“Look, man, I already told you I don’t know.” Floyd’s voice rose an octave. “I swear.” His eyes darted to Agent Edmonds. He lifted his hands, palms outward like he was trying to calm a bull from charging. “Just . . . just wait here.”

When Floyd hurried out of the kitchen, Sheriff Huggins turned to Charlie and asked, “What makes you think there are drugs here?”

“Same reason you assumed those ashtrays in the front held more than cigarette butts. He’s a frat boy with complaining neighbors.”

“He’s probably hiding his stash right now,” Agent Edmonds mumbled. “The F-Dawg nickname almost makes me want to call in the dogs.”

“My deputy here’s done a good job soliciting information.” Sheriff Huggins raised his eyebrows. “Maybe now you can share some information about why you’re here.”

“Have you ever heard of El Chico?”

Charlie and the sheriff shook their heads.

“Benito Rodriguez runs the largest Mexican cartel out of Atlanta that specializes in meth. He’s been smuggling throughout the Atlanta region for years, but it’s slowed. What hasn’t slowed is the money. We have an informant on the inside who says the money is still coming in—”

“Which means the drugs are still going out,” Charlie said.

“Right.” Agent Edmonds ran his hands over his bald head. “We’ve tracked payments to this address.”

Sheriff Huggins, looking ashen, rocked back on his heels. “I can’t picture Sydney being involved with drugs . . . or a cartel.”

Neither could Charlie, if he was honest, but outward appearances could be deceiving. Unlike Miguel, most people didn’t let their issues out in the open. They kept them hidden. Private. Protected. Like an ugly secret that made them feel ashamed. Charlie thought about Lane. And Tate. If his battle buddy hadn’t kept his secret hidden, maybe he’d still be alive today. And Lane . . .

Floyd returned with a package wrapped in brown paper. He tossed it onto the counter. “Last time I checked, doing a favor wasn’t a crime.”

“If it’s connected to a murder it is.” Charlie watched Sheriff Huggins pull a pair of latex gloves from his belt. “Now, tell us who gave it to you.”

“Dude, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I don’t know who it was.”

Charlie’s blood pressure was rising. He stepped around the kitchen island and closed in on Floyd. “Have you been to jail before, F-Dawg?”

“N-no.”