Broken Boys_The Extractor Page 5
“I understand.”
“We can make decisions about how much you want to spend as I go along.” Rox heard Marty’s familiar knock. “I’ll text you my address and see you tomorrow at noon. Bring photos of Tommy, please.”
“Can I just send one to your phone?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
Rox hung up and turned to the front door. “Clear!”
Marty hustled into her side of the duplex. “I hope you’re hungry. I ordered Thai food and it will be here any minute.” Marty snickered, knowing she was always hungry.
They sat at the kitchen table, and she let Marty face the door and window. He’d been a cop longer than she had. Rox gave him a look. “You should have asked me about dinner before ordering. I might have had a date.”
He laughed again and she finally joined him. Her social life had been pretty quiet since she and Kyle had broken up.
“What did you find out about our client, Isaac Lovejoy?”
“His wife made a few 911 calls when they were still married, but she never pressed charges.”
Damn. Was her client an abuser? “What were the calls about?”
“Nothing too serious, or he would have been arrested. The wife mostly complained about him threatening her.” Marty got up, looked in the fridge, and grabbed a beer. “I talked to the last officer to respond to their house, and he said nobody had been hurt and that the wife wasn’t very sympathetic.”
A troubled but non-violent marriage. And considering that Carrie had supposedly cheated, all that seemed within reason. Rox relaxed a little. “Hey, you gonna share that with me?”
“Sure.” Her stepdad poured half the microbrew into a glass and handed it to her. “What are you thinking?”
“I’ll be curious to see what Josh has to say about his parents. Even if Lovejoy isn’t a great dad, he still has the good sense to realize that a forced wilderness camp isn’t how you handle troubled teenagers.”
“What’s your solution?” Marty’s tone held a challenge.
Rox shook her head. “I don’t have to have answers. I’m not a parent. But the more I read about those camps, the more sadistic they seem. And if Josh is suicidal, we have to extract him.”
“I’m with you.” Marty raised his beer.
Rox touched her glass to his. “Thanks, partner.”
The doorbell rang, and Marty jumped up to pay for their take-out meal. A few minutes later, as he sat back down to eat, Rox told him about the new-client call.
“What the hell?” Marty scowled. “Is one of those programs targeting this area with advertisements?”
“That was my thought.” An idea popped into her head and Rox snapped her fingers. “What if someone in the police bureau or juvenile-justice system is recommending the program to women with delinquent minors?”
Marty stopped chewing. “I’ll make those calls tomorrow. I know someone over at juvie.”
“The person giving the recommendations might be getting a kickback for every kid they send over.”
Marty nodded. “It wouldn’t be a first.”
After they finished eating, Rox stood and announced, “I have church to attend.”
Marty got a big laugh out of that. “Good luck. You gonna wear a dress?”
“Maybe.”
“Something besides blue?”
“Maybe.” Rox waved him off with her hand. “Go home. There’s nothing to see here.”
“I want a full report when you get back.” Her stepdad cleared the table, then walked toward the door. He turned back at the last minute. “Don’t go all puritan on me if you get converted.” Marty winked and scurried out.
Chapter 9
Rox pulled her box of disguises out of the closet and set it on the bed. She’d recently bought a mousy brown, shoulder-length wig that would be perfect for this mission. The long, sexy blonde and the curly red were both inappropriate for blending into a religious group, or even a spiritual group. She pinned on the phony locks, glad she kept her own hair short, then added a pair of big glasses with dark rims. She decided the black pants she was wearing were fine, but she traded the sleeveless cobalt blouse for something in the same color that covered her bare arms. In this situation, the less attention she drew the better. But her height was hard to change or hide. She hoped it wouldn’t matter. Rox scanned through the Fellowship website again, looking for themes or guidance, and found a couple of repetitive phrases she could use to sound like she fit in.
On the drive over, she listened to Al Green’s classic soul to help her feel calm. In-person reconnaissance with a fake identity was the most challenging aspect of her job. Her natural impulse was to be bluntly honest—or so she’d been told. But the treatments had softened her, and she could sometimes tell little white lies to keep from hurting Marty’s feelings. She was better about reading people too. With any luck, none of that would matter this evening.
Rox pulled into the school parking lot next to the Community Fellowship, dismayed that the white-panel building was only a single level and smaller than she’d expected. She had hoped the meeting would have enough of an attendance that she would go mostly unnoticed except by the people she spoke directly to. But on a Wednesday night, if there were thirty attendees, she would be surprised.
Sucking in a breath for courage, Rox strode inside, practicing her persona on the way. The oak-panel foyer was crowded with people chatting before the service. Just what she’d hoped for. An older woman turned to her. “Hello and welcome.” She smiled brightly and offered her hand. “Elsie Danes.”
Rox gave her hand a limp squeeze, and said quietly, “Jolene McAdams.” Her sister would have been amused by the use of her name.
“Is this your first time here?” Elsie asked.
Rox nodded at the older gal. “Yes. I’m looking for some friendship and guidance.”
Another woman moved toward them, younger and heavier and wearing too much perfume. “Then you’re in the right place. Welcome. I’m Regina.”
“Hello. And thank you.”
“You’re alone?” Regina got right to the point.
This was where it got sticky. She had to be convincing. “My husband died recently, and I’m raising our son alone.” Less was better, she’d learned.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Both fellowship women spoke at once.
Rox swallowed hard and made herself think about her dead sister.
“What’s his name?”
Who? Oh right, her son. “Martin.” She stuck to familiar names because they felt more real—and were easier to remember.
“He’s welcome here too.” Regina gave another big smile.
Rox sighed, then channeled what she’d heard recently from her newest client. “Marty’s sixteen and acting out. His father’s death was really hard on him.”
“Of course. We’ll pray for him.”
“Thank you.”
The main door opened, and Carrie Lovejoy walked in with a man about her own age. Rox started to turn her face away, then remembered she didn’t need to. She forced herself to reach out and quickly touch Regina’s arm. “You’re being kind. But I’ve been praying and it’s not enough. I think I need to send Marty away.” She pulled in a deep breath. “As much as it breaks my heart.”
“You poor thing.” Regina put her arm around Rox’s shoulders and squeezed.
Rox stiffened and pulled away, feeling guilty. But she couldn’t handle that much contact with strangers!
Elsie reached out a wrinkled, vein-lined hand. “What did you have in mind? A military school?”
“No, I’m considering one of those wilderness camps. I’ve heard they’re effective, but I don’t know where to even start looking.”
“I know just the person to help you.” Elsie turned and called out, “Carrie!”
The blonde woman from the YMCA had stopped to chat with an older man. But now she turned to face them.
“Can you come over?” Elsie gestured with a waving motion.
Time to work fast. She didn’t want to sit through a sermon—or lecture, or whatever they did here.
Elsie introduced her and Carrie, and they shook hands. Carrie nodded, but her eyes weren’t smiling.
Elsie repeated what Rox had said about her fake son, then asked, “Can you help her with that, Carrie? Curtis told me you sent Josh to one of those camps.”
The man who’d come in with Carrie stepped over. “I heard my name.” About her height, Curtis had thin hair, a pudgy belly, and mean eyes. He stared at Rox. “You’re new.”
“Yes.” She knew she should offer her hand but couldn’t make herself.
“Curtis Fletcher, Carrie’s fiancé.” He smiled and his eyes softened. He put his arm around Carrie and Rox noticed his wristwatch. It looked like a Cartier diver’s watch, but she couldn’t be sure. If it was, the price tag was over ten grand.
“I’m Jolene.”
“You’re pretty tall. Pretty pretty too.” Fletcher chuckled.
Jackass. Rox gave a small smile.
Carrie stepped between them. “I have to use the restroom before the service starts. Come with me and I’ll tell you what I can.”
Yes! Rox followed her down a dark hallway, wondering if Carrie was trying to get her away from Fletcher because she was insecure, or if the blonde wanted to get out of earshot of her fiancé before she talked about the camp. The distinction wasn’t something Rox would have thought about before the magnets had altered her brain.
In the damp tile bathroom, Carrie kept her voice low. “I can’t talk much about the program because I’m not supposed to, but I can give you the name and you can use me as a reference.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s Ridgeline Wilderness Health. The number is on their website.”
Rox reached into her shoulder bag, pretending to look for a pen. “Why do I need a reference?”
“Oh, it’s just a way of making sure they attract the right people. But I think they need all the business they can get.” Carrie’s cheeks flushed a little.
What was that about? “So what does the program cost?”
“Three hundred a day.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, I know.” Carrie rolled her big blue eyes. “But it’s worth it. Drug treatment is even more expensive.”
"Where is the camp? Would I have to drive Marty up there?”
The blonde woman turned to the big mirror to check her lipstick. “They have programs in both central Oregon and northern Nevada. They started out in Utah, then had to relocate because the state passed a bunch of laws about how they could operate.”
Running from regulation. Not a good sign. “How do I get there?” Was that too direct?
“You don’t. They come pick up your kid. The camp moves around, and nobody is allowed to know the location.”
Damn! “Why so secretive?”
“They’ve had some trouble.” Carrie spun back. “You can’t repeat any of this when you call Ridgeline. Let them tell you what you need to know.”
Another woman entered the small space, and Carrie stepped toward one of the two stalls. “I really do have to pee. Good luck with your son.” She stepped inside and the latch clicked.
Rox turned to walk out and spotted Carrie’s purse sitting on the counter. Her phone stuck out of an exterior pocket. The stranger moved toward the second stall, and Rox opened the door to exit the bathroom. What if Carrie’s phone held the information she needed? She only had to borrow it for a few minutes, do a quick search, then return it. Or maybe leave it somewhere in the church. Rox’s heart missed a beat. She’d never done anything quite like it before, and her years spent as a police officer tried to override the idea. But her time with the CIA had given her a more flexible view of legality and morality.
With two quiet steps, she reached the sink counter and grabbed the phone. Rox slipped it into her own bag and quickly left the bathroom. What now? As much as she wanted to exit the building, she feared it would look suspicious to ask questions about the correctional program, then disappear. Plus, she had to return Carrie’s phone. Rox hurried down the hall, crossed the now-empty foyer, and opened a door on the other side. She planned to sit through the service just for show, but she wanted to be the last one inside.
In the smaller room, three young kids played with Legos in the middle of the floor while a teenage girl read something on her phone. A daycare center. The girl looked up. “Hey. Are you looking for someone?”
“No, I’m new here and wasn’t sure where the prayer meeting was.”
“That’s in the main sanctuary.”
“Oh, it looked like a service was starting.” Rox was stalling.
“Yeah, it’s like that. Labella talks about how to be a good person, then they do lots of praying. And hand-holding.” The girl sounded bored.
“Do you know the topic for tonight?” As if she cared.
“No. But I’m sure it’s about love and tolerance.” She gave Rox an odd smile. “Or giving money.”
“What’s your name?” Still stalling.
“Rebecca.” The girl’s eyes narrowed. “The service is starting.”
“You’re right.” Rox scrambled for something that might engage Rebecca. What were young girls interested in besides phones? Oh right. Rox remembered that she had a fake teenage boy. “I was going to bring my son to the fellowship, but he was worried he wouldn’t know anyone. Now I can tell him I met a pretty young girl I can introduce him to.”
Rebecca lowered her voice. “I’m not into guys, but don’t tell anyone in the group or they’ll send me to a conversion camp.”
Was that a different program than the behavior correction? Was it part of Ridgeline? Carrie had mentioned several locations. “I’ll keep your secret. I don’t support those programs.”
“No one should.”
Rox wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to push her luck.
Rebecca glanced over at the kids. “You really should go. I’m not supposed to have anyone in here.”
“All right. Nice meeting you.” Rox stepped out and didn’t see anyone in the foyer. She crossed it, pushed open one of the sanctuary’s swinging doors, and slipped into the empty back pew. Elsie, who was seated on the inside aisle near the front, glanced back at her. Rox smiled, hoping she didn’t have a guilty look on her face. She glanced around the high-ceiling room, which was bathed in an eerie glow from a row of stained-glass windows. The light reminded her that the summer sun was still bright out there. And that she would rather be anywhere else. Even home, mowing the lawn.
Focus! A quick count indicated thirty-three people were in attendance.
After searching the room, she finally spotted Carrie and her fiancé on the left, in a pew about halfway back from the podium. The blonde woman didn’t seem agitated and wasn’t searching her purse. Rox’s shoulders relaxed and she pulled out the pilfered phone. She pressed the home key and the screen lit up. No password. More good news. Rox hit the Call Log icon and started scrolling through outgoing calls, checking for out-of-state area codes. With cell phones, locations were almost meaningless, so this could be a waste of time. But if she spotted a 700 number, it would likely be Northern Nevada. A 503 code could be Oregon. Carrie had indicated the program originated in Utah, and the office could still be there—even if the camps were conducted elsewhere. Technically, the Ridgeline administrative office could be anywhere. They didn’t deal with walk-in customers, and their main business was conducted in the wild. They could even be operating out of someone’s home. Rox made a mental note to call business offices in all three states, looking for registered owners.
Wanting to look attentive, Rox kept glancing up at the preacher, who seemed to be talking about jealousy. Weird. As she scanned back two weeks in Carrie’s log, Rox noted two calls to an east coast number, and the digits locked into her memory, even though she didn’t think they were impor
tant. After another five minutes, she came across an 801 area code. That was Salt Lake City. A very good possibility. Rox processed the phone number and continued scanning, glancing up every few seconds. She worried that someone—a deacon or usher or whatever—would notice her activity and ask her to stop… or leave.
An out-of-state incoming call caught her attention. A 775 area code. Reno, Nevada. That could be the camp director. Or the transport service. Rox committed the number to memory. Footsteps in the aisle made her look up. A white-haired man slid into the pew and sat a few feet from her. Rox slipped the stolen phone back into her shoulder bag. While she waited for the service to end, she worked through several options. She could walk up to Carrie to say goodbye, then attempt to slip the phone into her purse. Risky. Or she could come up behind the woman and be stealthy about putting it back. Also a little iffy. Rox’s favorite choice was to put the phone on the floor, and when everyone got up to leave, kick it hard enough to slide all the way up to where Carrie sat.
Rox had never worked as a field operator when she was with the CIA—only as an analyst who rarely left her desk. She’d been exceptional at scanning data and recognizing patterns or inconsistencies. But her atypical brain had kept the CIA from giving her covert work. She was getting better at it now because the extractions required it. The treatments were helping too. But this fellowship crowd seemed fairly tuned into her, and she didn’t think she could pull off a reverse pickpocket.
Suddenly, the attendees were on their feet and grabbing each other’s hands. The old man next to her reached out and Rox was too stunned to resist. The Latina preacher started praying in a loud voice, and the congregation joined her in a recital. A few people eased out of the pews and headed for the exit. Oh hell. It was too late to kick the phone under the pews. Rox tried not to panic. She’d learned some solid intel, and now she just needed to keep from blowing her cover.
Get out! Rox gave into the impulse. She smiled at the old guy, pulled her hand free, and bolted from the building. If it seemed safe, she would drop Carrie’s cell phone in the parking lot as she jogged to her car.