet. And it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Why not?”
“I’m writing an article on you. Remember?”
“You said you’re writing one, but I still haven’t seen it.”
“You’ll see it soon enough,” I said. “Look, I need to go.”
“Call me if you hear anything?”
“Sure, Brent. Have a good day.”
“You too,” he said.
I ended the call and set my phone on the desk in front of me.
Should I tell him about my father?
The question would not go away.
TEN
Heidi
Seeds and Secrets
After the call with Brent, I left the office and headed to my dad’s place. I planned to convince him to meet with Brent Stone without telling the marijuana millionaire I was his daughter. My father would do anything for me, but he would have questions.
I parked near the house then got out of the car and made my way around the house to the fields and his greenhouse. He had spent more time with his plants when I was growing up, and he hadn’t changed much after I reached adulthood and moved out.