Unauthorized Deception

by Lisa Ladew

  “It’s really amazing that Sara is going to help them,” Jen said. “She knows Mexico better than anyone else.”

  “Is she just going as a favor to you?” Ivy asked, not sure how the politics in the FBI worked.

  “Maybe, but probably she’s going because all she ever gets to do these days is desk work. She says it’s horribly boring and she looks forward to being out in the field. Plus she’s the only reason they got instant approval to go. She works directly for the President so she can get anything to happen quickly.”

  Ivy bit her lip, thinking how lucky she was. If she hadn’t known Jen, she’d probably still be sitting home tearing her hair out. “I didn’t know Sara worked with Craig and Hawk.”

  “She doesn’t usually. The only time they’ve worked together before this was when they flew out to the Middle East to save the Marine and the reporter who had been taken hostage.”

  Ivy nodded, remembering watching that on the news for weeks.

  Jen turned into the parking lot of Ivy’s apartment building. Ivy opened her door before the car had even stopped moving, anxious to get up to her apartment, although she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, even though her eyes ached with exhaustion. But maybe she could think. Maybe there was something else she could do for Ryker. So far, she still hadn’t heard from him. He didn’t even know that a team was heading out to save his family already.

  “You sure you don’t want me to come in?” Jen asked.

  “I’m sure. I just need to think. Maybe sleep. Maybe Ryker will call.”

  “OK, but you call me if you hear anything from him. And I’m going to tell Hunter what’s going on as soon as we hear that his mom and sister are OK.”

  Ivy looked at her, eyes wide. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. If I haven’t been able to tell Ryker yet, he might be dangerous if the police find him and Brandon.”

  Jen chewed on her lip. “I didn’t think of that. OK. I won’t tell him until you hear from Ryker. So call me right away when you do. Hunter’s gonna kill me though.”

  Ivy nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll call you. Promise.”

  Ivy stepped out and slammed the door, then ran around to give Jen a quick hug. She was so tired, the stairs to her apartment seemed like Mt. Everest. Staying up all night had been a lot easier when she was nineteen. Yeah, like you’re such an old lady now at 24, she thought, unlocking her apartment door.

  She crossed the room to her couch and dropped onto it, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She wanted desperately to call Ryker, but she also didn’t want to get him in trouble somehow. He could be anywhere, doing anything. She didn’t want to blow his cover. But she had to try. She pressed the button and listened to the phone on the other end ring a dozen times before she gave up.

  She closed her eyes. Please Ryker, be OK, she thought. Please call me. She tried to send the thought to him, knowing it was hopeless. Her phone sat dull and quiet on her chest.

  Ryker’s face swam in her mind, along with the images of his mom, Maria, and his sister, Roxy. She prayed they were OK, that they hadn’t been touched or scarred by the ordeal, and that Sara, Craig, and Hawk would rescue them quickly and easily. And thinking those things, she drifted off into a troubled sleep.

  One hour and twenty minutes later, her eyes flew open. Had she been sleeping? She grabbed her phone and saw she had. And no calls from Ryker. She slammed her feet onto the floor and sat up, scrubbing her face with her hands. She felt even worse after her little bit of sleep, if that was possible. But there was no way she was going back to sleep until Ryker knew his family was being taken care of. How could she get word to him?

  Dawn’s house. She should go to Dawn’s house. They’d ended up there last night. Maybe they would again tonight. But would that be weird? Would Dawn let her in?

  Marissa.

  Guilt flooded Ivy. Marissa had been arrested and Ivy hadn’t even checked to see if she was OK, or if she’d been bailed out yet. And now she was thinking of using Marissa to get back to Dawn’s house. Her throat grew thick, but she gritted her teeth against it and dialed Marissa’s number. No answer. Thinking hard, she used her computer to look up the number to the cell block. A bored-sounding man with a deep voice answered.

  “Could you tell me if Marissa Porter is there?”

  “Yeah, she’s here.”

  “How much is her bail?” Ivy crossed her fingers. She only had a couple of hundred dollars in her account. She was broke until her first payday from the police department. If that ever happens, she thought with a grimace.

  “One hundred,” the bored voice answer.

  Ivy almost whooped. “OK, I’ll be right down to bail her out.”

  “I’ll make a note of it,” the man said, and Ivy noted the thick sarcasm in his voice. Hate your job much? she thought viciously as she grabbed her purse and ran out the door.

  ***

  Ivy called a taxi cab and had it drop her off at Marissa’s house, then drove her own car to the cell block, stopping only once at an ATM. She paid Marissa’s bail in twenty dollar bills and waited breathlessly for Marissa to come out.

  Finally, Marissa was led into the waiting room by a security guard, given her belongings, and turned over to Ivy. Ivy hugged her. Or tried to. It was like hugging a board.

  “What the fuck, Ivy? It’s been like a day!”

  “Sorry Marissa,” Ivy thought furiously, not sure what to say to explain how long it had taken her to bail Marissa out. Her cheeks flushed with guilt at the lies that paraded through her thoughts. Finally she picked one. “I didn’t have a hundred dollars. I had to borrow some money.”

  Marissa watched her suspiciously. Ivy turned and pulled her out the door, not wanting Marissa to see her face. She hated to lie to Marissa.

  She pulled Marissa to her car. “Get in, I’ll drive you to Dawn’s.”

  “Dawn’s? I don’t want to go there. I want to go home. Get a fucking shower. Eat. Sleep.”

  Ivy’s mind raced. If Marissa wouldn’t go to Dawn’s, Ivy would still have to try to chance it. Or maybe she could just sit in front of Dawn’s house and watch for Ryker to show up. “Your car is at Dawn’s. We’ll get it. And I think I left my keys there.”

  Marissa pointed to the keys in Ivy’s ignition.

  “Uh, my other keys,” she said, and her cheeks heated again.

  Marissa grunted. Ivy stepped on the gas, wanting to get to Dawn’s before Marissa changed her mind.

  Fifteen minutes later, she parked on the street in front of the small house. She checked all the cars but didn’t see Ryker’s truck. She didn’t know what Brandon drove.

  Music blared out of the house again. “Fuck, she’s having another party. I don’t want to go in there,” Marissa said. “What if the cops come again?”

  “Yeah, OK.” Ivy said, disappointed. “There’s your car.”

  Marissa opened her door. “You gonna follow me to my house?”

  “I gotta get my keys first. Why don’t you head home? I’ll meet you there.”

  “OK, thanks, Ivy.”

  “Welcome.” Ivy watched her walk to her car and then got out and headed up the walkway.

  A female voice screamed in laughter from inside. Then it yelled, “Fuck the police! They don’t have the balls to come back here tonight!” Ivy recognized Dawn’s voice. She looked up and down the street, imagining cop cars skidding to a halt in front of the place. Marissa was smart not to come in. Dawn was just looking to get arrested again. And you too if you stick around, a voice in her head told her. And then they’ll kick you out of recruit class. Ivy shook her head. She knew that was still the least of her worries.

  She knocked on the door, but when no one answered she just pushed it open. The same scene as last time met her eyes, although there were only about half of the amount of people here this time. Ryker and Brandon were not in sight. Ivy crossed the living room to the kitchen, stepping over cigarette butts and food. She’d just cleaned this place up and it was
already a mess again. Did Dawn run a twenty-four hour party here?

  The living room was lit only by candles and cigarettes, but the kitchen was flooded with light. She crossed the threshold and saw Dawn leaning against a counter, a strange man pressed up against her. He held a red solo cup to her lips and she giggled madly as he tried to get her to drink it.

  “If my boyfriend shows up, you’re dead meat,” she told the man, as she grabbed his hips and ground them into her stomach. He made a show of looking around.

  “Boyfriend, I don’t see any boyfriend.”

  Dawn giggled again and bared her teeth at him. She let go of his hips and tore the solo cup out of his hand, spilling what looked like beer down the front of him. He swore and jumped back. This time Dawn threw back her head and laughed out loud, then tilted the cup to her lips and drank it all in one swallow. She pitched the cup across the room at the man. His eyes flashed and he seemed to be considering whether to get pissed or try to rub up on her again.

  Dawn tossed her hair, then turned quickly and stood on tip toe to grab something out of a cabinet. Ivy gasped when she saw what it was. A handgun. She stepped backwards out of the kitchen doorway, not sure what to do. Dawn grasped the gun in a two-handed grip and pointed it at the man. “I told you, I got a boyfriend, asshole.” The man put his hands up and swore again under his breath. “OK, OK, sorry,” he yelled and ran out of the kitchen past Ivy. Ivy pulled back, hoping Dawn hadn’t seen her.

  “Ivy!” Dawn yelled from the kitchen. “Get back in here, girl.”

  Ivy considered following the man out the front door. Dawn was obviously completely out of her mind. But before she could move, Dawn was at the door to the kitchen. Her hands were empty and Ivy didn’t see the gun anywhere. Dawn put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into the kitchen. “Hey, I wanted to say thanks for cleaning up. And where are the boys?” Dawn’s eyes jumped and twitched in their sockets. Ivy wondered if she’d drank enough to cause that or if she was on drugs too.

  Ivy forced a smile onto her face. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them since I left here this morning.”

  “Brandon won’t answer my phone calls,” Dawn pouted, her words starting to slur slightly.

  Ivy couldn’t think of anything to say but she knew she definitely wanted to get out of here. She decided to wait in her car and watch for Ryker.

  A scream sounded in the living room. Several voices yelled at once and Ivy heard trampling sounds as everyone ran to the back door. “5-0 Dawn! 5-0 again!”

  “Those fuckers,” Dawn muttered, pushing Ivy away from her. Ivy stumbled the length of the kitchen, falling into a table, hard. She turned around in time to see Dawn grab the gun from the small of her back where it had been tucked into her waistband. Dawn strode purposely to the doorway and thrust the gun in front of her in a poor imitation of a shooter’s stance. Ivy could see her finger curl around the trigger.

  Fear stabbed through Ivy’s stomach like a spear. What if Dawn shot someone? Ivy ran for Dawn, her right hand skimming the counter as she went, grabbing for anything heavy she could use as a weapon. Dimly, she heard someone say, “Police,” from the entry way. Ivy opened her mouth to yell but before a single word could come out, a gunshot blasted through the house, deafening her.

  The sound echoed across the kitchen, and Ivy felt a scream erupt out of her mouth. She lifted her right hand over her head, not even sure what was in it. She reached Dawn and with all her strength brought what turned out to be a green, ceramic plate down on Dawn’s head.

  The plate made a horrible thunking sound as it met bone, then exploded, pieces of ceramic flying everywhere. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut against the sharp, flying shards, as momentum carried her into Dawn’s back. They both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Ivy rolled away quickly, her eyes searching for the gun, but Dawn lay motionless on the ground, the gun a foot in front of her outstretched hand.

  Ivy dared a glance past Dawn, hoping she had just put a bullet in the wall, but no. A police officer lay crumpled in the entryway. Ivy could see blood pooling next to a motionless arm clad in a blue uniform. “No,” she moaned and gathered her legs under her, intending to run to the officer, but she heard feet pounding up the stairs outside the house and looked up. A male cop, the same one from last night, swept into the room, his gun drawn. He looked at his fallen partner for a second, horror in his eyes, then pointed his gun at Ivy. “DON’T MOVE!” he yelled, edging into the room. He picked up the gun in front of Dawn, his gaze darting between Dawn and Ivy, his gun still pointed at Ivy’s forehead.

  Ivy didn’t move, but flicked her eyes to the police officer on the ground again. It was Officer Price. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut as a knee fell on her back, her hands were wrenched behind her and handcuffs cruelly slapped onto her wrists.

  Ivy dropped her forehead onto the floor, praying this was all a bad dream and knowing it wasn’t as the officer screamed into his radio for an ambulance.

  Chapter 10

  Ryker walked through Monroe’s garage, breaking into a run as soon as he was out of sight of Brandon and Monroe, who were still stacking a small pile of C4 into the back of Brandon’s car. He pounded down the stairs and rifled quickly through the other pieces of paper on the table, finding another blueprint. Ryker pulled it out and studied it for a name or address. He found one in tiny, blue letters in the bottom, right-hand corner. It was the state building downtown. Where the mayor’s office and a dozen other government offices were. “What are you up to, Monroe?” Ryker breathed, hoping his sudden suspicions weren’t true.

  He put the blueprint back where it was and cast his eyes around the basement, trying to see everything at once, but nothing in particular. A blanket covering something in the corner tugged at him. He walked to it and lifted it. Guns. Two high-powered, sniper rifles, both with scopes. This kept looking worse and worse. He turned to the pile of C4 and grabbed as many pieces as he could carry, then sprinted up the stairs, not wanting to appear to have taken a suspiciously long time. In the garage, he bent to pile his armful of C4 next to Brandon’s foot. One rectangular brick fell out of his arms. Brandon saw it falling and threw himself backwards with a yelp, scrambling to get to the other side of the car.

  The lump of C4 struck the concrete and stuck in place on its end. Ryker uttered a laugh. “Brandon, you idiot. It takes more than that to detonate C4.” Monroe laughed too, not kindly, and kept stacking the explosive. Ryker turned on his heel, not waiting for a response from Brandon, and went back to the basement, praying the two men would stay in the garage.

  He sprinted down the steps again and unfocused his eyes, trying to take in the entire garage at once, hoping the trick would work twice. His eyes were drawn to a small, round piece of wood stuck in the wall, like it was covering a giant mouse hole. Ryker knelt down and took out his keys to pry it out of its hole. It came out easily, but what Ryker saw behind it made his breath catch in his throat. A bundle of dynamite, with unused detonation cord wrapped up and shoved in the hole next to it. Ryker shoved the piece of wood back in the hole, his heart suddenly hammering. He looked around the basement quickly and noted seven more holes. That made two in each wall. He grabbed another armload of C4 and made his way up the stairs, his mind racing.

  Ryker dropped his armload of C4 and muttered “bathroom,” in Monroe’s direction.

  “Down the hall. First door on the left,” Monroe told him, pointing through the door.

  Ryker nodded and ducked inside. He had to find Monroe’s last name. Things were bad here. And fixing it no longer seemed as simple as mis-wiring the C4 at the school and then placing an anonymous call to the police on Sunday night or Monday morning. He clumped to the bathroom as slowly as possible, his eyes scanning the house. Maybe he would get lucky and Monroe’s wallet would be sitting out somewhere. Ryker knew Monroe probably had his wallet in his pocket, but— Ryker’s thoughts broke off as something caught his eye. He had just entered the hallway, and was almost past the first doorway on the right. A large des
k with a computer and paper scattered across the top of it stood against the opposite wall. He sidestepped into the office, praying no one was watching him. He let his eyes run over the paper on the desk. Mail. He grabbed about half the papers and spread the rest out a bit so no one could tell at a glance that there was less paper left there. He put the letters and pages inside his shirt and stepped out of the office, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder at the two men in the garage. The bathroom door was open across the hall. Once inside, he locked the door and pulled all of the pieces of paper out of his shirt.

  Monroe was his last name, an envelope addressed to Arthur Monroe revealed. Ryker took out his phone and snapped a picture of the name and address on the envelope, then continued pawing through the items. A grocery list. The start of a letter to the Westwood Harbor tax surveyor. Ryker skimmed it and saw Monroe was complaining that his taxes were too high. A bill marked FINAL NOTICE in red letters.

  Ryker heard voices. He pressed his ear to the door, but couldn’t tell where the two men were. His time was running short in here. He gathered the papers and shoved them back under his shirt, then flushed the toilet. He stepped out into the hallway and saw the garage looked empty. He stepped lightly back into the office and spread the papers back out over the desk, hoping no one would see him leave the room. He was in luck. The living room and garage still stood empty.

  As Ryker walked to the steps, Monroe and Brandon were climbing them, their arms filled with C4. He waited till they were past, carefully cultivating the same mild contemptuous attitude he’d had all morning, then went down the steps himself. The pile was dwindling, which was lucky. He had never wanted out of a house so badly in his life.

  In two more trips, all of the C4 was transferred to Brandon’s car. Ryker leaned against the side of the garage and waited while Monroe and Brandon talked in the kitchen. He angled himself so no one could see his screen, then typed in Arthur Monroe Westwood Harbor into his search browser. A news article came up immediately, from seven months before. Ryker wasn’t surprised to read the contents at all. He’d been expecting something like this.