CHAPTER EIGHT
ALF STARED OUT THE window listening to the soft scrape of Pleasance’s brush behind him. The sound usually soothed and calmed him and he often came to her studio with that very goal in mind. But he’d heard back from his contact at the Marshal service and he didn’t like the news.
Emma Banks used to be a Marshal. Apparently she’d been a darn good one. Until she’d become obsessed with trying to prove a rich, powerful businessman in Indianapolis was behind the deaths of two teens who’d been in witness protection.
The teens had been set to give evidence against the man’s son, who’d apparently sold a new designer drug to a group of teens and one of them had died from it. The Feds were interested in the case because there’d been a rash of casualties from the drug across the countr
