Excellent. Stella Rowland Brewer was stuck in her house, cut off from her dealer and her supply. Cade withdrew the bag of powder from his other pocket, palming it in one hand as he opened the door.

“Mrs. Brewer?”

She wheeled around, wine going everywhere, though she didn’t notice. Her eyes fixed on his gun before lifting to his face. “It’s you. The guy my son claims killed my husband.”

“Yes. So he claims.”

“Did you do it?”

“No,” he lied smoothly. “I need your help to clear my name.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why the gun, then?”

“I wanted to ensure that you didn’t scream.”

She tilted her head. “Have you killed the cops outside?”

“No,” he answered, amused.

“Dammit. They won’t let me go. I’m a prisoner here in my own home, even though I made bail.”

“They’re keeping you from leaving? Did you tell your lawyer?”

Her jaw clenched. “They’ll let me leave. They just follow me. I can’t go anywhere and no one wants to help me,” she added in a whine.

“I want to help you.” He held up the bag of white powder and watched her eyes lock on to it like tractor beams. “I have a proposition for you.”

She licked her lips nervously. “What?”

“Like I said, I want your help to clear my name. Your son has made life difficult for me. My face is all over the news. I can’t go anywhere for fear of capture.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze not faltering from the bag he held. “Yet you came to a house guarded by cops.”

“I’m not guilty, but I am careful. I hiked through the back of the property and they didn’t see me. Will you help me or not?”

More lip licking. “What do you want me to do? They’re not allowing me any visitation or communication. I can’t make Michael tell the truth. Not that he ever listened to me anyway. He’s a bad kid.”

“I want to talk to him, but I can’t get close, either. Does he have any friends at school? Anyone he’s mentioned? Somebody who could tell me where he’s being kept?”

“We don’t really talk. Can I have that?” She pointed to the bag in his hand.

“When we’re finished,” he said, annoyed with her already. “Do you know where he’s staying right now?”

“He’s in foster care.” Her eyes went sly. “Give me a little and I’ll tell you where.”

He wondered if she knew. “Tell me where and I’ll give you the whole bag.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” he countered.

She blew out an angry breath. “CPS told my lawyer that his foster home is run by a woman who signs. You know, in ASL, because he’s deaf.”