The Target Read online

  Ouch. She was barely forty. Still, River felt relieved, and a better idea came to mind. Agent Jamie Dallas. Young, talented, and quick at gaining access. River had worked with her before to stop an eco-terrorist. Now she just had to convince the local bureau to work with her and Dallas in handling the investigation. She would start by calling the Phoenix director.

  Chapter 3

  Monday July 7, 3:07 p.m., Phoenix

  For a minute, the air conditioning in the Phoenix FBI office felt fabulous, cooling her skin after the short but unbearably hot walk from the parking lot. But as she trotted upstairs, Dallas pulled on her business jacket to keep the refrigeration at bay. She entered Gossimer’s office on the third floor and promptly sneezed. Damn. She’d been too late with the jacket. When her skin cooled rapidly, she started sneezing. Stopping the outburst was nearly impossible.

  She sat down and sneezed again.

  “How many more you got?” Gossimer asked. “Should you come back later?” He was old enough to be her father but still attractive. She’d come to like short gray hair on men, after being surrounded by it in the bureau for years.

  “I’m fine.” Dallas pinched the cartilage between her nostrils. Sometimes it helped. Her record was twenty-six sneezes, and it had happened right here in this building just a few months on the job. She’d grown up in Flagstaff, and after her training at Quantico, she’d requested a position in Arizona to be close to her aunt and her best friend. Because no other agent in their right mind wanted to live in Phoenix, she’d landed her first-choice location. Every July and August, she regretted that decision. “What have you got for me?”

  “Special Agent Joe Palmer of the San Diego bureau died earlier this week. He’d been sick for a few days, then went into septic shock in the ER. He had a nasty sore on his hand and his blood count indicates an infection, but the autopsy was inconclusive.” Gossimer’s eyes were troubled. “But that won’t be your focus.”

  Curiosity was killing her, but Dallas nodded and waited, holding back a sneeze.

  “Palmer’s wife, Jana, works for TecLife, a medical device business. She thinks the company is engaged in corporate sabotage against its competitors. She asked her husband to look into it, and two weeks later he was dead.”

  Dallas’ pulse quickened. She finally had a glimmer of her role in the case. “Did he have an open file?”

  “No. Palmer was looking into it on his own and only had some personal notes.”

  “The bureau wants me to get inside the company and see what I can find.”

  “Jana Palmer works in HR and can get you an interview.”

  Yes! Dallas lived for undercover work. Yet this one made her nervous. “I don’t have enough science or tech background to pose as a researcher, so it would have to be an administrative job.”

  Gossimer smiled. “They have an opening right now for an assistant to the president. I take it you’re interested in the assignment?”

  “Of course. If someone in the company killed one of our agents, I want to help get the bastard.” As soon as she said it, she realized what it meant.

  Her boss raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? If they murdered one agent, they might try to kill another.”

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I’ll be careful. They won’t suspect someone from the inside.” Dallas wondered what Palmer had done to flag their attention.

  “On the upside, none of this is a given. The wife could be wrong about the company, and Agent Palmer could have died of an infected spider bite.”

  “What makes her think TecLife is conducting corporate sabotage?” The bureau wouldn’t send her out to San Diego unless they had something solid.

  “One of their competitors had a warehouse fire, in which a guard died, around the same time Mrs. Palmer overheard the executives talking about the competitor’s product. A month later, another device company had to recall its new product, some kind of skin patch that monitors blood pressure.” Gossimer scowled and handed her a file. “These are medical devices, and tampering with them endangers lives. Which is why we’re taking the allegation so seriously.”

  “Who’s my contact in the San Diego office?”

  “It’s a little complicated. Carla River, from the Eugene office, knew Palmer years ago when she lived in San Diego. She came down for his funeral and asked to investigate. She also requested you for the undercover assignment.”

  Dallas’ apprehension eased. She’d worked with River in Oregon and liked her style. “Why is it complicated?”

  “Politics.” Gossimer gave a small shrug. “Agent River is the one who talked to the wife, heard her concerns, and located Palmer’s notes, so she will be your contact. But the SD director appointed someone to head the investigation into Palmer’s death.”

  “So they’re treating them like separate cases?”

  Her boss offered a phony smile. “Yes, but they kept Palmer’s investigation in the white collar unit, and they’ll share information.”

  “Good to know.” She hoped the politics wouldn’t undermine her role in the case. Undercover work required a 24-7 support team. “When do I leave?”

  “As soon as you can. I’ll get the UC people started on your new ID and background right away.”

  Who did she want to be this time? It would be her first undercover role that required her to show up for work. “If I’m going to interact with people in an office, I should stick with something familiar. What about J.C., the initials, for a first name?”

  “What goes on the driver’s license? The motor vehicles people don’t like initials.”

  “Why not Jamie? Jamie Hunter. No one is going to see my license.” She’d had a dog named Hunter, a black lab, when she was a kid. Her father had run over him in a drug-induced rage. But what she liked best about the name for this assignment was its obviousness. She’d already used the FBI acronym as her initials, as well as SOB. “I’ll introduce myself as J.C. or Jace.” In the bureau, everyone called her Dallas, and she preferred it. “What about my background?”

  “It’s probably not as important this time, but let’s brainstorm anyway.”

  Her last UC assignment had required her to infiltrate a group of survivalists, and the background had been critical to getting accepted. “What do we know about TecLife’s founders?”

  “Max Grissom and Cheryl Decker both went to Stanford, so we’ll add that to your résumé.” Gossimer glanced at his notes. “They both also worked for other medical technology companies, which are now their competitors.”

  “I need a history in the industry, but one they can’t check out too thoroughly. Maybe a tech company that’s gone out of business.” Dallas tried to recall headlines from the business section of the Times, but she typically focused on computer and digital technology, as well as financial news.

  “We’ll have our background people work on it.” Gossimer gave her a sly smile. “We have some new toys and tactics you might get to try out.”

  Another shimmer of pleasure. “Like what?”

  “Dime-sized tracking devices that slide into purses or pockets and the ability to activate webcams on computers without the users’ knowledge.”

  Dallas resisted the urge to rub her hands together. Damn, she loved spying. “I assume I’m targeting both founders. Anyone else in the company worth checking out?”

  “Curtis Santera, the head of R&D, owns fifteen percent of the company’s stock, so he has a lot to lose if TecLife goes under.”

  Pumped and ready, Dallas couldn’t sit any longer. “I need to start packing and prepping.”

  “We’ll have your new paperwork by noon tomorrow, so you can get to the DMV and buy a plane ticket. Once you hit San Diego, you can trade in your new driver’s license for a local issue.”

  “Where will I stay?” Dallas grabbed her tablet computer from the desk, realizing she’d been too excited to take notes.

  “Agent River is working on that. She knows the area and will call you tomorrow.”

  Dallas would
have more questions later, but right now she had to move. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Good luck. Keep me posted.”

  She hurried out, eager to transform into J.C Hunter. Slipping into the skin of another person made her neurons sing. It wasn’t the same heart-thumping thrill as skydiving, but the challenge—‌and delicious deception—‌lasted for weeks or months. The high was far better than any drug or short-term adventure. She’d discovered the thrill as a teenager, after taking acting lessons and practicing characters on strangers.

  The classes had been just one of the many activities her sweet Aunt Lynn had enrolled her in to keep Dallas from thinking about, or copying, her drug-snorting, good-for-nothing parents. All of those endeavors—‌archery, tennis, piano lessons, language classes—‌served her well now and helped her fit in almost anywhere. But it was the acting skills that made her an excellent infiltrator.

  She practically skipped out of the building, feeling lucky to have a job she loved. Undercover work was a license to lie, cheat, and spy—‌all for the good of her country.

  On the drive to her condo at the edge of Scottsdale, she called her landlord to let him know she’d be gone again for a while. After parking her Rav4 at the back of the lot where it would get some shade, she hurried upstairs, mentally planning her next steps. Inside, she kicked off her shoes, liking the feel of the hardwood floors on her feet. Her friend Stacie had urged her to buy rugs or artwork, but Dallas loved the bare walls and open spaces. Clutter made it hard to breathe and sent her running from a room.

  But for UC assignments, she kept a box of fake family photos and knickknacks in the hall closet. She would ship them tomorrow when she had an address in San Diego. The personal items would make her temporary apartment look lived in, just in case someone stopped by or she brought a guy home for a hookup. The thought excited her. Seduction was often a bonus in her undercover roles, even though the bureau technically didn’t allow sexual encounters with a target. But she was good at extracting information during prolonged foreplay.

  Not knowing how long she would be gone, she packed two suitcases to the hilt, choosing mostly office clothes in shades of beige, gray, and black. Her blond hair looked best against neutral colors, but she was thinking of dying it red for the assignment. She owned a couple of sexy date dresses in teal—‌the only real color she wore—‌and they would look good with crimson tresses. If she had to stay on the job more than a month, she’d have to buy more feminine office clothes. Through college, she’d worked mostly as a waitress, preferring the constant movement and cash tips to an administrative job. Could she do the office job for a month if necessary? Of course she could. Collecting intel would make the work interesting. That reminded her to pack the bugs and tracking devices she might get to plant on her targets.

  What was she forgetting? Her special purse with the hidden pocket in the bottom for her Kel-Tec, a little backup gun she carried on assignment. Dallas tucked it into the suitcase she would check at the ticket counter. Reluctantly, she placed her Glock in the gun safe. Normally, she slept with it on the nightstand and set the motion sensor in the hallway before getting into bed. No one would ever surprise her in the middle of the night.

  Time to call Stacie, her best friend, and let her know. Her only friend, Dallas corrected. The undercover assignments made it impossible to maintain long-term relationships of any kind, which was true for lots of field agents as well. Her shrink’s voice popped into her head, telling her it was bullshit. Dallas groaned. She would have to call Dr. Harper too—‌her most difficult conversation. But it could wait until she was in San Diego.

  While Stacie’s phone rang, Dallas stood at the window and stared at Camelback Mountain in the distance. It was more like a hill—‌especially compared to Mt. Shasta where she’d been on her last assignment—‌but at least it was a break in the desert.

  “Jamie. Good timing. I was just going to see if you wanted to grab a drink later.”

  “Sure, but I can’t stay out long. I’m leaving for San Diego tomorrow.”

  “On assignment?” Her friend’s voice fell. “You’ve only been back a month or so.”

  Why did she have to keeping justifying her work? “An agent is dead and more lives are at stake. This one is really important.”

  “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re taking the wrong approach.”

  Dallas laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not dangerous for me. I’ll be in an office.”

  Now Stacie laughed. “You won’t last a week.

  Dallas took no offense. “I can do anything.”

  “Except sit still. Have you told Sam?”

  “Not yet. But don’t worry, we’re not serious, and I prepared him for it already.”

  A big sigh. “Okay, meet me at the Apollo at eight.”

  “See you soon.”

  In her galley kitchen, she opened a can of vegetable-beef soup and heated a bowl of it in the microwave. While she paced the apartment, listing pre-assignment details, her phone rang. Stacie calling back? She grabbed the device from her black leather shoulder bag and looked at the ID: Roxy Stuck. Her mother. Her parents had never married because they collected more benefits as individuals—‌another source of shame.

  Irritation and worry jammed her thoughts. Why was her mother calling? It had to be about money. Dallas let it ring. She had too much to do and needed to focus. She had walked, no run, away from the Queen Liar/manipulator and her worthless father at sixteen and never looked back. She sat at her desk and made a list for the next day: new driver’s license, new burner phones, text Sam and break it off.

  Her cell rang again, and she knew it was her mother without looking. When Roxy wanted something, she could be overwhelming. It was better to deal with her now than put up with fifteen calls. Dallas picked up. “Hey, Mom. What’s going on?”

  “Your dad’s in the hospital.” Her mother’s pack-a-day voice choked up. “He’s dying. You have to come home and see him.”

  Grief and anger squeezed her heart, but the grief quickly let go. The idiot had been trying to kill himself with drugs and alcohol for decades, so it was no surprise. “Why should I? He’s never called me once since I left home, and he wasn’t much of a father before that. I don’t exist for him.”

  “He wants to see you. He regrets a lot of his choices and he wants your forgiveness.”

  Dying bastards always did. “Pat his hand for me and tell him I said goodbye. But I’m not coming. I have an important work assignment that can’t be put off.” Dallas hung up before her mother could argue. An FBI agent, a good man who’d dedicated his life to serving his country, was dead, most likely murdered. Investigating his death and the sabotage of medical devices was a far better use of her time than making a dying asshole feel better.

  She ate her now-lukewarm soup and got moving again. Guilt followed her around the condo as she watered her cactus, closed the blinds, and set the AC down a notch in preparation to leave for weeks or months. Damn him. Her good vibe about flying to San Diego on assignment was slipping away. Dallas changed into workout clothes and jumped on the elliptical machine—‌the best way to clear her head and work off tension.

  Forty minutes later, she was drenched in sweat and at peace with her decision. Unwilling to risk another confrontation, she texted Sam: I have an out-of-town assignment and I’ll be gone for a month or so and too busy to communicate. We might as well see other people.

  She hoped he would take it well. Sam was smart enough not to be clingy with her, unlike her last boyfriend, who’d gotten too serious too quickly and ruined a good thing. But once the sex lost its sizzle, she had to move on. When men got too attached and emotional with her, banging them became boring, more of a chore than a sport. She knew it was fucked up, but so far, Dr. Harper had failed to fix her.

  Dallas showered, put on the one cocktail dress she hadn’t packed, and went out to meet Stacie.

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday, July 8, 3:05 p.m.

  Kiya spott
ed the stripper getting out of a car, stuck in a piece of Juicy Fruit, and braced for action. After the pretty woman in the phony cop uniform crossed the parking lot, Kiya climbed off her motorcycle, grabbed the prop from her saddle bag, and hurried toward the building. She carried a bouquet of black roses that had cost a small fortune and wore a shirt with a Flower Power logo above the pocket. She’d bought the uniform from a young deliveryman two days ago. Some of her assignments required months of preparation. Others, like this one, came together easily. But it was too soon to count this one as a done deal. The main challenge was still ahead.

  Inside the glass doors, the stripper walked through a security checkpoint and showed her ID. “I’m with PartyParty. I have a birthday present for Sanjay Mallick. Your company ordered it.”

  Kiya waited just inside the door, hoping someone else would come through first. But DigiPro was a medtech company and didn’t get much foot traffic.

  The security guard crossed his arms. “What kind of present? Show me.”

  The stripper pulled open her easy-snap shirt and leaned forward. Kiya couldn’t see the display, but she imagined the woman was wearing a sexy black bra that revealed plenty of cleavage. The guard grinned and waved her in. “Sanjay’s in the lab on the left upstairs.”

  One hurdle down. Kiya had ordered the strip-o-gram as a distraction. She hoped the woman was good at her job. Touching the gold chain on her neck for luck, Kiya stepped forward.

  “I’m Amy Johnson with Flower Power. I have a delivery for Sanjay Mallick too. He’s having quite a birthday.” She handed the security guy a phony driver’s license and gave him a quick smile. She hated smiling. Her teeth were small, and it wasn’t in her nature to be charming. But being a freelance contractor required it sometimes. She hoped the guy didn’t call the floral company.

  He looked at her uniform shirt and compared her face to the tiny photo on the license. What was he thinking? That she was sort of pretty, but her green eyes lacked warmth?