The Wolf Code Forever (The Wolf Code Trilogy Book 3)

by Angela Foxxe

  She stood and pushed her chair under her desk. Quickly, she jotted down a little note on a sticky pad, directing anyone who happened by her desk to see Agent Patterson if they needed anything. She grabbed her jacket and put it on over her holster, opting to take her gun with her. Like everyone else in the office, she had a gun safe at home that only opened with her fingerprint. Agent Patterson hadn’t mentioned the gun, and Senora saw no reason to leave her weapons behind. She was taking a vacation, not resigning, although she felt like this was bigger than that. It felt so-

  You’re being melodramatic, she chided herself. It was a vacation, not the end of the world. She would take her two weeks, and she would come back refreshed. That was all there was to it, and all this brooding over how permanent the move felt was ridiculous.

  She obviously needed a vacation if she felt like two weeks was going to be career-ending. Maybe J was right and she was obsessed. Just a little.

  She laughed as she shook her head, walking out of the office and smiling at the few agents that were still left so late at night.

  It was quiet when she went into the parking garage, but she wasn’t spooked. There were times she’d been the only person left aside from the janitor, and she’d found a strange sort of comfort in the silence. Tonight was no different.

  She got into her car, sighing when she sat in the seat that curved every inch of her body. Her car still smelled new, and she still stared at the emblem on the steering wheel every time she got into the Audi A5 Prestige. Someday, the newness would wear off. But until then, she felt a tingle of excitement every time she got into the little sports car and turned over the powerful engine.

  She was careful to pull out of the lot slowly, only gunning the engine when she hit the dark road that led out of town and toward her quiet, little two-story home well outside the city. Her thirty-minute commute was worth the quiet, and since her office was already close to the edge of D.C., there wasn’t much traffic going into work.

  Her mind wandered as she drove, and before she knew it, she was turning down the alley and pulling into her driveway. She backed into the garage like she always did, ready for a quick escape if it came to that. The front of her house featured a driveway that was for visitors, and only the residents knew that the alley led to garages neatly tucked away from the street. The first floor had only a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen. The garage was behind the kitchen and took up a portion of the first floor. The two bedrooms, office, laundry room and two and a half bathrooms were all upstairs. The overall effect made it impossible to imagine that there would be a garage in the back of the house, which was exactly how Senora liked it.

  Call her paranoid, but a quick escape was a high priority in her line of work, and the house suited her perfectly.

  She stumbled through the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water on her way by the fridge, then trudged up the stairs, put her jacket on the chair by the closet and locked her guns up in their safes. Too exhausted to do anything else, she kicked off her shoes and fell into bed. It was only eight o’clock, so she didn’t bother setting her alarm. She woke up like clockwork at five every morning most of her life. She didn’t need the alarm. She was asleep before she finished planning out her morning, and her last thought before she succumbed to the darkness was how nice it was going to be to take a leisurely shower in the morning and not worry about getting to the office by seven. She was going to enjoy this vacation. Even if she had to fake it until she really felt that way.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Senora woke up early the next morning, bright-eyed and ready to get the meeting with Jessica Baker over with. For the first time since the word “vacation” had been brought up, she was feeling happy about her pending freedom, and she wondered why she’d been so hesitant to take some time off. She had a bounce in her step and a song on her lips when she exited the shower and dressed quickly. Hurrying to the car, she grabbed the suit jacket that was specially tailored to hide her gun and started to pull it on.

  The pocket clunked against her ribs, and she groaned.

  The phone.

  She’d forgotten to leave it in the office. Agent Patterson was going to have a coronary when she found out that Senora hadn’t left her phone behind.

  I hadn’t been intentional, but after so many years, it had become a force of habit so strong that she didn’t even remember putting it into her pocket the night before. She would take it to check on Mrs. Baker, but when she came home, she would make it a point to leave it in her house. She had her own phone. Not that she ever used it, but it was there in her house. If Agent Patterson noticed, she would call only to find the FBI phone turned off and her call going straight to voicemail. Hopefully, that would be enough.

  She grabbed the folder with the mugshots in it and tucked it under her arm. It was nearly eight in the morning, and she had almost an hour to drive to get to the swanky suburb where the Bakers lived. Edmonton Falls was only a few years old and not yet on anyone’s radar, but the pricey houses in the carefully planned subdivision made it the place to be for the D.C. elites that preferred living outside the hustle and bustle of the city. It had everything the up and coming couple of means could want in a neighborhood: large houses and yards to match, four-car garages and sprawling floorplans so overwhelming that ninety percent of the families had a live-in maid and smooth concrete walkways that wended their way through the lush foliage that lined the grassy areas and made Edmonton Falls feel like a world all its own.

  It was on one of those concrete walkways that Jessica Baker had run into her kidnapper while taking her daily jog. The safe, insulated community had turned out to be just as dangerous as any other place, and Mrs. Baker’s disappearance had left many of the residents calling for the community to be gated so that something like what happened to Jessica Baker could never happen again. If they knew what Senora knew, there wouldn’t be a gate high enough to make them feel safe.

  Human traffickers rarely kidnapped strangers. They spent weeks, sometimes months, gaining the trust of their victims before luring them somewhere else to be picked up by collection crews. The kidnapping of Jessica Baker wasn’t anything like the trafficking that Senora usually saw, but the groups that worked quietly throughout the country changed their MO all the time. The addition of a kind woman looking for a beloved grandchild was new, despite Senora assuring Mrs. Baker that it was a ruse that had been fallen for time and again. Senora hoped that information would be shared with the press so that more women could be saved before they were even taken, but there was no telling what the press liaison would divulge. Preventing more kidnappings was important, but catching the players would end the problem much quicker.

  Besides, Senora thought. If the players are still out there, they’ll just change the rules of the game and keep going.

  It was a rough spot to be in, and Senora didn’t envy the agent forced to make that call. She’d rather be doing what she did than stepping in front of the cameras and saying all the right words, then answering the questions in just the right way.

  It was no wonder that dealing with the press led to high turnover.

  The GPS indicated that she should exit the highway, pulling her out of her thoughts. She was surprised to see that she was only a few blocks away from the entrance to Edmonton Falls. With almost no traffic, the drive had been faster than she’d imagined. According to her GPS, she would be pulling into the Baker’s driveway at a quarter to nine. She followed the last of the directions, then she pulled up in front of the neat little house and turned off the engine.

  The door opened as she was raising her hand to knock, and Mr. Baker appeared in front of her, his face sleepy though he was dressed like he was ready for work.

  “I thought we were done with this right now,” he said, gently shooing away the little one that appeared beside his leg and attempted to stick her tiny face in the space to look out. “I was just about to take my daughter to daycare, and I don’t have time for this.”

  Senora gave him
her most placating smile and gestured with the binder she held in her hands.

  “I’m not here to see you. I have some pictures for Jessica to look at, and then I’ll be done. Can I ask why Jessica isn’t watching the baby?”

  “Jessica is still struggling,” Mr. Baker said. “It was apparent by dinner time that she wasn’t going to be able to just step into her old routine. I took her to her sister’s house, and the two of them left for a retreat. Jessica will be home next week, and then she’ll start therapy and hopefully, we can put this all behind us.”

  “That was an awfully quick decision,” Senora said, troubled by Jessica’s absence and trying to put her finger on why.

  Something was tugging at her subconscious, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “Look, I know you’re trying to help, but here’s the thing: Jessica is destroyed by this. I tried to hug her last night, and she had a complete meltdown. She is unhinged and unstable right now.”

  “Do you blame her? She’s been through hell.”

  “I don’t blame her. But between all our neighbors trying to get a look and not knowing if she’s going to hurt herself or little Evie, our home is not a safe place for her right now.”

  He looked frazzled, bending down to pick up the toddler and hold her on his hip.

  “I hate to be rude,” he said as he stepped back and started closing the door. “But my family has been through enough, and I can’t risk losing my job too. I’ll have her call you when I talk to her tonight.”

  “I’ll call her myself,” Senora said, watching Mr. Baker’s face and noting that he looked surprised.

  He recovered quickly.

  “They don’t have their phones during the day. It’s part of the retreat. You can call her if you want, but she won’t have access to her phone until this evening. I’d rather prepare her for your call if it’s all the same to you. She was blindsided yesterday when she was transported to the FBI office instead of home once the EMTs cleared her. I think she deserves to have a little more say in her own life after what she’s been through, and so do I.”

  Before Senora could respond, Mr. Baker closed the door and locked the deadbolt. Senora took her time walking to the car, hoping to catch Mr. Baker leaving for work as he’d said. By the time she was unlocking her car door, the door to the Baker’s garage was opening and Mr. Baker was leaving the garage in a limited addition Escalade that she was willing to bet was Jessica’s vehicle. He waved curtly as he drove by, and Senora raised a hand to return the wave, but she was actually focused on the SUV’s license plates.

  The garage door closed, and Senora started to pull away from the curb as she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number.

  “You’ve reached the Oracle of Timely Wisdom,” a perky voice said. “Speak to me.”

  “Betty, it’s Senora. I need a favor.”

  “Senora,” Betty whispered, suddenly serious. “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

  “I am,” Senora lied. “Well, sort of. I was supposed to take photos to a victim for a lineup and they’re not there. Can you hack into the GPS unit of a vehicle with just the plates?”

  “Of course, I can,” Betty said, her bouncy, carefree attitude back. “Where should I send the map?”

  “My personal cell. I’m not supposed to have this one, and I’m going to leave it at my house so Agent Patterson doesn’t know what I’m doing.”

  “You could do that,” Betty said. “Or, and hear me out, you can follow orders and take a vacation. Sweetie, you’ve earned it.”

  “I am taking a vacation. But my only witness is on a retreat according to her husband, and you know how important it is to get them to ID a perp while their memory is fresh.”

  “Touché. Give me the info, and I’ll get what you need.”

  Senora rattled off the numbers and the names of the registered owners, listening as Betty’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

  “I’ll send the GPS log over in a few. Mother Hen is about to go on her lunch break, and I don’t want her to come in here and see me doing anything that could be remotely tied to you. You know what a crappy liar I am. I fold under pressure. That’s why they have me in my own little cave.”

  “I know,” Senora laughed. “Thanks, Betty.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Betty said. “I’m serious. This never happened.”

  The phone went dead in her ear, and she smiled. Betty was something else. Five foot nothing with dark purple hair that was almost black, she wasn’t what most people thought of when they envisioned the FBI IT Specialist. She danced to her own rhythm and didn’t dress according to the code. Anyone else would have been fired by now, but Betty Carver was the best at what she did, and she could dye her hair bright green and no one would bat an eye. She was amazing, and she was one of Senora’s closest friends.

  She was the only one that knew about Ty, and Senora trusted that Betty would take that information to her grave. Betty was more than just a friend; she was like the sister that Senora never-

  She snapped back to the moment, slamming her fist down on the steering wheel and cursing.

  That’s what had been bothering her. Jessica’s only sister was dead. Jessica had told Senora that just the day before. That’s what was pushing at her brain, trying to get in. Senora had been so taken aback by Mr. Baker’s behavior that she hadn’t realized right away what he’d said.

  She looked at the clock, calculating the time it would take her to get home. Thirty minutes. With any luck, the GPS info would be on her phone, and she could figure out where Mr. Baker had actually taken his wife. She didn’t have enough to justify calling Agent Patterson and demanding that he be followed, but the GPS log should shed some light on where he’d been. Even if he’d dropped Jessica Baker off at a mental health facility or taken her to stay with family, he’d lied to Senora, and she needed to know why. People with nothing to hide didn’t lie.

  But she was worried about Evie, and she hoped that Mr. Baker was just ashamed to admit that he’d taken his wife to an inpatient facility. Maybe she’d threatened to hurt herself. If she had, then Mr. Baker would be justified in taking her for help. But why would he lie about that?

  Senora knew the answer. The wealthy rarely admitted to weakness, and Mrs. Baker had come home a broken woman. Rather than admit that she needed help and that she was taken care of, a man like Mr. Baker would rather call it a retreat than treatment. “Retreat” was a common euphemism amongst the wealthy when family members and friends had to seek treatment for addiction and other human issues that the elite considered unsavory. Everyone in the neighborhood might be anxious to see Jessica Baker, but Senora didn’t doubt that they were most anxious to see how the mighty had fallen. If the jackals had descended upon the Baker household looking for juicy gossip, could she really blame Mr. Baker for sending her away until she was better?

  She didn’t want to admit it, but she still judged him for it. Some would call her a romantic, but she believed for better or for worse meant something. The Bakers were going through the worst right now, and something about Mr. Baker hiding her away during a time like this felt wrong to Senora.

  Ty would never do that, she thought, then stopped herself. She didn’t know that. No one knew what they would do until they were faced with reality. If Mrs. Baker was a threat to herself and Evie, what father wouldn’t send her away to protect his child?

  Senora was torn. She wanted to think poorly of Mr. Baker, but the truth was that she didn’t know what had happened in the house. No one did. Since Senora could come up with almost as many acceptable reasons for Jessica to be sent away as negative ones, she knew that she should just wait until she had all the evidence before she judged. Yes, Mr. Baker had lied about Jessica’s sister taking her on a retreat, but he had no way of knowing that Jessica had shared her sister’s death with Senora. People had made up more ridiculous lies than Mr. Baker had, and those people had turned out to be innocent.

  “Maybe you do need a break,” she mut
tered, taking the exit to her house on autopilot. “You’re seeing evil in everyone, including victims.”

  Mrs. Baker might have been the one that had been kidnapped, but Mr. Baker had been subjected to suspicions, interrogations, and just the torture of knowing that his wife was out there somewhere, and he didn’t know where. Their child was too young to ask much, but Senora didn’t doubt that Evie had cried for her mother. Senora knew that had to be hard. And then Mommy had returned, only to leave again for her own sanity. It was enough to make an innocent man hostile when Senora showed up unannounced.

  She shook her head.

  Agent Patterson was right. Burnout. What an ugly word, but it was something that Senora was getting close to. She couldn’t be the hero she wanted to be if she was finding fault in the actions of the victims. They weren’t agents; nothing in their lives had prepared them for the turmoil and anguish that happens. Even when the victim was found alive, there was more to deal with long after the media had tired of covering the story and the victim’s name faded into a distant memory. There were therapists and doctors; victims often moved to avoid daily reminders of the neighborhoods and streets that they once found safe. There were name changes and drastic physical changes, marriages broken and families ripped apart.

  In the end, no one knew which families would survive and thrive going through something like this and which families would dissolve under the pressure. There was no magical formula to predict this, and even the Bakers had a chance of coming out of this stronger and more bonded than they were before. Only time would tell.

  Senora’s heart was heavy when she pulled into the garage and dragged herself into the kitchen. She checked her personal cellphone, found that the battery was dead and plugged it in. It hadn’t been that long since she’d spoken to Betty, and by the time the phone charged enough to turn it on, she should have the information she was waiting for.