“You can’t do this,” she gasped.

As elusive and agile as she’d been while fleeing from me at the cemetery, I didn’t want to take the chance that she would rabbit again, so I cuffed and frisked her. She had no weapons, but she was carrying a hefty roll of hundred-dollar bills.

By the time I was hauling her to her feet to take her back into her townhouse so we could chat, Greer had made it around to my side of the building.

Together, we led her inside.

“Listen to me,” she fumed once the door was closed behind us. “I’m DEA.”

“What are you talking about?” Greer asked.

“Deep UC. And you two idiots might’ve just blown my cover.”

“You have your credentials?”

“Of course not. What do you think? If Blake found out I was a federal agent, I’d be dead within the hour. Call my supervisor.”

“Blake?” I tried to piece together her involvement with him. “Is he why you were at Jon’s funeral?”

“Blake’s the reason for all of this.” She gave us a name and a number and Greer put the call through.

While he waited to get transferred, Sasha glared at me. “You have no idea how much of my work you just put at risk.”

“Tell me about the money.” I kept one eye on her as I studied the inside of the townhouse. Her place was simply furnished but had a touch of class and expensive-looking, somewhat erotic artwork that might well fit for a high-end escort. Maybe she was lying about being an undercover agent.

“Evidence,” she replied tersely. “I’ll need it back.”

After Greer spoke with someone on the phone, he informed us, “They’re transferring me now.”

Sasha gave him an alphanumeric authorization code, and he repeated it to the person on the other end of the line.

Well, if she wasn’t an agent, she certainly knew an awful lot more than she should have.

At last, when the verification was complete, Greer listened for a moment, and then said to Sasha, “Your boss wants to talk to you.”

She shook her head in aggravation, then turned to the side and held out her wrists to remind us that they were cuffed. “Well, bring it here.”

Greer passed his cell to me, and I held it up to Sasha’s ear.

“Yes,” she said into the phone. “They just showed up here. No, it’s . . . I will . . . I don’t know. I hope not . . . Okay, yeah. I understand.”

She nodded to me that she was done, and I ended the call.

“Satisfied?” she asked us.

Greer indicated to me that he was. I was on the same page. I returned his phone to him.

If she was a deep-undercover DEA agent, then it certainly explained why her prints came up as unavailable when I sent them through the system.