meth, cocaine, trying to come up with the right cocktail that would let her push through all the barriers and claim the lightning for her own. She’d known she was on the right track, but every time she had a compound she was ready to try, it failed somewhere along the way. Sometimes people died, but she hadn’t cared. She worked frantically, desperately, knowing her time was running out, because life on the street just wasn’t safe, and when you were supplying ille­gal drugs, the working conditions and your co-workers left a lot to be desired. Sooner or later somebody would sell her out, and she’d go down.
But in her own strange way, Jeanette was heroic. Inevitable arrest and imprisonment didn’t faze her. Finding the key was all that mattered.
Then Robert Lintel came,