Hashtag Rogue

by Chautona Havig

  That one word shredded her heart with the speed and efficiency of a cat with toilet paper. She jumped after him. “Wait, Morgan. Sorry. Um…” What could she tell him? She’d already lied about—that’d do it.

  “I lied to you.”

  That got his attention. He turned and peered at her through the darkness. “About what?”

  “Why I’m here.”

  Flynne imagined that his eyes lit up as he said, “So… no boyfriend?”

  “Sorta boyfriend… maybe. Before I got here, I would have totes said yes, but…” Until she’d spoken the words, Flynne hadn’t taken anything either of them had said seriously. Now… now she wasn’t so sure. And I can’t even tell Tyler. That’s just eptastically icks.

  “I should feel sorry for him, but I can’t.” He stepped closer, and Flynne didn’t even think twice about allowing him to slide his hand through her hair. “I’ve thought about finding a job in Rockland, but leaving a great place to live and an easy job so I can write games…”

  She’d have been certain his words wouldn’t mean a thing to her—but they did. The very thought of Morgan coming to Rockland sent shivers of excitement through her. “That’s, like, some serious awesome sauce right there! Are you serious?!”

  “What would your boyfriend say about it?”

  All excitement shorted out and died. “Oh.”

  He just stared at her, his thumb caressing her cheek, and watched expressions she didn’t even know if he could see. “Flynne?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Why are you here?”

  Answering that could get her killed by Erika, Keith, and Mark—in that order. Not to mention Knupp. “All I can say is that there’s, like, a situation at work, and I’ve got to figure out how to solve it. Can’t do that there, so I came here because it’s my fave and no one could find me and bug me.”

  The way he stepped forward and tugged her head with that kind of gentle gesture that melts hearts in every rom-com ever made told her he’d kiss her. The look she could finally see in his eyes told her that, this time, it would be a real one. The swirl in her gut and her swooning heart told her she wouldn’t stop him.

  The touch of his lips ensured it.

  He said goodnight. Flynne was sure of it, but she didn’t hear him until she’d closed the door behind herself and—yes, she did—leaned against it.

  “Glad you’ve been getting your daily endorphin rush, but meanwhile back at the ranch…”

  Flynne’s eyes flew open—proof positive they’d been closed. I’m like supes brill with that one.

  Erika sat on the couch, legs crossed, and arms folded over her chest. “Just clarify for me how making out with the lord and master’s flunky is getting me home safe?”

  “I was keeping him away from here! He’s used to, you know, hanging with us. Can’t let him get all suspish!”

  “Are you not capable of coherent speech, or do you just like tormenting us with outdated teen-speak?”

  Oh, yeah. She’s feelin’ salty. After a moment’s thought, Flynne answered. “Yes.”

  “To which?”

  Flynne grinned, arms folded over her own chest now. “Both.”

  “And you’re—”

  The door opened and Morgan rushed in mid-sentence. “—want you to know that if the whole ‘fight for you—'” He blinked at the sight of Erika. “Who’s that? When did she—?” His eyes bugged out. “She’s not your boyfriend, is she?”

  Flynne’s giggle ended in a snort. “No… work problem.”

  “Flynne!” Erika hopped up and body slammed Morgan into the door, one arm pressed against his neck, her right knee poised for the kills, if it became necessary. “Have you gone insane?”

  Morgan grunted and squeaked out, “I’d say you have.”

  “Like he wasn’t going to, like, figure it out,” Flynne protested. “Let. Him. Go.”

  “Not until—”

  She bolted from the room and returned with a pistol—one that fit much nicer in her hand than the tranqs. “Back off, Erika.”

  To her surprise, it worked. Erika took two steps back, never taking her eyes of Morgan.

  “What’re you doing with a gun?” Morgan stepped close, but Flynne turned it on him. “Sit down, Morgan.”

  If one more thing could go wrong, Erika couldn’t imagine what it was. There she sat next to Flynne’s sorta new boyfriend and watched the gun with extra curiosity. That doesn’t look like a tranq. Where’d she get it?

  “Flynne, what’s wrong. You look about ready to cry.”

  Erika shot a glance first at Morgan and then stared at Flynne. He was right. She did look about done in.

  “Well, duh! I don’t know how to protect someone from—”

  “Oh!” Morgan gave Erika a sympathetic glance. “She’s the one with the abusive boyfriend. Got it. Someone from your work?”

  Before Flynne could mess it up even more, Erika nodded. “Yeah. Don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “So, what’s with the gun?”

  “No one can know I’m here. No one.” She shot a look at Flynne. “Right?”

  “Right.” Flynne moved to tuck her gun into her back waistband and dropped it. She snatched it up and swept the room with it like some seventies cop show girl.

  Erika managed to avoid a snicker. Barely. Morgan, however, swallowed hard enough for Erika to hear and promised he wasn’t out to get anyone. “I’ll do whatever you need me to. I’ll help hide her.”

  Both girls blurted out their objections in near perfect unison. “No!”

  “At least we agree on that,” Erika muttered. She inched toward the edge of the couch. “But we really need to keep my existence here quiet, so the less you learn the better.”

  Flynne stepped forward, gun hanging at her side, finger off the trigger. “That’s true. I mean, if we can think of anything for you to do—”

  “I could call your ex-boyfriend and ask him if he’s seen you. That you were supposed to come but you never got here. He wouldn’t look here then.”

  That was the last thing they needed. Then again, Keith would come just to be sure. He’d check out everything, find them… I wonder if I can convince Flynne without making her suspicious.

  “That won’t work. She wouldn’t give you the phone number of a boyfriend she was running from before she ran.”

  Drat. She’s thinking again.

  “But… maybe you could…” Flynne paced, the gun swinging back and forth with each step. “Yeah. Send me a text message and ask where I am. Someone wants to rent the bungalow, so if I’m not coming, you need to know.”

  Where’s the teen-speak, Flynne?

  “What good will that do?”

  Flynne gave him a pained look. “When my boyfriend realizes I’m gone, he’s going to come looking for me. He’ll start by hacking into my phone account.”

  This caught Morgan’s attention. While Erika tried to guess if he’d be impressed or irritated, Morgan huffed and growled. “That’s just—that’s not right. You do have an abusive boyfriend—just a different kind of abusive.”

  “He’s really a totes sweet guy, Morgan. He’s just not…”

  How adorable. You blush. Who knew? And, yeah… Tyler’s lost himself a girlfriend if I read people half as well as I think I do. Still, as cute as you guys were, you were more like competitive kids. This guy treats you like an adult while still—

  Morgan hopping up and wrapping his arms around Flynne interrupted those thoughts. “I’ll go do that right now. You call me if you want me to sleep out on the porch or something.”

  That touched a part of her that Erika hadn’t expected. The moment the door closed behind him, she turned to Flynne. “Okay… I officially like him. But seriously? You can’t do this stuff!”

  The door popped open. “Don’t yell at her. She’s trying to help you.”

  Oy!

  Thirteen

  No one responded to calls. No one. Not even Claire, who was supposedly on her way back from Grand Haven. C
laire, who had given every indication of enjoying talking to him. Claire, who he needed to be as safe as he felt certain Sol and Raina weren’t.

  Mark first watched the clock, then the door, in erratic cycles as he waited for word on Sol and Raina. Pacing—up one side of the room, pivot, back to the window. Each minute past the very longest it could have taken Brian and Karen to reach the cabin created a new horrific scenario in his mind.

  If some of Langat’s men had stayed behind, Mark’s agents could need help. If Raina and Sol were injured, it could be a matter of simple medical needs trumping notification. And it could mean that they needed to get the team secure first.

  It could mean they’re dead.

  Waiting wouldn’t help. Mark had work to do anyway—starting with figuring out how Langat had been able to hide both a tracker and a phone from his agents. He seated himself at the desk and typed a quick message to Tyler. Need you.

  The door flew open a minute later. “What’s up?”

  Mark allowed himself the luxury of a glare.

  “Sorry. I was digging through everything we’ve gotten from Sol and Raina since Langat’s extraction to see if I could figure out how he had a phone and a tracker that they missed.”

  Should have known. Along with a gesture for Tyler to be seated, Mark asked, “What’d you find?”

  “Well, the tooth makes the most sense. We don’t have many clients who would have something like that, so extractions don’t include scans to detect stuff like that. We might need to figure out a protocol for it, though.”

  “Stuff like that takes time agents can’t afford during an extraction. Still…”

  Tyler dashed from the room and returned with the iPad. “We can ask, and if they admit to it, then we’re good up front. But a two-step extraction with people who have the kind of money it takes for something that high tech—”

  Both men froze. Mark cleared his throat and picked up the phone. With a wave of his hand, he sent Tyler from the room. His fingers danced above the keypad. Attorney General or Homeland Security? He chose the latter.

  A sailor’s dictionary of unsavory words flew at him when Jehnson answered. “—don’t tell me you’ve got more bad news. I’m still trying to find Shin.”

  “Well, you won’t. And I actually have a question that I don’t want traced to me. You owe me.”

  “I owe you?!”

  Rather than engaging, Mark just waited while Jehnson spewed the filth that could have gotten him brig time in the Navy. They talk about swearing like sailors… but it’s really that sailors make up for lost time the minute they’re discharged.

  “Fine. What do you want?”

  “I want to know how Langat could have the resources to have a GPS tracker.”

  “Pocket or semi-permanent?” Before Mark could answer, Jehnson added, “Should’ve known you had him.”

  He might regret it, but without word of his agents, Mark needed reassurance that he’d done the right thing. “Yeah, well, if I didn’t, he’d be dead. He may have cost me two agents.”

  This time, Mark counted to three before interrupting the tirade of expletives. “Okay. That’s enough. Answer the question.”

  “There’s no way Kenya would spend the money it takes for more than a pocket tracker—not on a guy like Langat. Maybe for the president, but even then… those things are expensive. Kenya doesn’t have the resources for that kind of thing unless it’s essential.”

  “So, this means what I suspected?”

  “Yeah. We all got played.” This time, Mark relished the simple, one-word curse. Jehnson sighed. “I’m on it, Mark. I’ll let you know what I find.

  The line went dead.

  And at the same moment, Karen burst through the door. One look at her eyes said it all. Mark clenched his jaw and ground out, “Dead?”

  She nodded. “Brian’s on escort duty.”

  Another thought slammed into his brain before Mark could react to that. He jerked an envelope from the drawer and scrawled a note. “I’ve got to go leave this for Keith. Stay here and rest—or go home if you prefer, but I recommend here.”

  Karen stopped him long enough to say, “It wasn’t your fault. Remember that. It wasn’t yours.”

  Mark found the assumption of a persona preferable when dealing with difficult cases—especially after the afternoon’s news. In this case, the nosy, brash reporter would have to do. The evening rush was winding down as he entered the Fiddleleaf Cafe, and thanks to bribing the hostess, she led him to the corner booth and promised to send Miss Todd to his table.

  He knew her the moment she approached. Nothing in Lucy’s dossier had said anything about a twin. A younger sister, yes. But anyone who saw the girl would assume… He blinked up at her. “Yes?”

  “I’m Liv Todd? The girl up front said you’re Dan—”

  Standing to greet her might be common courtesy, but it was out of the question. Instead, he continued looking at her and shook his head. “Right, right. I didn’t know I was dealing with a kid.” He scowled at her. “This is all kinds of illegal. Sorry. Don’t know what Fahrina was thinking.”

  She pulled a driver’s license from her wallet and placed it before him with a tap to the photo. “I’m twenty-two, thank-you-very-much.”

  He picked up the card and memorized the license number before passing it back. “If you say so.”

  She dumped a purse half her size on the bench opposite him and plopped onto the seat. “So, are you going to research this or not?”

  “Depends on what you have.”

  If he’d expected random theories and vague stories, Liv wouldn’t have delivered. She pulled out a notebook with a pen, a mechanical pencil, and a thin stack of mini sticky notes affixed to the inside cover. An elastic band held it all shut, but once she opened it, a dossier his agents would kill for—or to protect, anyway—appeared.

  “Okay, so I know she went to work…”

  The download began. Dates, times, even the last moment her accounts were accessed—all there. He recognized every single date on her list. After all, Flynne had manufactured half of them.

  Liv pointed to the date in question. “So, we were told she fell while hiking that spot above Lake Vienna. She—” a barely choked back sob followed. “Broke her neck. I asked the guy at the mortuary if there was anything inconsistent in what he found versus what we were told, and he said he wasn’t an M.E. but not that he could tell.”

  Bonus to Gregg… Tyler can handle it.

  “And then I got ahold of the coroner’s report.” Liv wrinkled her nose. “Those are nasty things. Ew.”

  “You should see ones after something gruesome—hit and run, mauled by animals, the—”

  “I get it. They’re gross.” Liv huffed before adding, “Sorry. I get squeamish about stuff like this. Anyway, he says he didn’t get a look at the body as it came in, but everything on the paperwork worked with what he found.”

  “And so, the story is… where?”

  Liv tapped that date—the one where Lucy had paid the bill. “She couldn’t have paid that bill from that place at that time. I think…”

  What she’d say hit him before she found it. Oh, we blew it big time.

  “Yeah. See… Payment was after the time of death. How’s that possible?”

  Mark had two ways to run with it. He could explain it all away right then, or he could call later and tell her he’d figured out it was an accidental date switch. But which would work best in the long run? He held out his hand for the notebook. “May I?”

  She hesitated, searching his face for something she must have found. “Yeah… okay.”

  He scribbled down a few notes—things he already knew, of course—and passed both her notebook back and his chicken scratches. “Is that right?”

  It worked. He didn’t care what she said or thought next. It had worked. She trusted him to take it seriously. And Rickwood, that’s why sometimes you get your own hands dirty.

  “Yeah. Thanks. I thought you’d just brush me off
like everyone else. Even my parents think I’m nuts. Dad keeps saying…” Liv’s voice dropped to a mock bass as she said, “‘I’ve had payments take days to show up after I made them.’” She huffed. “Yeah, well, cellphone logs don’t lie. She made it. From her phone. The times correspond!”

  Mark pulled a card from his pocket. “Okay, I’ll check it all. I’ve got a contact in the coroner’s office. Maybe he can get me some answers.”

  “It’s out of county, so…”

  He brushed that off as if nothing. “These guys work together. If my guy asks, the other guy will send copies of what I need. Logbooks and stuff that don’t come with the report.” He slid the card across the table. “If there’s something, I’ll find it. Meanwhile, if you think of anything or find anything else that looks suspicious—in journals or…” He’d found her weak spot, and Mark hated himself for it.

  “I tried to read them. I did. But…”

  “Want me to?” At her glare, he held up his hands. “I know! But I’m not connected to her. It might be easier for me. But if she had them, I need to see them. Also, do you have cellphone printouts? Who else did she call the day before, that day, the day after…?”

  “She was dead. She couldn’t call.”

  He gave what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. “But, Liv… that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because she did make a call? So, what if she wasn’t… gone? Not yet, anyway. I need that information, or I can’t help you.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits that gave her an Asiatic look. “What’s in this for you?”

  “Exclusive rights to the story. Well…” He allowed his own features to soften. “And if there is something messed up with this, I want justice for her. Everyone deserves justice.”

  In slow, precise movements, Liv reassembled her notebook. She paused just as she was about to put the rubber band back on and spread it out again. “Gimme your phone.”

  Mark complied.

  Page by page, she did what he couldn’t have hoped for. She snapped a picture of each page and passed back the phone. “Maybe you’ll see something I can’t if you have it all there.” Liv stood and hoisted the purse on her shoulder. It should have sent her listing to starboard, but she stood there ramrod and determined. “Thanks again. Really.”