by Misty Evans
They weren’t just a taskforce, they were family.
Cooper kicked back in his chair and eyed Joe. “I’m actually surprised you came.”
Joe hadn’t expected Cooper’s candor. “I am, too,” he replied. “I assume this is more than a friendly get-together.”
Bobby dug into a leather case hanging on his wheelchair, producing two sets of documents. He pushed one across the table to Joe.
“The first rule of engagement,” Cooper said, “is that everything discussed at the table goes no farther until I’m sure we have all our ducks in a row. Agreed?”
Everyone nodded, then looked at Joe. He wasn’t sure what they were going to discuss, but he did the same as if he understood where the conversation was going. They were getting down to business, and apparently, he was in the spotlight.
“What’s this?” he asked of the papers in front of him.
Bobby motioned at Thomas to give him a cookie. Thomas put one on a napkin and slid it over to him. “Rosenthal’s former boss, Alison Kendrick, ran that analysis on Rosenthal before the Aztec bombing using Kyle Dunmire’s software. That is an original, and it shows Rosenthal was less than two percent likely to commit a terrorist act. There doesn’t seem to be any order from higher up the chain for that report to be run. Kendrick ordered it.”
Joe shrugged. “When I spoke to Kyle, he mentioned that the software was often used to analyze agents, especially those in the field, as well as potential terrorists.” He glanced around. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve run this on all of you. According to the kid, it was something they were looking into, like doing background checks. It’s part of a preemptive strategy the FBI and Homeland have implemented, even though they can’t use it to discriminate against you.”
Glances were exchanged. Dyer tapped the second report still in front of him. “The interesting thing is that Kendrick put together a report after the Aztec bombing, and in it was the analysis about Rosenthal. This one, however, states Rosenthal was fifty-two percent likely to commit a terrorist act.”
Bobby slid the report to Joe.
“That bitch,” Sam said in his ear. “She is behind this, but how?”
Joe looked at the two reports, noting the highlighted areas showing the differences. “So you’re suggesting it was tampered with?”
“Obviously,” Ronni said. “But by whom? Kendrick is the clear winner if we only look at this piece of the puzzle, but she doesn’t fit with some of the other things we know.”
The wheels in Joe’s head spun. “Excuse me for asking, but what does this have to do with me bringing Sam in?”
Cooper sat forward and played with his cookie. He still hadn’t taken a bite yet. “Stay with us, here. I promise, we have a reason for the interrogation.”
“We know about the background between you and Samantha,” Thomas said. “We also know what happened with her and Kendrick.”
Ronni sipped her coffee. “I have it on good authority that Agent Rosenthal was stirring the pot about a variety of things, one being a wave of apparently random bombings throughout California that seem to have no distinct connection.”
Joe glanced at the head of the group. “Cooper and I discussed it last night. The only tie I can come up with is patriotism. Law enforcement, military,”—he ticked them off on his fingers—“veterans, first responders. They keep the law, fight for our country, help those in need. They’re always strong targets for terrorists, whether homegrown or foreign.”
That earned him several nods.
Bobby broke his cookie in two and dunked half in his coffee before taking a bite. “Let’s assume Kendrick tampered with the report. We still don’t understand why, and we’re hoping you can give us some ideas. Was she trying to cover her butt since Sam had reported suspicions about the Aztec bomber before it happened and Kendrick didn’t take it seriously? Or in order to throw suspicion on Samantha?”
“Suspicion that she was behind the Aztec bombing?” Joe shook his head. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
Ronni turned her hands palms up. “Why else would Kendrick try to make Agent Rosenthal look like a terrorist? Was she undermining Rosenthal’s expertise to give her a reason to ignore that report? Or was it something deeper?”
Joe needed to watch his words carefully. He owed no loyalty to Alison, but he also had no proof she’d set Sam up.
Plus, he was on the verge of defending Sam and blowing the idea he didn’t care about her. If he slipped and let the taskforce know he still loved their most-wanted, he’d be yanked off this case before he could blink. “I knew Alison for a brief time, and we didn’t get along, so I can’t tell you how her mind works. I can make assumptions, but that doesn’t provide evidence, and that’s what we need to confirm these theories.”
Another exchange of looks. They wanted to trust him, and they respected the fact he wasn’t bad mouthing his former boss, but they knew he was holding back.
Cooper met his gaze head on. “We’re doing what we do best—brainstorming. If we have a chance in hell of figuring out where Samantha Rosenthal is, and if she’s guilty of the Independence Day bombing, we have to go down a whole lot of theoretical roads. Like I said, what’s discussed here, stays here. Anything you say remains between us. I’m not looking for proof or evidence right now. What I need are ideas and possibilities, no matter how crazy, and we can’t come up with those, unless we understand exactly who we’re dealing with.”
Bobby finished his cookie and brushed crumbs from his hands. “I tried tracing Rosenthal and Kendrick to the other bombers and found no obvious connections, other than Rosenthal’s report. But, there were two interesting things that did come up. All of the agents assigned to investigate the bombings, at some point, had worked with or under Kendrick. The other thing they all have in common is Kyle Dunmire. I don’t suppose he told you who he reported to on a weekly basis?”
“No, but I have the feeling you’re going to tell me it was Alison.”
Bobby pointed a finger at Joe to let him know he was correct. “Up until she was fired, Kendrick was Kyle’s direct contact. He didn’t know her by name, from what I’ve gathered, only submitted the analysis reports directly to a special inbox that she controlled.”
“Why her?” Joe asked.
“She had a coding background and understood the program. Two years ago, she was on the committee that oversees the Quiet Streets project, because she had the history of building databases and coding software.”
Joe heard Sam make a noise, suggesting this revelation made total sense to her. “So you believe there’s a link between Kyle, Alison, and Sam, beyond the fact she was Sam’s boss, and Kyle’s to a certain extent?”
Ronni did a half-eye roll and snorted. “You can quit playing dumb, Joe. Who do you think killed Kyle?”
He sat back and blew out a deep breath. Playing dumb had never worked for him. “It’s not Alison. I almost wish it was, but according to the handful of facts I’ve discovered, there could be a mystery woman, who doesn’t match Alison’s description, and may be responsible.”
They all looked pleased he’d finally divulged one of his secrets. “Any idea who this woman is?” Cooper asked.
Joe shook his head, hearing Sam in his ear, giving him the riot act for sharing the information. “No, but I intend to find out.”
He checked his watch, and stood. “I’m on my way to meet someone I believe could be important to this case. Thank you for dinner,” he said to Celina. “I’ll check in tomorrow if I find out anything.”
He glanced at Bobby. “Keep digging. You’re on the right trail.”
And with that cryptic mic drop, he let himself out.
18
The parking lot of the sports bar was gravel, an assortment of vehicles casting long shadows here and there under the sparse solar lights.
Heat lightning flashed to the west, a storm rolling in off the ocean. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees and Sam was grateful. The couple hours in the
car at Harris’ had nearly killed her, the sun still up, and very little air moving.
Joe cruised the parking lot and Sam pointed to where a narrow access drive lead to the back. “There,” she said. “Let’s make sure we find a spot where your car is out of sight but I can still see the front entrance.”
The headlights illuminated the side of the building as they drove to the back. Here, it was darker, the single light above the rear exit throwing a sickly glow on a beat-up dumpster and a black pickup that had seen better days.
The truck probably belonged to the owner. Two cars sat hidden in the shadows, and Sam assumed these belonged to staff members.
Joe found a spot off to the side in the sand under a scraggly tree that was perfect. She could see the front lot with ease and most of the entrance. If she leaned far enough to the right, she could still see the rear of the place as well.
“Don’t let her touch you or give you anything,” she told him.
He checked his reflection in the mirror, then looked down his shirt to the hidden wire. “Are you jealous, Rosenthal?”
She didn’t want him anywhere near Alison, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. “GPS sensors can be small enough to stick on a business card or slip into a pocket. Trust me, she’s devious enough to use one to track you.”
He leaned across the seat to kiss her. “I promise I won’t let her get within a foot of me.”
That made her inordinately happy. “Fair warning…if you flirt to try to get information out of her, I’ll probably lose my shit.”
He grinned. “Thanks for the heads up. I may have to lead her on a bit to get her to open up, but I promise no overt flirting.”
Alison had to be behind the setup, Sam was sure of it, and Joe was probably the only person who could get her to lower her guard, if he could convince her he was hunting Sam.
She kissed him back and watched as he took the keys from the ignition. “Could you leave them this time? That way I can run the air when I get hot.”
He stretched his long body out of the car and leaned down to look at her. “No dice.”
“Why not?” At the smile he gave her, understanding dawned. “You don’t trust me.”
“Only in so far as you might take off and try to fix this on your own. We’re a team now, and whatever happens, we do this together, every step of the way. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it. I’m not going to take off. I promise.”
That didn’t seem to appease him. He strolled away, pocketing the keys, and went to the front of the bar without a glance back.
As she watched him enter, she said a few expletives under her breath. “Just testing your wire,” she told him.
He chuckled, and she heard the muted sounds of the bar filtering into the microphone. The rise and fall of laughter and conversations, the clinking of plates and silverware. A hostess greeted Joe and asked if he was meeting someone. A moment later he must have been seated. “She’s not here yet. I’m in a booth on the east side.”
She pictured the layout of the interior and where he was. “Are you facing the entrance?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you see anyone suspicious? Anyone watching you?”
“Nope.” The waitress arrived, and Joe ordered a drink. After she left, he resumed filling Sam in. “It’s not that busy, so I should be able to keep an eye on everyone.”
They’d discussed their plan of action before arriving. Alison wasn’t one to work alone, and if she suspected Joe was pumping her for information, she’d have somebody in the bar already. Sam knew he was using his phone as a prop while he murmured things to her, in case anyone was watching. He would look like he was talking on it.
A sleek red convertible pulled in the front lot. “Here we go,” Sam said. “She’s still driving that Jaguar she had when she worked for the Bureau.”
“A zebra can’t change its stripes,” Joe said.
“More like a cougar.”
She parked away from the other vehicles, most likely to avoid getting any dings in her baby. She stepped out, adjusting her tight skirt and flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her gaze scanned the parking lot, and Sam slid low in the seat. She was certain Alison couldn’t see her inside Joe’s car, thanks to the shadows, but she wasn’t taking chances.
Alison reached for her purse, closed the door and locked it. One more scan before she stalked across the gravel. Sam envied the way she kept her balance on three-inch heels, and hated her a little more for always being so put together and stylish.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the sky, making Sam jump. “Show time,” she said.
Once inside, Alison found and greeted Joe and the two of them discussed frivolous things like the heat. The waitress returned with Joe’s drink and Alison’s order.
Sam climbed into the backseat, gritting her teeth at the sound of the woman’s voice, and the meaningless chit chat. If they didn’t get to business soon, she was going to pull her hair out.
Needing a distraction, she raised the cushion.
Joe was another zebra who couldn’t change his stripes. He always had this hidden spot in his car to carry his tools of the trade. Bottled water, food, stun guns, handcuffs, and weapons were stashed inside.
The headlights of cars pulling in and leaving flashed around, mixing with the lightning as she inventoried the contents.
Shoving the jerky strips away, she grabbed two protein bars, some hollow points, a flak vest, and hand sanitizer. She felt like she needed to dump it all over her, listening to Alison’s purring voice as she asked questions of Joe concerning his new job as a bounty hunter. "It must be so exciting,” she crooned.
Sam held an imaginary gun to her head and set it off, rolling her eyes at the same time.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she considered this new relationship with Joe. She’d fallen for him all over again. Not that she’d ever gotten over him to begin with, but this felt different.
The teasing was the same, the competition, too. Maybe because this time she had no one else to lean on, and no matter how independent she thought she was, she needed him.
She liked Tasers, so she took the one hidden in the box, along with a GPS tracker. Inventory complete, she opened a protein bar and went back to watching the lot.
Aggravation at Alison burned through her, making her contemplate putting it on the woman’s car. If Alison didn’t give up anything tonight—and Sam sincerely doubted she would—at least they could track her movements, and figure out if there was any possibility she was indeed part of this.
An older model Buick wheeled in up front. Slowly, it drove among the parked cars and made its way toward the side. Headlights flashed into the interior of Joe’s vehicle.
Sam ducked, heart racing, and stayed hidden until she heard the crunch of gravel as the Buick pulled into the rear lot. It was probably a second-shift staff member, or maybe a couple looking for a private place to make out.
The car circled the lot and came back around, passing Joe’s Beemer once more. When the sound of the wheels grew faint, Sam popped her head up and saw it make its way to a spot far from the bar entrance.
It appeared there was a couple in the front seat. No one got out for several long moments, and Sam went back to finishing the protein bar. She dug a soda from the cooler and popped the lid. As she drank, she saw a woman emerge from the passenger side.
Recognition hit and she nearly dropped the soda.
It was Kyle’s neighbor.
The gal briefly scanned the lot and started across it, heading in Sam’s direction. “Shit.”
Joe paused in what he was saying to Alison. He couldn’t exactly reply without giving away the fact they were in communication, and she rushed to explain. “No worries. It’s just Kyle’s neighbor. That girl I spoke to the other night. She must’ve seen your car and recognized it. She’s headed this way.”
She knew he was mentally asking why. “She’s got a flashlight…aww, hell, she’s probably figured out who I
am and thinks she can find me and get the bounty money.”
Sam stuck the open soda in a cup holder and quickly crawled inside Joe’s supply box, pulling the seat back in place, but leaving a slight crack so she could see out. The compartment was too small with all the stuff Joe had in it, but there was no other hiding place except the trunk, and no time to get in there.
Kyle’s neighbor had a Bluetooth in her ear and used the flashlight to scan the interior. Sam saw her walk toward the back, as she circled the rear, sending a beam into the backseat, then the front. The girl leaned down and looked under the car.
When she straightened, she shone the light into the nearby palms, and over the dumpster.
“Samantha?” she called. “Hey, if you’re out here, I just want you to know, I don’t mean any harm. My uncle wants to talk to you. And, by the way, I’m unarmed.”
Sam could only see her back as the gal leaned on the hood. She saw her raise her hands in the air, in case Sam was watching.
Who the hell was her uncle? And why did he want to talk to her?
The girl sat there for a good five minutes, and in her ear, Sam heard Joe excuse himself from the table to use the restroom. To her, he said, “What the hell is going on?”
She kept her voice a whisper. “Nothing. Stay with Alison. I can handle this.”
The girl bent at the front and didn’t reappear for a long moment. What was she doing?
Sam heard a thunk—a magnetic sound. Was she putting a tracker on Joe’s vehicle?
When she rose, she said into the Bluetooth, “No sign of her.” There was a pause. “Of course, I checked underneath. I know how to do my job.”
What the…?
“I’m going in. She could be there in disguise. Besides I’m hungry. You want anything?”
She walked away and disappeared into the bar.
Joe was chattering in her ear again, telling her he was coming out.
“She’s in there with you,” Sam told him. “She’s definitely looking for me, but I don’t know why. She said something about her uncle wanting to talk to me. Maybe you should accidentally run into her and ask some questions about why she’s here.”