Free The Devil's Snare: a Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 4) by T Patrick Phelps

said that the baggie of cocaine you found on your desk was almost empty. Less than a line left, I think you said.”
    Bo glanced at Crown who was glaring at him. He dropped his wide shoulders, hung his head a few inches lower and said, “Yeah, what about it?”
    “Where’s the baggie now?”
    Bo said, “I put it back in the safe. After I sat on that knife in my couch and called the sheriffs, I figured I’d better not leave it out for them to catch a glimpse of. Why do you ask?”
    “Wouldn’t hurt to have it checked out. The bag, that is. If someone was dipping into it, they might have left some prints behind.”
    Bo said, “You actually want me to take a bag of cocaine with me to the sheriff’s office so they can dust for prints? Not sure how that will turn out.”
    Nikkie said, “Not what I was thinking. Derek has a friend, a police chief north of Albany. I’ll ask Derek to contact him, see if he’d do us a favor and check out the bag for prints.” Nikkie retrieved her Moleskine notebook, jotted down a reminder, then said, “Why don’t you grab the bag for me? I’ll hold on to it.”
    “You know if you’re caught with it, you’ll need to hire my dad. Maybe we could be cell mates.” The way Bo said it gave Nikkie pause. Bo was handsome and certainly held himself with the confidence one would expect someone with his looks to possess. Nikkie held no doubts about Bo’s ability to do well in the romance department. She thought that he was the type that never struggled to have a date for any night of the week. The type whose bed supported two people more often than one. But he was also a client; a client facing some serious jail time, whose life as he once knew it, was, more than likely, finished. Yet his playfully suggested tone of voice and the promising look etched across his face belonged to a man more interested in filling a need or satisfying a desire than one facing twenty to life.
    “Just grab me the bag,” she said. “I’ll take my chances.” Her tone, and the expression held on the face that uttered the statement, was unmistakable.  
    Bo raised his hands in surrender. “Just looking out for your best interests,” he said. He limped away. He came back a few minutes later, hands empty and the look of confidence erased. “It’s gone. The bag. It’s not in my safe.”
    “Show me,” Nikkie said, then walked directly towards Bo.
    He turned and led Crown and Nikkie through his living room and into the adjacent room. He pointed to the desk, telling them that was where he found the near-empty bag the morning after the fire. He then pulled open a closet door, gingerly kneeled down and began spinning the two-inch wide dial on the front of a three-foot-wide by four-foot-tall safe. Inside were two pistols; a Smith and Wesson Bodyguard .380 and a Sig P-250. A quick glance told Nikkie the 250 was chambered for .40 caliber ammunition. “Surprised the police haven’t confiscated your weapons,” Nikkie said.
    “Yeah, well,” Bo said, scratching his head, “they took my registered ones. These actually belong to a buddy of mine. His wife won’t allow guns in the house since their baby was born. I store them here for him.”
    “The authorities didn’t search this safe?” Nikkie asked. “I have to believe they had a search warrant for all the contents of your home.”
    “They did have a warrant and they did search this safe. Had to give them the combination. The guns were put there just last night.”
    Beyond the two pistols, the safe was crammed with several boxes of ammunition—ranging from .380 to .45 caliber—several folders, each stuffed neatly with documents, a tin box, several USB thumb drives and a roll of cash, bound together tightly with three thick rubber bands.”
    “That seems like a lot of cash,” Crown said. “Drug money?”
    “Emergency funds, mom,” Bo said. “Jeez mom, what do you think I am, a dealer or something?”
    Crown said, “Honestly Bo, I don’t know what you