The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) (8 page)

“Sergeant, thanks for stopping by.”
Damn, he was tall.
She buttoned her jacket and straightened her spine.

“What have we got?”

“Sherry Jones, thirty-one, with a record of prostitution and drugs. She was shot twice in the face and dumped here.”

The corner of his eye twitched. “Give it your best shot but don’t get invested.”

Good advice, which she planned to take. Right up until she met the victim’s mother. Then it would get personal. “How’s Judge Bidwell’s investigation going?”

“It’s challenging. There are too damn many ex-cons to track down and establish timelines for.” The sergeant gestured at the construction bin. “Do you need help with this one? Snyder said he had the flu and may not come in tomorrow either.”

“Not yet. I’m heading out to locate her residence and hopefully a family member. They may know who did it, especially if domestic violence was involved.”

“The team is meeting tomorrow at three.”

They would be on second shift for a few more days. “I’ll be there.”

“Carry on.” Murphy nodded and walked back to his car.

A medical examiner’s van rolled down the street. Jocelyn waited for the assistant ME to climb out, then introduced herself. “Will you let me know when the autopsy is scheduled? I’d like to be there if I can.”

“Sure, but it could be a few days. We’re still processing the Franklin family murder-suicide, and we had a couple from a nursing home come in this morning. Likely suicide, but we don’t know.”

How sad. It reminded her to visit her mother soon. That had been the first blow in her string of negative changes—moving her mom to a nursing home. “Just let me know, or get me the report as soon as you can.” But at least no one she loved had died. That had become the measure by which she evaluated everything. Jocelyn climbed back in her sedan, glanced at the address she’d noted, and headed across town to tell a family they had not been as fortunate.

Sunday, Oct. 5, 2:40 p.m.

Luke cycled toward home, the afternoon air warm on his skin. After so much time locked up, being outside and free to ride was such a pleasure. Feeling pumped, he slowed and coasted down the gravel lane. They’d been lucky to land this place and rent it for the cost of the mortgage payment. The owner was the mother of a mentally ill man he’d befriended in prison. She had reached out to him after Charlie died, and they’d stayed in touch. When Hana heard he needed a place for an activist group to lay low, she’d offered the house because she was moving back to Japan—and because she’d lost her son to prison-guard brutality and wanted the inner circle to succeed.

Charlie’s death lay heavy on his heart and made him think about another friend he’d lost recently. Robert, an ex-con who’d made a comeback and eventually run his own restaurant, was one of the only people Luke had loved after losing his mother. Robert had given Luke a job and a place to stay when he was at his lowest point and struggling just to survive. Being released from prison wasn’t the same as being free. He’d had to report to a parole officer regularly for the first year and pay the monthly bill for his incarceration—while working for minimum wage. If not for the generosity of people like Charlie’s mother and their anonymous donor, that debt would have hung over him for life, maybe even sent him back to prison if he’d failed to pay.

Luke climbed off his bike and tried to shake off the sudden blues. Feeling sad about the people he’d lost tended to derail his focus and drive. He’d long ago stopped feeling sorry for himself when he’d dedicated his life to changing the system that ruined so many lives—many of them decent people who just liked to get high. He parked his bike in the large toolshed and walked back to the house, his thoughts turning to Tara. Her energy and humor were just what the inner circle needed. Abby seemed a little burnt-out and edgy, and Cree was a rich kid who’d never been incarcerated and could go back to his old life at any moment. And Aaron only had a few more months to live. They needed someone solid, with fresh ideas and staying power.

He opened the door, saw Tara standing in the kitchen, and smiled. She was sweet to look at too. Classic beauty, with perfectly spaced pool-blue eyes, high defined cheekbones, and generous lips that begged to be kissed. He’d been mesmerized the first time he met her at the synchronized skydive and had been thrilled when she’d asked to join their after-adventure celebration. Cree and Abby had been charmed by her too, especially when Tara sympathized with their cause. Now she was here, in the inner circle, and Luke felt like all the shit that had happened to him had led to this point, to bring this incredible woman into his life.

“Hey, Tara. I hope you’re cooking, because I’m hungry.”

“You’re in luck. Breakfast is the one meal I never screw up.”

Luke kicked off his biking shoes and downed a glass of water. He could feel Tara watching him. They had to be careful to hide their sexual chemistry until Abby had adjusted—or left the group, which he almost expected her to do. That would be too bad. Luke grabbed a kitchen towel and playfully snapped it toward Tara. “I’ll be back after I shower.”

Abby walked into the kitchen. “Has anyone seen Treck? I think he’s been missing since last night.”

Luke realized the dog hadn’t been underfoot in the kitchen as usual. “I haven’t. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

Abby gave him a blistering look as he passed her on the way out. Luke made up his mind. He would break off with her today. The inner circle’s goals were too important to compromise with in-fighting. Their next few missions were riskier than anything they’d done so far, and they needed to be a cohesive team. After those outings, they would probably back off for a while. They might eventually move to another part of the country to start up again. There were politicians everywhere to target, but those with the worst views on justice were concentrated in the south.

Still, even from their current home base, they had conducted email campaigns with governors in several states, bombarding them with case histories of ruined lives and hacking into state websites to upload their own messages. They’d also uploaded and published lists of people who’d been declared innocent and released after years of incarceration. By scattering their efforts, they’d hoped to stay off the radar of the feds. But after the fundraiser sabotage they’d just conducted, the bureau was probably looking for them. The FBI had likely been monitoring JRN all along, and was now taking a closer look. Luke had stepped back from his role in the larger group years ago, frustrated by their lack of progress. He’d planned, recruited, and waited for a year after disappearing off their website, so he wouldn’t be a suspect when the inner circle launched its direct assaults. The main goal was to ignite so much national discussion that voters would start to care about the issue, which meant politicians had to be responsive. JRN was making progress—such as finally getting marijuana reclassification to come up for a vote—but no one expected it to pass. And people quickly forgot news stories about legislation, because they had no faith in it anymore. It was time for another direct assault.

After breakfast, Luke took his laptop and some lined paper out to the porch. Being outside stimulated his thoughts and the words flowed better. But this post was easy, just a call to action in major cities across the country. Bringing out protestors was more than just a media-grabbing ploy. It also distracted police forces and kept the FBI focused on the people in the street. Meanwhile, they would hijack another fundraiser, then target Senator Pearlman later in the week. Luke wrapped up his blog quickly and uploaded it to their shared files. He messaged Aaron to have him route the blog through various proxy computers until it reached Jason DeSpain, the director of JRN. Luke never contacted Jason directly. They were friends, but he would never compromise the legal political movement by bringing law enforcement attention to Jason.

He reached for a piece of paper. The next letter was harder to write:
Dear Son. I hope you had a wonderful summer. I wish we could have gone camping together or just hung out at the public pool.

Things he’d never done with his father.

I know you’re back in school now, and I want you to study hard. Do the math, even if you hate it. Please say hello to your Mom for me. I think about both of you every day. Someday, I hope you’ll make the choice to see me and we’ll make up for lost time. Love, Dad

He kissed the letter, folded it into an envelope, and addressed it, using a post office box for a return location. The kiss was for luck because he didn’t know if Harlan received any of his letters. His mother might have moved again. She might not ever give them to the boy. He hadn’t seen Molly since that day he’d walked into court and given up his life. Luke had learned he had a son after his release when he’d run into an old high school friend. Yet another loss. For himself and the boy. He would mail the letter the next time he went into town. They didn’t send or receive any mail at this address, and he didn’t put his name on paperwork anywhere. The utility bill was still in Hana’s name, paid automatically from a holding account. Luke had considered an alias, but it would have made him feel like a criminal and a fugitive from justice. He wasn’t either of those things. Never had been. He knew there was some risk in contacting the boy, but he and his mother were in another state now, and Molly probably tossed the letters as soon as she received them. As far as he knew, the feds weren’t looking for him…yet.

Back in the house, he went to find Abby. She was in the dining room, hemming a skirt. The sewing machine had been in a closet when they moved in, and Abby had taught herself to use it out of boredom. She was a city girl at heart. He walked over and waited while she finished an edge.

She looked up. “Hey, Luke. Did you send the blog to rally protestors?”

“Yes. It should be up by this evening, and the first protest will happen Tuesday afternoon.”

“I think we should take advantage of it.”

“We will.” He sat down, so he wasn’t towering over her. “Can we go somewhere and talk privately?”

Abby blinked and her face tightened. “Should I be worried?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then let’s talk here. Everyone is in their own rooms. Except Tara. I think she’s out wandering around.”

Luke lowered his voice. “We should stop hooking up. We said from the beginning we didn’t want to be a couple, and we can’t let that dynamic hurt the group.”

Abby’s eyes blazed. “This is about Tara. You want to fuck her.”

This would be challenging. He hated to lie, but he didn’t want to hurt her either. “It’s about keeping us all on the same footing and keeping the personal drama to a minimum.”

“What drama?”

“I sense you’re a little hostile to Tara, and it’s because of me. So we should step back from each other. You and Tara need to be able to work together.”

“You want her,” Abby accused. “I think it’s why you brought her in.”

“We all brought her in. She has the right skills and commitment.” Luke kept his voice low and calm. He needed Abby to be okay with this. “You know we needed another person, so I can hang back, then post bail or continue the work if everyone goes to jail.”
Or was he just afraid of going back to prison
? Another stab of guilt. But keeping him out of the field had been Abby’s idea and everyone had agreed.

She was silent, her eyes crushed, yet calculating. “If you hook up with Tara, I’ll have to leave. I know we said we wouldn’t get serious, but I’m not into sharing.”

“I can’t do this without you, Abby.”

“Then make up your mind.”

The back door banged opened, footsteps came up the hall, and Tara stepped into the dining room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have some bad news.”

Luke looked up, worried.

“Treck is dead. I saw him behind the old barn out there.” Tara gave Abby a concerned glance. “He looked like he’d been sick. You know, like he ate something he shouldn’t have.”

Abby let out a cry and rushed toward the back door. Luke reluctantly followed, worried about how Abby would handle the dog’s death on top of everything else. He wished he’d made the break from her weeks ago like he’d planned. Or had never started up with her. But a man could only be alone for so long.

Sunday, Oct. 5, 9:35 p.m.

When the movie was over, Dallas glanced at Luke. The whole group had watched the comedy
Sex Tape
, and now she needed physical contact. Head-banging monkey-sex would be great too, but not likely. Luke had just broken up with Abby, and they needed to keep everything cool for a while. Luke headed for the door. Cree asked her to play chess, but she said she needed a rain check. Dallas stood and stretched, waiting to see what Abby would do. The other woman finally went to her room, still depressed about her dog’s death. Luke had buried Treck for her, but Abby had glared at Dallas all evening, as if she’d had something to do with it. They were all a little paranoid.

Dallas heard Drager’s voice in her head, nagging her to find out Luke’s attitude toward the judge—as in whether he killed him—and to ask about their source of funding. She hadn’t had an opportunity yet, but it was time. She stopped in the kitchen for a couple of beers and what was left of the tequila, then stepped outside.

“Hey, Tara.” Luke called softly from the ratty couch on the wraparound porch.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure. But I’m in a strange headspace tonight.”

She sat next to him on the couch and handed him a beer. “Strange how?” The evening was cooler now, but still pleasant, and the air smelled of ion and sweet clover.

“Mostly sad. I keep thinking about the people I’ve lost. And now I’m hurting Abby by breaking it off with her.”

Dallas focused on his losses, which might get him to open up. “You mean a parent?” Her best guess.

“My mother. Yes, she was the first. Stabbed by a thug who wanted her purse.” Luke turned so she could see his face. “You know where she was at the time? Outside the public defenders’ office. She’d gone there to beg someone to appeal my conviction.”