Five

      Lonnie Farrell had been born and raised on Rebel Ridge, but his journey away from home sweet home began when he was fourteen. He got himself arrested for making and selling meth, which resulted in a four-year stint in a youth offender facility. He came out a wiser criminal than the kid he’d been going in and headed straight for Chicago, where he hooked up with the uncle of a kid he’d met in jail.

      Among other things, Uncle Sol was a bookie with a somewhat tenuous hand in the business of prostitution. It soon became Lonnie’s job to make debtors pay up, which included dunning the “girls” who worked for Sol, making sure they didn’t shortchange him. Within twelve years Lonnie had revamped the whole prostitution angle from streetwalkers to high-class hookers, more than tripling Sol’s income.

      But for Lonnie, the world of hookers and pimps was growing stale. He wanted more—more money, more challenges, more risks—which took him straight back to the reason he’d first gone to jail: making and selling drugs. No more cooking meth for Lonnie Farrell, though. He wanted in where the big money was: cocaine. He had everything in place except where he was going to set up shop, and for that he wanted a location that would be extremely secure. He’d thought about it long and hard before it came to him in a dream, and once it took hold, he’d considered it genius. Not only would it take him off the radar, but it would be unbelievably easy to protect. And the best part of it was he had a built-in link to cheap labor in the residents of Rebel Ridge. All he had to do was contact the long-distance owner and he would be in business.

      * * *

      Sylvia Dixon was furious. As of today she was officially divorced, and in her eyes that meant she had been cheated out of a proper settlement. Her ex, Robert Dixon, was worth a fortune—the last heir to one of Louisville’s old-money families. It was her opinion that the fact that she’d been married to him for less than four years should not have mattered, and she was still pissed at herself for signing that prenup.

      Here she was, at the waning age of thirty-nine, with only a lump sum settlement of a quarter million dollars, her BMW, the uptown condo and no prospects in sight. With her lifestyle, that money would be gone within the year. She needed to make new plans—fast.

      The three-inch heels of her Jimmy Choos marked her rapid stride with a clip, clip, clip as she stomped back to her car, slamming the door behind her as she got in.

      “Smarmy bastard,” she muttered, as she pulled the settlement check out of her purse and quickly endorsed it before driving by the bank.

      Her cell phone rang as she was about to leave, and the tone of her voice when she answered still mirrored her anger.

      “Hello.”

      Lonnie Farrell heard anger and immediately shifted into a different mode of approach than the one he’d planned.

      “Hello. Mrs. Dixon?”

      “Yes, who is this? How did you get my number?”

      “I’m sorry. I should have identified myself first. My name is Lonnie Farrell, and your family lawyer gave me your number. I represent a company interested in buying some property you own back in Rebel Ridge.”

      Sylvia smiled as her heart skipped a beat. In your face, Robert Dixon. I can still land on my feet.

      She immediately shifted mental gears. “I apologize for my abruptness, but a woman in my position can’t be too careful.”

      “Of course, I completely understand. Now, as to the reason I’m calling. Are you interested in selling your property?”

      “You are referring to the Foley Brothers Mine and surrounding land?”

      “Yes, ma’am. The company I represent is interested in buying it.”

      Robert Dixon was not Sylvia’s first husband, nor had she hooked her well-to-do exes by being stupid.

      “The mine is played out.”

      “Yes, ma’am. We know.”

      “What are you planning to do with it?”

      Lonnie hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Right now the plans are in a development stage, but that shouldn’t concern you if you’re interested in selling.”

      Sylvia had run her own cons, and this sounded suspicious.

      “You want to buy an abandoned mine, but you’re not interested in mining?”

      Lonnie was getting pissed, but there was too much riding on making this happen to let it show.

      “I understand your curiosity, but I assure you, it’s not a secret. It’s the dark, damp interior and the constant temperature that make it ideal for our needs. We want the space for mushroom farming.”

      Sylvia blinked. There couldn’t be much money in that. “I don’t know if this is going to work out. I can’t imagine there’s all that much profit in selling fungi, and I’m not in the market of giving things away.”

      “You’d be surprised,” Lonnie drawled. “We’re willing to offer you half a million dollars.”

      Sylvia stifled a gasp. “A half million dollars to grow toadstools? Obviously you think I’m an idiot. I do not want to be involved in anything illegal.”

      “Toadstools are poisonous, and you’re overthinking our offer, Mrs. Dixon.” He threw in an amused chuckle for effect. “Do you want to do business, or shall I inform them you’re not interested, in which case we will just look for another source?”

      Sylvia felt trapped. If Robert hadn’t divorced her, this conversation would have ended before it began, but a half million dollars? How could she refuse?

      “I’m sure you understand my concerns, but it won’t be necessary for you to look any further.”

      “Perfect! I’ll have the papers sent to you. The check will be with the papers. Just sign them both. You send me one copy and keep the other, as well as the check.” He waited, guessing that the offer of a lot of easy money would be hard to reject.

      “I want a cashier’s check,” Sylvia said.

      Lonnie grinned. “Of course,” he said. “What address should I use?”

      Sylvia gave him the address of the condo where she would be living.

      The call ended a moment later, and she dropped the phone in her lap and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands as she looked out the windshield.

      The sun was still shining. The sky was still clear, and if that call had been on the up-and-up, she would soon be another half million dollars to the good. So why did she feel like she’d just