Chapter 15
Terry drove down the narrow lane leading to the massive, multi-million-dollar beachfront house, his headlights cutting through the darkness.
A few miles south of Baytown, the rental property sat on prime real estate.
It was a location that generated serious secondary income for owners smart enough to capitalize on the Shore's summer tourism, or for those with money who built large retirement homes for the bayfront view out their windows.
Tonight, the lane looked like a war zone. Red and blue lights strobed against the darkness, casting eerie shadows across the manicured landscaping as deputy and EMS vehicles crowded most of the circular driveway.
Pissed that his perfect evening with Sandra and the kids had been obliterated, Terry climbed out of his SUV and slammed the door with more force than necessary.
The metallic bang echoed through the night air, and he figured it was better to take his frustration out on his own vehicle than on the teenagers who'd caused this clusterfuck.
His jaw clenched as he spotted a few young people milling around the perimeter, their faces pale and shell-shocked in the harsh glare of the floodlights that had been set up to illuminate the scene.
He offered chin lifts to several deputies who were securing the area, their expressions grim and professional. The weight of his body armor felt heavier than usual as he jogged up the front steps, his boots echoing against the expensive stone pavers that led to the massive double-wide front doors.
Stepping through the entrance into the brightly lit foyer, Terry blinked hard, trying to process the destruction that greeted him.
The formal living room, which could have been featured in a high-end design magazine, looked like a hurricane had torn through it.
Beer cans, wine bottles, and empty liquor bottles were scattered about.
Expensive side tables, plush upholstery, and a solid wood coffee table now bore the water rings of countless drinks.
A foul, acrid smell hit his nostrils, and he glanced down to see where someone had vomited right at the entrance to the formal dining room. The stench created a nauseating cocktail that made him breathe through his mouth.
Most of the noise was coming from toward the back of the house, so he continued down the wide center hallway, his footsteps muffled by what had probably been an expensive runner before whatever the hell had been spilled on it.
The hallway opened into a massive kitchen that flowed seamlessly into a huge family room.
If Terry had thought the living room looked trashed, it was nothing compared to the destruction he now witnessed.
Alcohol bottles and cans covered every available surface.
Someone had apparently made a late-night snack run, but judging by the amount of crushed chips, cookies, and candy littering the hardwood floors, granite countertops, and expensive leather furniture, Terry wasn't sure if anyone had actually consumed the junk food or just used it as ammunition in a food fight.
Pizza boxes lined the counter, the contents mostly consumed.
The room was packed with young people, their faces ranging from defiant to terrified to completely wasted.
A quick head count brought the number close to twenty, though several others were probably scattered throughout the rest of the house.
He looked across the chaos and recognized several detectives from the sheriff's department—Sam Shackley, Aaron Bergstrom, Mark Robbins, and Brad Stowe.
The presence of so many senior investigators told him everything he needed to know about the severity of the situation.
Holy shit, it looks like everyone has been called out tonight.
More chin-lift greetings were exchanged, the kind of wordless communication that developed between law enforcement officers who'd worked together long enough to read each other's expressions.
Mark Robbins jerked his head toward a door to the side, his face carrying the kind of grim satisfaction that meant they'd found something significant.
"Captain."
Terry turned toward the voice and spotted Jeremy at a doorway.
He walked into a study untouched by the partygoers.
A pool table was off to the side. And on top of the pool table were evidence bags containing multicolored pills and smaller bags of white powder that could have been cocaine, heroin, or any number of synthetic drugs flooding the market these days.
"Christ," he growled under his breath, his shoulders slumping as the idea of the kids using that shit hit him like a physical blow.
He was furious on multiple levels—professionally angry at the stupidity of these kids who'd turned what should have been a quiet weekend into a potential overdose scene, and selfishly frustrated as he looked around, knowing there was no way in hell this evening would end in time for him to get back home and salvage what had been shaping up to be a perfect night with Sandra.
The image of her curled up on his couch, probably wondering where he was and whether this was what dating a cop would always be like, tightened his chest with regret.
She'd offered to stay with his kids without hesitation, willing to step into his complicated life with the kind of grace he’d come to expect from her.
He moved to where Jeremy had gathered around Pete, noting the room was clean, unlike the other rooms he’d witnessed.
The floors didn’t look like the partygoers had trod upon the room.
The closer he got to the table, the more his professional instincts kicked in, pushing his personal frustration aside.
This might not have been just a party gone wrong, but a distribution-level drug bust that would have required serious coordination between agencies.
He stepped up to the group, scrubbed his hand over his face to clear his head, and swallowed the growl that threatened to erupt from his throat. Without him having to ask, the detectives began filling him in with the efficient shorthand of experienced investigators.
"House is owned by Harrison Blackwood." Sam’s voice carried the weight of someone who'd already done the preliminary legwork. “Yes, the owner of Blackwood Luxury Custom Homes.”
At that revelation, Terry's eyebrows shot toward his hairline. He knew Blackwood built luxury homes in Virginia Beach, Norfolk, Chesapeake, and on the Eastern Shore, but he’d never been inside one of them. Too bad I didn’t get to see one of his exclusive homes before it was trashed.
“He rents this one?”
“Yeah. And the cost would be way more than any of us could afford, even for a weekend. So he not only sells homes to high-end customers, but owns several homes as rentals to those same kind of customers.”
Terry thought about the man he’d met at the American Legion meeting. He imagined the idea of Blackwood’s pristine vacation rental being turned into a drug distribution hub would give the man nightmares.
"He's been called," Aaron added, glancing at his notes. "He and his wife were spending the evening at his brother's house in Williamsburg. He should be here within the hour, and did not sound happy."
Terry could only imagine that phone conversation. "So what's the deal with this party? How did we go from a quiet weekend rental to this disaster?"
"The house was rented for the weekend to a group of five UVA graduate students who claimed they were spending the weekend preparing for final exams," Brad explained, his tone carrying just enough sarcasm to indicate what he thought of that story.
Terry's eyebrow remained elevated as he glanced around the room, taking in the evidence of everything except studying. "I wonder how much academic preparation they actually accomplished."
His gaze swept over the college-age faces scattered throughout the room.
Most looked too young to be at this party in this house.
One couple standing together, fear on their faces, couldn’t have been out of their teens.
Their nervous vibes gave off the feel of high schoolers who'd gotten in way over their heads.
"Did the renter put out an invitation to the others?" Terry asked, already dreading the answer.
"They say it started as word of mouth to some of their frat brothers at ODU who showed up with some others." Brad consulted his notebook. “Another said he was delivering the pizza. All in all, it's a complete clusterfuck.”
“But here’s the thing,” Jeremy reported.
“The party was called in by a neighbor who was upset about the noise and the number of cars going up and down the street. When the deputies got here, they found all the alcohol. The drugs weren’t out where everyone else was.
They were found in this room that had been kept locked. "
“And…” Pete shook his head as he finished, “They all claim they didn’t know there were drugs in this room.”
Terry felt his jaw clench as he processed the implications.
“Were any of the kids using or was this a distribution point for sellers, not users?” As the words left his mouth, he knew this scene was easily turning into a multi-jurisdictional nightmare that would require coordination between his task force, the sheriff's department, and probably the state police before it was all over.
"With all the alcohol these kids have been consuming, it's amazing somebody isn't in the ER," Pete said, his voice carrying the kind of weary resignation that came from seeing too many young people make life-altering mistakes.
"Hell, it's a miracle none of them tried to drive home and wrapped their car around a tree. "
The harsh reality of Pete's words settled over the group like a blanket.
They'd all worked scenes where parties like this had ended in tragedy—overdoses, drunk driving accidents, and sexual assaults that happened when judgment was impaired and inhibitions disappeared.
Tonight could have been so much worse, and they all knew it.
Releasing a heavy sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, Terry nodded toward the four sheriff detectives and said, "We work this together. Task force takes point on the drug charges, sheriff’s department handles the underage drinking and property damage.
We coordinate everything and make sure nobody falls through the cracks. "
The detectives nodded in acknowledgment, their expressions reflecting the easy working relationship that had developed between the sheriff's department and the drug task force over the years.
They'd collaborated on enough cases to know how to divide responsibilities without stepping on each other's jurisdictions.
Stepping to the side to create some privacy, Terry addressed Jeremy and Pete directly, his voice low enough that the teenagers scattered around the room couldn't overhear. "What have you found out so far? And please tell me we've got some idea of where this product came from."