His grin widened. “Let me borrow your car.”
Jace hated having to leave his motorcycle in the sheriff’s department’s car lot. Still, at least it was gated, and he had a fabric cover for it in his lockbox on the back of the bike. Sure, his prized possession wasn’t that practical on the job, completely incapable of transporting a suspect, but it gave him confidence. He’d be back for it by tomorrow, God willing. But he couldn’t use it for the next task. At least the sheriff had been a decent guy and let him store it there, free of charge.
He patted the handlebars over the cover. “Be good. Play nice with the other bikes. I’ll be back soon.”
A brisk breeze blew in his face, swirling the dead leaves in the lot up and around him. An incoming rainstorm wasn’t far off. He pulled his leather jacket higher up on his neck. He turned to the trio behind him, waiting beside Lynée’s Honda Civic. He held out his hand for the keys.
Lynée shook her head. “I said you could use it. Not drive it. Just tell me where we’re going.” Those big, blue eyes and pouty, pink Tinkerbell lips glared up at him.
He scowled. “You can’t know where they’re going. That’s the point.”
The blonde scoffed in a way that made him want to shake that look off her face. Or perhaps kiss it off. She looked like she could use a good one. “Like I’m going to tell anyone where they’ll be. They mean more to me than to you.” She opened the driver’s door and climbed in, shooting him a defiant look. “Get in.”
Skye looked at him apprehensively. She hadn’t stopped gripping Monroe’s hand since they left the interview room. Where he’d reluctantly uncuffed him and swore that if he tried to run, Jace would plug a few bullets into the guy’s back.
“Is she always this stubborn?” he asked the waitress.
Lynée chuckled. “Hello, Mr. Pot. So judgmental of us kettles.” She climbed into the back seat. Monroe followed her without giving him a second look.
Jace took the front seat and actually had to sink into the seat. The tiny car barely fit his six-foot-three frame. He swore his motorcycle sat higher off the ground than this thing. He shifted and twisted in the seat, trying to get comfortable. Almost immediately regretting asking to use her car. Sure, he could’ve asked the sheriff to borrow a police vehicle to transport his witnesses, but that would draw too much attention. He needed an unmarked car, just in case someone had this guy followed.
“Where to?” Lynée asked, starting up the heater.
“To get Monroe’s evidence. Then to a safe house near Seattle. It’s a great place for them to hide out in,” Jace answered, glancing in the back seat to be sure Monroe couldn’t jump out that easily. “Monroe, I need you to sit on the other side.”
His suspect sighed. “Seriously? If I wanted to run, I would’ve done that already.”
“Where I can see you. Now.”
He gave Skye an apologetic look, knowing she would be stuck sitting behind Jace where he’d backed up the seat as far as it would go.
“That’s a horrible idea.” Lynée cast him a sideways glance. She pulled onto the main drive.
“The suspect must always sit where I can see his hands. He’s lucky I don’t have his ass cuffed.”
“No, I meant a DEA safe house. That place is obviously in the records somewhere. If there’s a mole in your agency, you want to take them somewhere none of your colleagues know about.”
Jace gaped at the beautiful blonde in horror. “How the hell does she know about this?” He glared at Monroe. “You don’t give a damn about confidentiality, do you? That’ll be another thing they want to throw the book at you for.”
Monroe chuckled. “With the other charges they want to hang me on, you think I’m shaking in my boots about confidentiality?”
“I told her,” Skye chimed in.
“Easy on the language, please,” Lynée cut in. “And lighten up, Agent Ivy.” She pulled out of the parking lot, adjusting her seatbelt to rest between her breasts more comfortably. Giving him a clue just how deep the crevice between those delectable mounds was.
Dammit, he shouldn’t be focusing on that. “It’s Special Agent Ivy.”
“Well, I’m not calling you that. You already have a pompous enough attitude. How about Jace?”
“Who are you calling pompous, Miss I-Won’t-Let-Anyone-Drive-My-Car?” Holy hell, she was infuriating. “And where the hell is your computer equipment, Monroe?”
Skye looked at her boyfriend, and when he nodded, she answered for him. “At my house.”
The whole car was silent for the drive over to Skye’s house, which was the way Jace liked it. Every time that Tinkerbell woman opened her mouth, she started to rattle him.
They pulled up to a small home with two large windows flanking a wooden door and a mature birch tree in the front lawn. They all climbed out, and he stopped them on the front porch. “Turn around,” he instructed Monroe. Then pulled out his handcuffs.
“Are you serious?” he shot back.
“You’re not allowed to touch anything. I don’t want you trying to pull a weapon on me in there, or worse, destroy evidence.”
“You are so paranoid,” Skye muttered under her breath.
Jace gave her a hard look. “I have another set of cuffs for you if you don’t watch it, so don’t test me.”
She scowled at him and opened her front door. “All the boxes are in my bedroom closet.”
The place was neat, kinda whimsical with a mix of antique and modern furniture and rugs. Seemed to suit her.
“You stay with me, Monroe.” He gently nudged him forward as they moved to the back bedroom. He glanced into every open door on the way down, making sure they were alone. If the cartel really was after this guy, he couldn’t be too cautious in thinking they couldn’t track them back to the girlfriend’s house.
When he was sure there weren’t intruders, he made Monroe sit on the bed. “I want you two ladies to stay where I can see you at all times. You’re not allowed to touch anything.”
Skye rolled her eyes and opened her closet. Four full bags and a few boxes sat on the floor. “This is everything we had.”
With a quick glance behind him to make sure Monroe still sat on the bed, he opened each bag. Mostly computer equipment, some weapons and ammunition, and a change of clothes. “Where are your thumb drives?”
“Spread throughout the bags,” he answered. “And then two more in the kitchen junk drawer.”
Skye sat beside him, her hand clasped to his, and kissed his cheek.
The lovey-dovey shit was starting to get on Jace’s nerves.
“I don’t have time to search the whole place right now.” He zipped everything up and stood. “I’ll come back for a further sweep after I get you settled. But if there’s anything else hidden, either here or anywhere else, you have to tell me. It’s the only way I can help you.”
“This is it. These bags and the drives in the kitchen.”
“Are you sure? Where have you been staying all these weeks? Anything left there?”
Reed scratched at the collar of his shirt. “I cleaned out the cabin I was staying in after I was attacked. Courtesy of those two cartel thugs whose post-mortem pictures you were kind enough to show me. I don’t think I left anything behind other than some clothes and my security cameras.”
“Where’s the footage from the cameras?”
“On the drives in the bags.”
Lynée hugged herself in front of the windows, clearly uncomfortable. But the light streaming between the blinds framed her strawberry blonde head in such an angelic way and brought to mind other heavenly visions.
Snap out of it, man.
“If I find anything hidden somewhere else, including at that cabin, I’ll drag you out of the safehouse and beat you to a pulp myself.” He held out his hand to Skye. “Give me your phone.”
She eyed him. “Why?”
“You can’t take it with you. In case they’re tracking you too. You wouldn’t want to lead these crazy suckers right to t
he front door, would you?”
She huffed, dug out her phone, and handed it over.
He set it on the dresser. Then led them back out to the car and loaded the evidence in the trunk. He directed Lynée toward the highway, but she headed north instead of west. “What are you doing?”
“I told you. A DEA safe house is a stupid idea. There’s another place they can go, and it’s closer.”
“You are not going to hijack my suspect or my case, Miss Clark. Do as I say.”
“And you’re not going to put my best friend and her boyfriend in danger.” She sighed. “Listen, is it about getting your way or about keeping them safe?”
“Safety. Of course.”
“Then do you think you can take some input from a woman? For once?”
He shifted in his seat to face her. Seriously? “I have no problem taking direction from women, Miss Clark. But perhaps you failed—”
“Good. Then I know a place.” She shot a wink at her friend through the rearview mirror. “We might need to stop for some supplies too since they won’t have transportation. Don’t you agree, Special Agent?”
Oh, this little five-foot-five dynamo was now buttering him up as she mocked him. He shook his head in the total exasperation with it all. What had he trampled in to?
If there wasn’t an audience, he’d yank the wheel, have her pull over, and take her across his knee this very moment. She may not enjoy it, but he definitely would.
An awkward, hour-long drive ended in pulling up to a small cottage snuggled in an alcove at Lake Chelan. Several back roads twisted and turned around the mountain until it dropped them into this fairly remote section of the lake.
Jace watched their tail, happy not to see a damn car behind them for the last twenty miles.
The deep cerulean blue of the lake shimmering off the autumn sunlight through the clouds surprised Jace. He expected lakes up in these mountains to be darker, muddier, and certainly not this clear—particularly late in the year. If he didn’t know any better, he might’ve assumed they were in the middle of an Ozarks summer.
The second they stepped outside, the cold temperatures slapped him in the face, bringing him back to reality.
“My parents are in Florida for the winter, so you can use it for however long you need.” Lynée smiled at her friend as she pulled out one of their bags.
“There’s a storm coming in later,” Skye announced. “We should get things settled before then. We also need some groceries.”
“First thing’s first.” Jace followed Lynée up the small porch steps and waited for her to enter. He let Monroe and Skye follow, and asked them all to sit on the couch while he grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen pantry. Then he moved from room to room, removing every telephone, wireless router, and antenna he found. He collected them all into the bag and carried it back to the entryway.
“What are you doing?” Skye asked, wrinkles marring her forehead.
“Absolutely no electronics allowed.” He dropped the bag by the door, then fished around the kitchen for anything else Monroe could use to contact someone or get online.
“You are so paranoid,” Skye groaned.
He ignored her criticisms and pulled out a burner phone from his back pocket. He set it on the kitchen table.
“No one has this number but me. It won’t allow you to make any calls except for my phone. If it rings, you answer. Day or night.” He moved to the family room where the lovebirds crowded together on the small sofa, and Lynée sat on the antique rocking chair in the corner. He sat on the coffee table, the sturdy reclaimed wood creaking. He rested his elbows on his knees, giving them his authoritative tone for this next bit. “You are not allowed to leave these walls for any reason. If there’s an emergency, you call me. Prowler outside, you cut your thumb off with a steak knife, or your appendix bursts…you don’t call the paramedics. You call me.”
“But you’re more than an hour away. What if—” Skye started.
He cut her off. “You. Call. Me.”
“What if we run out of toilet paper?” Monroe’s smug smile just begged to be punched.
“Use your goddamn hand for all I care.” He stared hard at Monroe. “You are not, under any circumstances, allowed to touch a computer, smartphone, or anything that allows you access to the Internet. Hell, for the time being, the fucking toaster is off-limits. Just that phone.” He pointed to the burner on the table.
Monroe smirked. “How about a flashlight?”
The table creaked again as Jace leaned forward. “Not even that. If it has a battery or plugs into an outlet, the answer is no.” He moved his gaze to Skye. “If you care about him and want him to survive this, you need to make sure he follows these rules. Leaving the two of you here alone without supervision relies heavily on the honor system. If you break the rules, these monsters will find you. If they don’t, then you’ll at the very least face obstruction charges from me.”
Skye swallowed but stared hard back at him. “Message received. You can back down a skosh, Kujo.”
He stood and clapped his hands together. This next part was going to be fun. “Now, if I could request the ladies to please get whatever essentials you’ll need from the grocery store, I need to ask Reed here a few questions.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Lynée a few hundred dollars in cash.
When she grabbed the bills, his fingers didn’t let go right away. He waited for her curious gaze to meet his. She scowled at his playful gesture, and he couldn’t help but smile.
Skye fidgeted on the couch, her grip tightening on Monroe’s hand. “What are you going to do?”
“Not to worry.” Jace smiled. “If he behaves, I’ll behave.”
Jace pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re saying the cartel coordinated their multi-million dollar operation through a video game?”
Monroe scraped his hand through his tousled hair. “An online gaming app. Dark Inferno. They used the in-game chat function to communicate drop shipments and times. Even accepted payments through their system. Joe somehow stumbled onto them using it and initiated most of his contacts that way.”
“Why didn’t he tell you about it?”
He huffed, and his whole face turned hard. “At the time, he thought I was the mole.”
“Why would he think that?”
“I’ve been asking myself that question for a whole damn year. Maybe because I used to be a gamer, too. He never said why in his reports.”
Jace leaned back in his chair, trying to stretch his back muscles. They’d been sitting in the same spot for nearly an hour as he questioned him. The women were still at the store, thank goodness. He was certain Monroe wouldn’t be nearly as cooperative if his girlfriend hung over his shoulder the whole time.
“That’s another thing. I don’t have reports from him going back to more than a month before his death. You said you saw him writing out his reports every week. Where are those files?”
On a long sigh, Monroe flattened his hands on his lap. “Joe kept a separate file with his notes, offline from DEA systems, and logged every time he submitted his reports. In that file, he noted that around the beginning of October, his reports were missing. Which is right around the time he moved out of our safe house. And subsequently stopped communicating with me.”
“Did he think you were the one deleting them?”
Monroe shrugged. “Maybe. But it wasn’t me. I didn’t hear from him again until the night he died.”
“Where did Joe keep this separate file?”
“On a personal cloud drive. Wasn’t easy to get into, either.”
Jace cringed. This was getting more convoluted. “We’ll come back to that in a minute. Tell me more about this game. The one who designed it works for the cartel?”
“Diego Huerta. Also goes by Daniel, and his username was LocoLobo.”
“Crazy wolf.” Jace snorted. Was he one of the dead guys in the morgue from Wenatchee? Was he one of the ones who’d been sent to kill Monroe?
“H
e used one of the shell companies to create this game and used it to coordinate drug distribution. He’s the one who killed Joe in the warehouse.”
“Whoa. Back up. How did he go from app developer to gun-toting cartel hitman?”
Monroe threw up his hands. “How did I go from a black hat cybercriminal to an undercover DEA agent? We’re not all geeky, pale-faced introverts surviving on hot pockets and techno music. This isn’t the nineties. Would you drop the clichéd stereotype?”
“Fine.” Jace scrubbed at his chin, the beard turning itchy. “How did you find out about him?”
“I followed the name. That’s what I was researching for hours in the Seattle coffee shop. Along with every other username in Joe’s chat sessions. Dug into anyone with a technology background. When I found Huerta, his picture came up, and I recognized him. He’s somehow related to the Cabello family.”
Jace bit on his tongue. Based on the text from his superior, he guessed this Huerta guy was Carlos Cabello’s nephew. The fact that Monroe didn’t know that meant the cartel had clearly hidden that biological relationship for a reason. “Where is this Huerta guy now?” He already knew the answer, but he had to test Monroe and make sure he was telling the truth.
His witness dropped his gaze to the table. It was a long few seconds before he finally answered. “Dead.”
Jace raised an eyebrow. “How?”
He pushed up from the couch and crossed the room to stare out the window. “He caught up with Skye and me in Seattle. In a motel.”
“You mean, he tracked you. From all the research you’d done on the game?”
He shrugged. “Probably. He was as good a techie as me.”
Jace humphed and studied the gray-beige tile on the kitchen floor. “Everyone can be gotten to. One way or another. You’re lucky you made it out alive.”
He turned, arms crossed. “I never want to put Skye in that position again.” The severity in his eyes proved easily enough how much he loved the woman.
“Well, hopefully, that’s something I can help you with. As long as you’ve told me everything you know. All your research is on those hard drives?”
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