The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) (6 page)

He and Abby didn’t share a room. Good to know.

“I’m thinking of trading rooms with Aaron,” Luke said, his voice hushed. “He has pulmonary fibrosis, among other things, and may not live more than a few more months. The stairs are getting hard for him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. He seems young.”

“He is younger than most who get it, but it can develop any time after forty.”

“What are Aaron’s plans?” Dallas asked, trying to be sensitive. “I mean, will he stay here? Or go spend his last days with his family?”

“We are his family now, but when it gets bad, he’ll go stay with his mother.”

“My father died recently.” She hadn’t planned to share it. In fact, she rarely thought about him, so it surprised her. Especially since his dying wasn’t part of her background cover. She told herself it would be okay.

Luke put an arm around her. “I’m sorry. I know it never gets easier.”

She liked the feel of him against her, but after giving her a squeeze, he stepped away. “There are more bedrooms upstairs, including an empty one you can use, but no need to look now. Let’s get back.”

The other roommates were in the main living room, Abby on one couch and the guys at an angle on the other. Luke took a seat next to his girlfriend, and Dallas pulled a cushion off the couch and sat on the floor. She wanted to see everyone’s faces and not miss a single word.

Luke glanced at Aaron. “How are we coming on hacking into the political accounts?”

“Glad you asked. I had a breakthrough with Senator Pearlman’s PAC, and the money should start moving soon.”

Cyber theft? The inner circle was ballsier than she’d thought. “Why are you,”—she paused and corrected— “Why are we trying to steal from Pearlman?”

“He heads the Congressional Judiciary Committee and has blocked every effort to introduce legislation that would reform sentencing guidelines.” Luke’s response sounded practiced.

“But we’re not siphoning his personal accounts,” Abby explained. “Just his re-election fund. Without money, he can’t run TV ads and could lose his seat, so he’ll be off the committee. We have to get the old-school punishment people out of the way.”

Dallas had heard most of it before in their post-adventure drinking sessions—but without the mention of their illegal tactics. “Are you focused mostly on drug laws?” she asked, keeping her eyes on Abby.

“Only as the cornerstone. We also want to get rid of all the three-strikes laws and mandatory minimums, essentially the same goals that JRN has.” Abby shuddered. “There are people in prison for life because they stole a pair of gloves or some other petty bullshit.”

After breaking the law twice before,
Dallas thought but didn’t say. Still, many repeat offenders were mentally ill and needed an alternative.

Abby wasn’t done. “Sometimes I think we should kidnap someone like Senator Burton and hold him until something changes.”

“Holy shit!” Cree spit out a mouthful of beer in surprise. Dallas was stunned too.

“Let’s keep this real.” Luke shot Abby a look, then turned back to Aaron. “When do you expect to breech the other two accounts?”

“I don’t know. Maybe this weekend.”

Dallas wanted to ask the names of the other financial targets, but Luke was still throwing questions at Aaron. “How much is in Pearlman’s account?”

“Two hundred and twenty thousand.”

“Nice. Once it’s in the final offshore account, donate it to various political causes, with half going to JRN,” Luke instructed.

They didn’t plan to keep any of it? Weird. And admirable.

“What’s next for us?” Cree asked.

“We’ve got the Virginia governor’s push for more private-sector prisons and Ray Pearlman’s vote on the decriminalization bill next Friday. But first, we need another round.” Luke nudged Dallas with his foot. “Bring us all a beer, would you?”

Did he want her out of the room for the next discussion? Dallas got to her feet. “Do we have more tequila?”

“It’s in the fridge too,” Abby said. “I like it cold.”

Inside the swinging kitchen door, Dallas paused and strained to hear what was being said in the other room. She heard Aaron say, “I’ll monitor Tara’s communications for a while until we’re sure about her.”
Damn!
That would make it nearly impossible to contact Drager. Then Abby started talking, and Dallas caught the words
plant
and
jail
, but Luke jumped in and discussion got fuzzy. Footsteps startled her and she stepped back. Aaron came through the kitchen door and stared at her. “What are you doing?”

“Getting everyone a beer.” Dallas stepped back and yanked open the fridge. “Do you want one?”

He squinted, assessing her for a moment. “Sure.”

She grabbed a bottle of tequila and a six-pack, wishing they’d bought a decent microbrew instead of this watery crap, but today she was Tara Adams, who didn’t care.

Aaron followed her into the living room, pulling up a dining room chair, like someone who didn’t plan to sit long. “When are we going to start disrupting prison supply trucks?” he asked, breaking into the conversation.

“I don’t know.” Luke’s tone was leery. “We have to focus on legislation first.”

“How are you going to get the votes?” Aaron was just as skeptical of Luke’s strategy.

“Personal pressure.” Luke grinned. “I think you’ll like what we have planned.”

After a round of shooters, Luke switched to a broader discussion about targeting politicians who supported for-profit prisons, but he didn’t share specific details. Dallas excused herself and headed for the bathroom. She turned on the water for background noise, pressed a finger against the soft spot in her throat, and vomited up the last shot of tequila. As much as she liked drinking—and often used it as a tool to extract information—she didn’t care for hangovers. It was also important to stay sharper than her targets. After vacillating about the risk, she added shorthand notes into her phone:
RPea/420 and pson sup T
. Hopefully, the notes wouldn’t make any sense to someone searching her phone—if it came to that. They might not even make sense to her when she finally got back to her apartment and laptop to write a report. For each UC assignment, the department gave her a new computer with files and photos to support the background story they’d created. This time she had several Word files for books she’d supposedly ghostwritten and real photos of her in Flagstaff and Tucson.

Dallas hurried back to join the group. Rock music played, and Abby was dancing. The men were talking sports, so Dallas joined Abby on the dance floor, loving the opportunity to cut loose. They partied for another hour with no more shoptalk, and Aaron was the first to call it a night. He excused himself and headed upstairs.

“Let’s see if we made the evening news.” Luke muted the music and turned on the TV.

They waited through the end of a program and a few minutes of world news about ISIS and Ebola before the newscaster brought the focus back to Virginia. The congressman’s fundraiser came first, with the newscaster saying, “A group of activists hijacked the event and broadcast their own message of justice reform.” The reporter also highlighted how the doors had been locked and called it “reckless,” implying the police could press kidnapping charges.

“Is that true?” Cree asked.

“No.” Luke shook his head. “It’s just hype to juice up the audience.”

Dallas wasn’t as sure. Holding a person against their will was kidnapping. But she and Abby hadn’t sealed the ballroom completely, leaving the access to the kitchen area open. She didn’t comment though.

The newscaster played a segment of Aaron’s recorded message and asked viewers to call if they recognized the voice.

“Oh hell.” Luke clicked off the TV and looked at Abby. “Don’t worry. The station will be flooded with names, but none of them will be Aaron’s. And now people are thinking about justice reform.”

The room was quiet, the party over.

Dallas stood and said, “I assume no one’s taking me home tonight.” She laughed. “Luke, you couldn’t even walk straight on your last trip to the bathroom.” Good thing she’d brought a backpack with a toothbrush and a fresh shirt.

“Hey, that was my full bladder making me off balance.” He winked.

“Right.” Dallas looked at Abby, deferring to her as the woman of the house. “Where do I sleep?”

“I’ll show you.” Abby got up, staggered, then collapsed back on the couch.

Dallas laughed again, feeling a little lightheaded herself. “Just tell me which room upstairs.”

“The one in the middle,” Luke said, helping Abby back up. He put an arm around his girlfriend and walked her toward the hall.

Dallas started up the stairs, and Cree followed. At her bedroom door, he grabbed her arm. “Tara, I have to tell you something.” His speech was slurred, and a little spit drooled down his chin.

“What?”

“Be careful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when you told us at the rock swing that you had lock-picking skills?” It took him a few tries to finally get it all out.

A shiver of concern. “Yes. What about it?”

“They want you to use them, and it’s risky.”

“Doing what?”

“I can’t tell you, but you’ll know soon enough.” Cree staggered to the room next door.

Dallas was intrigued, but too drunk to worry about it at the moment. She ducked into the bathroom on the second floor and brushed her teeth. When she came out, Luke was waiting in the hall. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in for a hot, salty kiss. Sparks shot through her, and Dallas kissed him back. Before she could decide how far she would go, he pulled away.

“Jus’ wanted to kiss you goodnight.” Luke grabbed the railing and headed back downstairs.

Saturday, Oct. 4, 7:45 a.m.

Dallas woke, her mouth dry and sour, and her head filled with strange images from her dreams. Tequila did that to her. She threw back the quilt and stood, head pounding. Thank goodness she’d puked up that last shot. She dug aspirin out of her backpack and bolted for the bathroom in the hall. After a pee and a glass of water, she felt a little better.

The house was quiet, but outside a rooster crowed, and in the distance she heard machinery. Maybe a tractor. Back in her room, she looked around, seeing it fully for the first time. It was larger than she’d expected and had a small alcove that held a narrow desk. The two doors made her curious, so she peeked in both: a closet and a private half bath. Nice. She hated sharing a bathroom with guys. It had nothing to do with modesty or privacy. In college, after a few shots of tequila, she’d run naked through a crowded mall on a bet. She just couldn’t stand piss on the floor.

Had they cleared out this bedroom for her? She remembered Cree’s whispered warning on the stairs. He’d hinted that Luke had decided to recruit her after she mentioned her phony past as a burglar. That had worked well.

Dallas reached for her cell, wanting to text Drager, then decided to wait until she had her burner phone. She pulled on yesterday’s jeans and her clean shirt and headed downstairs. No one was up yet, so she made coffee and took her cup outside. Another glorious fall day with a blue sky and clean air. The leaves on the maple trees were starting to turn orange, and the fields they’d passed the night before were fallow. Dallas walked toward the back of the property, spotting an old RV, a horse barn, and a tool shed.

More important, she looked at the rising sun and tried to get her bearings, visualizing her location on the map. They were southwest of DC, about twenty-five miles she guessed, but with all back roads, it had been a forty-five minute drive. She didn’t think it mattered. She was part of the inner circle now, and they talked as if they expected her to move in with them. That would likely happen today, so she would know the exact coordinates soon—and so would the bureau. She wanted to walk out to the main road and look at the address on the mailbox, but she worried that someone might be watching her. Instead, she took note of the vehicles. The white van they’d picked her up in, a black beat-up midsize truck, an old silver Corolla, and an ugly bronze sedan. She memorized the plate numbers of the van and Corolla, to jot down in her notes. She would process the other license plates later.

Back in the house, Luke was in the kitchen, pouring coffee. “You look great for someone who should be hung over.”

Dallas chuckled. “I come from a long line of drinkers, so snapping back is in my DNA.” Truthfully, her mother looked like shit after years of drinking and meth use. Roxy seemed to be off the hard drugs now that Dallas’ father had died, but there was no reversing the damage.

“I think you’re just naturally gorgeous.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not focus on it.” She held out her cup for more coffee. “I think that’s how I ended up in trouble after high school—trying to prove that I was more than just a pretty face.”

Luke smiled. “You proved that at the fundraiser last night, and you’ll have more opportunities soon.”

“I’m nervous about what comes next,” she said, playing her part. “I don’t want to end up in jail myself.”

“We all know it’s a risk.” Luke set down the coffee pot. “But we plan thoroughly. Plus, we’ll set up demonstrations to happen during our next missions, so there will be distractions and we’ll be fine.”

Criminals always thought that, but shit happened. “I’m relieved.” She shifted on her feet. “So what’s the plan for me personally? Should I move some stuff out here and be on hand for the next mission?”

“I’m so glad you feel that way.” Luke held out his arms.

Dallas set down her coffee and stepped in for a hug, watching the doorway for Abby. She had to walk a fine line between the two—seducing Luke enough to gain inside information while not pissing off his girlfriend. Dallas pulled back, not wanting him to kiss her again. Not in such an open place.

“Ready for breakfast?” she asked. “Or should we hit the road? I need to get back to my apartment, so I can shower and change.”

During a long pause, Luke’s eyes seemed to calculate several options. Finally, he said, “Let’s grab some food to take with us. The sooner we get you settled in, the sooner we can move forward on a new project.”