The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) (26 page)

Grimes raised his binoculars to look at the woman. Seated on the rocky ground, she hugged her legs to keep warm and was bleeding badly from one shoulder. “One more thing. We need an ambulance. The UC has been shot.”

Saturday, Oct. 11, 2:05 p.m.

Dallas approached the conference room at the field office in DC. Her shoulder was in a sling, but she was taking pain meds and felt pretty damn good. Today, it was simply a joy to be alive. Despite her love for daredevil adventures and risky assignments, she’d come too damn close to death this time. She couldn’t wait to get through this meeting, pack her stuff, and get on a plane to Flagstaff in the morning. She planned to take a week or so to rest, visit with her Aunt Lynn, and let Cameron fuss over her. Why not? She couldn’t work until her shoulder healed, so she might as well stay medicated and let people pamper her. There was a first time for everything.

When she walked into the meeting, the agents at the table burst into applause. She blushed, another first, and gestured for everyone to stop. The case had turned out pretty well, but not necessarily because of her. She’d lived in the same house as a known criminal and hadn’t figured out who he was. And she’d blown her cover by calling her contact on the wrong phone. But there was no need to bring it up. She smiled and moved toward the empty chair.

Drager introduced her to an older man with a turned-down mouth. “This is Special Agent Garrick.”

The boss stood and shook her hand. “Good work out there. Keeping Shawn Mortlock from escaping and committing more acts of terrorism is worthy of a medal.”

“Thanks. I was in survival mode for most of the time after Aaron Mortlock drugged me.” Dallas sat down. She’d already given a brief statement to an agent at the bridge while she waited for an ambulance, and Drager had visited her for few minutes in the hospital.

“You will be honored for it,” Garrick said. “I think it’s time you applied for Special Agent status.”

She would consider it, but titles didn’t mean much to her. She wanted to keep doing work that was interesting and rewarding—and maybe put her language skills to more use. She was seriously tempted to apply to the CIA to take international assignments. But these men didn’t need to know that.

Mostly men, anyway. A young Asian woman sat on Drager’s other side, and across from her was a middle-aged man with hair implants. She hadn’t met either yet, so more introductions followed. Finally, an older woman carrying a can of Mountain Dew came in.

Drager stared at her, then said, “This is Jocelyn Larson, with MPD’s homicide division.” His voice softened when he said her name.

He had a thing for her.
Sweet.
Dallas nodded at Larson but didn’t get up to shake hands. Too much pain and not enough sleep in the noisy hospital. She regretted letting them keep her overnight, but she hadn’t wanted to go back to her empty DC apartment, not while feeling that vulnerable. She had put off calling Cameron too, waiting until she felt better.

Drager continued. “Detective Larson is on the team that’s investigating both Judge Bidwell’s murder and his ex-clerk’s. As it turns out, those cases were only marginally connected to the inner circle.” He nodded at Detective Larson. “Thanks for coming. Please update everyone on your activities Friday morning.”

The detective suppressed a smile. “I went to the judge’s house to question his wife, Joan Bidwell, in connection to the clerk’s murder. A call had been made from her bank to Callie Sayers, her husband’s clerk. But I don’t think Joan made the call. I think the judge did.” Larson took a drink of her soda. “While I was in the house, I heard Joan implicate the judge in the shooting death of his ex-clerk, then she admitted killing him. Mrs. Bidwell later repeated that confession on video, claiming that she’d snapped. So she’ll probably seek an insanity plea.”

His own wife had killed him?
Stunned, Dallas said, “So Luke Maddox wasn’t involved in the judge’s death?” She felt a small wave of relief that she’d assessed her target correctly.

“No, but Maddox was at the Bidwell house, seeking closure,” the detective explained. “Joan Bidwell confessed to him and admitted to being the anonymous source of the inner circle’s funding.”

Luke hadn’t gone to the senator’s house for the home invasion either? A huge wave of relief this time.

Agent Garrick, the supervisor, turned and stared at Detective Larson with his mouth open. “The judge’s wife funded the activists?”

“Yes. She felt guilty about her husband’s payoffs, and her family partially owns the prisons they were sent to.”

Dallas let out an involuntary snort. “I don’t think her
snapped
defense will hold up.” She turned to Larson. “Did you take Maddox into custody?” He would do time for the acts of sabotage, but not a life sentence for kidnapping and extortion.

“No.” The detective and Drager spoke at the same time. Drager added, “Maddox is still at large, but we’ll get him.”

Dallas kept her face impassive, but she was pleased to know Luke wasn’t in custody. Part of her rooted for him to get away. She forced herself to look at Drager and nod. “What about the others?”

Drager grimaced. “Abby Gleeson was shot during the takedown. She drew a weapon on Stella Pearlman.” Drager paused, his left eye blinking rapidly. “Cree Songchild, aka Drake Morrison, was arrested and charged. He claims he didn’t know Abby had a gun and that Mrs. Pearlman wasn’t supposed be there. He also said the senator had child porn on his laptop, and they simply intended to take the laptop and go public with it.”

“That’s all true,” Dallas said, looking around. “But the inner circle also planned to threaten the Pearlmans’ dog in exchange for a yes vote on the decriminalization bill.” Even though she liked Cree, she couldn’t protect him. He’d made his choices. She glanced at Drager. “Did you seize Senator Pearlman’s computer?”

“We did, and the underage nude photos were there. Ray Pearlman is in custody too.”

She shouldn’t care and certainly shouldn’t ask, but she did anyway. “What about the legislative vote Friday in the Senate?”

“It failed.”

So a bunch of old white men with bottles of scotch in their desks, child porn on their laptops, and mistresses on the side had voted to keep treating potheads like felons. Dallas struggled to keep her face impassive. Luke hadn’t even left a legacy of making a difference. She was silent for a long moment. “What else have we got? I know I need to finish my report, but I’m ready to go home.”

“The director wants to see you at headquarters on Monday,” Drager said. “He’s pleased with how you handled the Mortlock brothers.”

She hoped to be on a plane home before Monday, and there wasn’t much left to say. She already knew Shawn was dead, Aaron was in custody, and the family on the bridge was safe. After dragging herself out of the river, she’d clawed her way up the embankment to the road. By then, three Virginia agents were on the scene. Drager had figured out who Aaron Foster was and guessed at what he had planned, but her contact had been a little too late. She wouldn’t say that though. What happened to her wasn’t his fault. Infiltrating criminal groups was a risk, and she had taken it willingly.

For another twenty minutes, she shared details of the sabotages she’d participated in and what she’d learned from the inner circle members. The DC team had already searched the farmhouse and confiscated their computers.

“What about Senator Pearlman’s campaign funds?” Dallas asked. “Did you track those?”

“The financial team is working on it,” Drager said. “But Aaron Mortlock shifted the money to various offshore accounts, and I don’t know if we’ll ever get it back.”

“I guess Pearlman won’t need it now.” Child pornography charges would keep him from being re-elected. She nodded at Drager. “I’d like to finish my report now and go back to my apartment.”

“We’re done here anyway.” Drager stood. “Thanks, everyone, for coming in. Enjoy the rest of the weekend, and we’ll get back to this on Monday.” He handed Dallas the laptop that had been sitting in front of him. “We retrieved this from the farmhouse, along with some of your clothes. They’re in the evidence locker.”

“Thanks.”

Dallas waited while the others filed out of the room. She wanted everyone to go ahead, so she wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. As Drager and Larson exited, she overheard him asking the detective to have dinner. Larson squeezed his arm and agreed. Dallas was jealous of their intimacy.

An hour later, she entered her cold quiet DC apartment, feeling both relieved and lonely. But all she had to do was pack, ship a few boxes, and spend one more night here. Tomorrow she would get on a plane and leave. It was time to call Cameron and let him know she was coming home. But Dallas hesitated, knowing she faced a major decision. If she planned to transfer to the CIA, she would have to break up with Cameron. It was only fair. But she wasn’t ready for it. She missed him and couldn’t imagine walking away again. She also wasn’t sure she ever wanted to face death so closely again.

After grabbing a beer from the fridge, she sat down with her laptop and opened the Skype program. With her good arm, she keyed in Dr. Harper’s online name and clicked Call. It wasn’t right to bother her shrink on Saturday, especially without an appointment or any warning, but she had to talk to her.

A dialogue box opened, and the woman’s wrinkled face appeared. Dr. Harper was scowling. “You really need to call me and make an appointment.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough couple of days.”

“I see that.” Dr. Harper gestured at the sling. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about the assignment.”

“What do you want to discuss?”

Why was this so hard? Harper knew all her stupid shortcomings and issues with men. “I don’t have my lucky cloth anymore,” Dallas said, avoiding the real subject.

“You threw away the last piece?” Dr. Harper beamed with pride. She had orchestrated the cutting and tossing program.

Dallas was tempted to take credit, but couldn’t. “Not exactly. I was arrested, and it disappeared when they took my possessions. But I was kind of relieved when I realized it was gone.” Dallas felt a lump in her throat. Why did the damn doctor always bring out her emotions? “A few days later, I faced a certain and horrible death, and I survived without my lucky cloth. I didn’t even give it a thought. So I think I’m past that whole thing.”

“That’s wonderful progress.” The doctor narrowed her eyes at Dallas. “But that’s not why you called, is it?”

She hesitated again. “I had been thinking of joining the CIA, so I could work overseas, travel, and use my language skills.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I’m more worried about undercover assignments now, and I don’t want to break up with Cameron.”

“Then don’t. Give yourself some time to sort it out.” Dr. Harper smiled again, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk about your near-death experience.”

“Okay.” Dallas didn’t think she ever would, but she tried to keep her shrink happy. “I think I’ll call Cameron now.”

“Is your sex life with him still good?” A deadpan question.

“The best.”

“Then don’t let him go. The CIA isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Dallas laughed. “Thanks for making time for me.”

They both clicked off. Dallas went to the bedroom and dug one of the burner phones from under the bed. She keyed in Cameron’s number. She would give their relationship six months with no undercover work and no travel. If she was still happy—and not restless—she’d have her answer.

L.J. Sellers writes the bestselling Detective Jackson mystery / thriller series—a two-time Readers Favorite Award winner—as well as the Agent Dallas series and provocative standalone thrillers. Her 16 novels have been highly praised by reviewers, and she’s one of the highest-rated crime fiction authors on Amazon.

Detective Jackson Mysteries:

The Sex Club

Secrets to Die For

Thrilled to Death

Passions of the Dead

Dying for Justice

Liars, Cheaters & Thieves

Rules of Crime

Crimes of Memory

Deadly Bonds

Wrongful Death

Agent Dallas Thrillers:

The Trigger

The Target

The Trap

Standalone Thrillers:

The Baby Thief

The Gauntlet Assassin

The Lethal Effect

L.J. resides in Eugene, Oregon where many of her novels are set and is an award-winning journalist who earned the Grand Neal. She’s also the founder of Housing Help, a charity dedicated to keeping families from becoming homeless. When not plotting murders or working with her foundation, she enjoys standup comedy, cycling, social networking, and attending mystery conferences. She’s also been known to jump out of airplanes.

Thanks for reading my novel. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review or rating online. Find out more about my work at ljsellers.com, where you can sign up to hear about new releases. —L.J.