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manmade lake so common in southern Florida. Greg was a man who liked to keep close tabs on his business. “They’ll find nothing.”
    As a public defender, I’d learned that there were shades of confidence in a person’s voice. Greg’s had undertones of smugness and yes, arrogance.
    I went on alert. How easy would it be to hide drugs in shipments of fertilizer? Would all the chemical and other more putrid odors mask the scent for police dogs? Unless officers making a traffic stop had the entire van unloaded, how simple would it be to discretely tuck a bag here and there among the fertilizer? Someone must have been very careless in loading Mike’s truck…or framed him deliberately.
    My heart pounding, I said in an off-hand manner, “The police could be obtaining a search warrant even as we sit here.”
    Greg swung back to face me. “Don’t worry. Everything’s taken care of. This place is—how do you say?—squeaky clean.”
    His bland expression revealed nothing but spoke volumes to me. Somehow Rocket was involved with drugs. I didn’t mind representing a first timer caught buying or selling on the streets. Normally that person’s life had gotten all screwed up, and I could hope she or he would be scared enough to get help and stay clean.
    But this wasn’t the sad case of an individual. It smacked of an organized drug ring.
    Here was where I could draw a line.
    I gathered my briefcase and purse. “That’s good, Greg. I can now deliver my bad news with a clear conscience.”
    “What bad news?”
    “I’m afraid I can no longer continue working on retainer. My trial schedule is so heavy now that I can’t devote the time needed for traffic court.”
    Greg arched his eyebrow. “Is this a way of negotiating a higher rate for retainer? Okay.” He then named a figure that made my stomach twist. Oh yeah. This was a buy off.
    I rose, grateful to find my knees held. “Thank you. Your offer’s quite generous and flattering. But my clientele’s taking me in a different direction and I can’t give Rocket the kind of representation it needs. I know there are plenty of good attorneys who would love a chance at this business.”
    Attorneys more willing to sell their souls and turn a blind eye to the drug business.
    I extended my free hand, trying to look and act normally. “I’ll send you a check for the remaining two months of the retainer.”
    Greg clasped my hand and held on to it. “That’s not necessary. I am grateful for the work you’ve done.”
    “Thank you, but I insist.” I managed to extract my hand. “A deal’s a deal.” The gesture meant I would be living on peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches for the next few months, but I didn’t want to keep any more of the retainer than I had to.
    “I know you’re busy so I’ll just show myself out.”
    Although I felt like breaking into a run to put as much distance between myself and this place, I walked with a non-hurried pace out of the office into the hallway. I heard the creak of leather and knew Greg had risen to stand in his door. I could feel his gaze boring into my back. Talk about wearing a bull’s-eye.
    Careful not to glance inside, I passed Borys’s former office and gave the waiting secretary a brilliant smile as I passed her into the reception room.
    I breezed through the factory level and made my escape from the building. Welcoming the blast of sun on my face, I dragged in a gulp of humidity-laden summer air. Man, it was good to be outside again. I hurried to my car, parked in the meager shade offered by a strand of palms lining one side of the parking lot. A table and bench placed on a patch of grass indicated this functioned as the employees’ break area.
    Before I could open the car door, I heard a low call. “Miss Dent.”
    Looking over the hood, I spotted Drew Powell standing inside the break area, the palms concealing him from the factory. I started to go toward him, but he held up his palm. “Please, stay where you are.