Deep Cover. Kimberly Van Meter

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       Chapter 1

      “The kids are calling it Bliss,” began FBI chief Patrick Hobbs as the PowerPoint presentation began in the darkened conference room. Special Agent Shaine Kelly and Special Agent Victoria Stapp were the only ones invited to this debriefing, which told Shaine they were about to get into something interesting. “It’s ten times more potent than Ecstasy and ten times more addictive. Whereas X used to be the drug of choice for trust-fund kids partying on Mommy and Daddy’s money, Bliss is cheaper, easier to find and, as evidenced by the bodies in the morgue with the junk in their system, deadly.”

      Chief Hobbs switched to the next frame.

      Dead college kids, by the look of their clothes, white drool frozen on their curled lips, as if they’d died in immeasurable pain.

      “That’s not a good look on anyone,” Shaine said, eliciting a nod of agreement from Victoria.

      “Watch the wisecracks,” Hobbs warned before moving on. “The drug is a ticking time bomb. Users say the high is like an opiate high, without the extreme lethargy. It’s simply...bliss.”

      Stapp, a short redhead with a stereotypical redhead’s temper, said, “Sounds better than Xanax. Explains why kids are dying to get their hands on it. So did they OD?”

      “In a matter of speaking. That’s what makes Bliss unique. It doesn’t kill you right away. Similar to LSD, the drug remains in the system far longer than the high, which then builds up until the body goes into painful convulsions, ultimately giving the user a massive heart attack.”

      The lights flicked on and Shaine briefly squinted against the light. “So where’s it coming from?” he asked. “Colombia? Mexico? Guatemala?”

      “Miami.”

      “Florida?”

      Hobbs nodded. “We suspect someone known as El Escorpion is in charge of the manufacturing and distribution, but we haven’t been able to get proof. No one can get close enough to infiltrate the operation.”

      “El Escorpion... Spanish for The Scorpion,” Victoria murmured with a wry grin. “Sounds like the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to screw around with.”

      “El Escorpion is the worst kind of criminal—smart, rich and anonymous.”

      “What do you mean anonymous?” Shaine asked.

      “No one knows who this El Escorpion is. Anyone with that knowledge is either dead or missing. He or she is a ghost with a helluva presence.”

      “Convenient. This person could be operating in plain sight, thumbing their nose at authorities,” Shaine said. “So how are we supposed to catch him?” Victoria cleared her throat meaningfully and Shaine dutifully corrected himself, saying, “Or her.”

      “Since no one knows who El Escorpion is,” Hobbs said, handing out dossiers, “we’re putting a small, elite, multiagency team together to infiltrate the Miami scene. This undercover detail is highly classified, dangerous and top priority.”

      “My favorite—” he started to say, but the door opening stopped him.

      Shaine didn’t know the man who entered, but it took all of one horrible, gut-grinding second to realize he knew the woman.

      Intimately.

      Poppy Jones.

      Tall, lithe and built like a Norwegian supermodel with long, straight limbs and blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail, Poppy was hard to forget.

      Shaine’s expression remained impassive, though every muscle had just been pulled taut.

      “Agents Stapp and Kelly, meet DEA agents Poppy Jones and Marcus West. The DEA will be one of our partner agencies for this operation.”

      “Pleased to work with you,” Marcus said briskly, extending a hand out of professional courtesy to both Shaine and Victoria. Of course, Poppy did the same.

      Since it was bad form to be openly rude, even if the Queen of Hell had just walked in, Shaine offered a perfunctory greeting, “Yeah, likewise,” and accepted a quick handshake from each.

      Two high points of color jumped to Poppy’s porcelain cheeks the moment their hands touched, but otherwise she remained perfectly professional.