| |
When Special Agent Mitchell’s smart phone chirped out the generic tone installed by the manufacturer, he slid his thumb over the display. “Tell me something good,” he said as he raised the device to his ear. He watched the dusty green sedan hit the access trail leading toward the main road and away from the farm. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he knew that chicken lady would be trouble, and that was something he didn’t need more of right now.
The deep chuckle from his friend David Hennesey, a special agent with the domestic terrorism department and the agent-in-charge on this particular case, came over the connection. “I don’t know how good it is. Only time will tell.”
“Out with it.” Mitchell had been friends with David since training at Quantico. When they were both placed in the Indianapolis office, he’d called it fate and the two of them had been chasing down bad guys and pursuing good—and sometimes bad—women ever since. Correction. They’d dated around and barhopped together until two years ago when David married the love of his life after a whirlwind romance. Mitchell had always regretted the loss of his wingman. Some guys were just more cut out for wedded bliss than others, and David’s wife was a leggy brunette who had loads of talent as a singer. David was the guy Mitchell trusted most in this life. “What’ve you been working on lately?”
And please don’t tell me trying to create a new life. There were just some things guys didn’t talk about.
“Well, a few days ago I busted some wanna-be hipster. You know the type: early twenties, almost finished with a college degree he’ll probably never use, no job, student loans, thinks he’s entitled and has a chip on his shoulder. He apparently tried to hack into the Pentagon’s website. I caught him sitting in the living room of his frat house as if he hadn’t a care in the world, almost as if he wanted to get caught.”
“For what purpose?” Home grown terrorists were a dime a dozen these days, and any clown with an Internet connection thought it would be fun to fashion their own homemade explosive devices, but each instance or call had to be thoroughly checked out.
“Who knows? You know how kids his age are. They do it because they can. He’s connected to some local, grassroots anti-government organization. Their founder or something. The kid and his friends think the country should impeach the president and that all the states should be run by themselves, independently of Washington, with their own laws. One of their theories is each state should build border crossings and collection entry/exit fees.” David snorted. “Just a typical Tuesday.”
“Sounds like.” Mitchell leaned a shoulder against one of the posts holding up the porch roof and kept his gaze trained to the road. The dust kicked up from the chicken lady’s car wheels filled the humid, dry air behind her. “What did you do with him?”
“Oh, the usual. Tried to put the fear of God in him during interrogations, gave him a stern warning and turned him over to local law enforcement.” David paused, and Mitchell could almost see the tall, lean man shrug. While Mitchell had goofed off and spent his time chasing women during those early years, David had buckled down and had ultimately gotten a promotion, which put him ahead of Mitchell in rank. After that, Mitchell had applied himself harder. “He’ll probably get a few years in a minimum-security facility, most of that off for probation, which will bring even more attention to his cause. Turn him into a local hero. I think his first hearing is scheduled for the beginning of September.”
“Great. Well, the good thing is he’s off the streets.” It was annoying how many “tips” came rolling into the FBI offices every day, and since they all needed investigated, they clogged the system, using good manpower that could be given to actual credible threats.
“Yeah. For the time being.”
“What did the higher-ups say? Are they concerned that he’d try it again?”
“They didn’t say anything. I guess he’s not a big enough threat since he didn’t get through, like the latest Chinese hacker.”
“I hate to say it, but the FBI needs to step up its game. Maybe we should employ more guys like the hackers. They seem to have their stuff together.” He laughed and the sound was flat and empty.
Silence stretched between them, the kind of thick, pregnant quiet that practically roiled with unasked questions. Mitchell cleared his throat. For as long as he’d known David, he’d never wondered what went on in the man’s head. Until now. It wasn’t like David to act reticent before. Had it been his quip that pissed David off or did something else chew at his mind?
“What’s up? You worried?”
“About the job? Nah. Just busy with paperwork and buried under the workload.” A heavy sigh swept over the connection. “You know how it is. People are bored and always grumpier when the temperatures start soaring.”
“Yeah, I know.” Mitchell thought back over his recent interaction with the chicken lady—or Samantha as he should call her—and he grinned. “People are restless and will fight about anything. Maybe you should put in for vacation soon.”
“Can’t. I’m storing up my time.”
“Oh? Got something awesome brewing down the line?” Knowing his friend, he’d take his beautiful wife to someplace with a beach somewhere.
“You could say that.” Another round of silence stretched between them before David spoke again. “You find evidence of pot over where you are?” he asked, clearly changing the subject. Whatever it was had passed and no trace of it remained in his voice.
“Not yet. My target has a phone date later with that same woman in Russia he’s made contact with before.”
“Russia, huh? You figure he’s a spy?” Interest wove through the question.
“I doubt it, but here I am, under orders to bring him in if he even so much as breathes those magical key words.” He rolled his eyes. If the new convo resembled the last two, he’d be bored out of his mind. The previous phone call resulted in them doing a crossword puzzle over the phone or exchanging recipes.
“Oh, beyond shooting the breeze with his hacker grandson?”
“Yeah.” Mitchell switched his phone to his other hand. “But the dope thing is hard to prove what with the acres of corn I still need to search. And let me tell you, a cornfield in the daylight is one thing, but it creeps me the hell out at night.” Just one thought about Children of the Corn put the brakes on the likelihood he’d troop out there at night. “The fact this guy’s connected to your anti-government student is troubling enough, which is probably why I’m here.”
Why his superiors, and David especially, hadn’t bothered to let him know about the connection well before he’d come out here was beyond him. At least they knew it now. Both suspicions were pretty big evidence of domestic terrorism, but if it went global with deeper contacts? Everyone would be in deep doggie doo. And he’d be darned if he mucked up this investigation. He was already nearing the end of his usefulness in the field. Once special agents hit thirty-five, it was the death knell and they were assigned desk duty, no matter if they were in exceptional physical shape and still had sharp minds.
Being a SA was a young man’s game. This would likely be his last field assignment since he hit that unfortunate milestone a few weeks prior.
David howled with laughter. “Yeah, you always did manage to snag the really good assignments.”
The fact he “felt” something regarding the old man he monitored, and David’s hacker didn’t help. Maybe it was just the case. Feelings weren’t facts, and in this job, facts were as valuable as gold. “Stow it, man.” Mitchell squinted against the glare of the unrelenting July sun. The dust cloud that should have been moving toward the small town was now coming back toward him. “Somehow I doubt the old farmer is doing anything illegal. If anyone’s growing pot, it’ll be the grandson or someone unrelated. Easy in, easy out before the harvest with no one the wiser.”
“Yet the grandson’s a hacker. Might as well stick with it for a while.”
“Yeah.” Chances were this case would be weeks’ worth of boring. “Crud. The woman is as stubborn as a boulder.”
“What woman? You’ve got action over there?”
“I wish, only this particular female is five-feet-something of trouble in a sundress.” He frowned as his suspicions were confirmed. The damn woman had done a U-turn and was bearing down on his farm-turned-home base. “Good thing about it? She’s apparently my other reason for being out in the freaking middle of nowhere. I get to check her out.” At least that investigation had come from his boss in the NSA.
David snorted. “You do love hands-on assignments. Maybe you can get in a frisk or two.”
“Shut up.” Mitchell grinned. “She’s definitely not my type.” It had been months since he’d ended his last relationship, and he wasn’t looking to get involved with a small-town woman.
“Since when? Last time I checked, your type was any woman under thirty who was breathing.”
Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Knock it off. This one’s not exactly the epitome of chic.” He recalled her to mind. No makeup had graced her round face. No jewelry adorned her wrists, neck or ears. The blonde/brown hair, though caught back in a ponytail, didn’t possess the salon-induced highlights he’d become used to in his previous partners. “While the lack of high maintenance is great, organic is way down the other end of the spectrum.”
“There’s more to life than outward appearances, friend. Besides, looks fade with age and... other stuff.” David stumbled over the last of it but didn’t explain.
What the hell was his deal? Mitchell shoved the weird feeling aside. David wasn’t strange. He was a by-the-book player. Chances were this case was messing with his head. “Whatever. Plus, it appears she’s obsessed with chickens. I don’t need that type of crazy.” He pushed off the post and moved down a step as the car made inevitable progress. “It’s her Internet search history I’ll need to check out. You know how it is.”
“Well, keep me posted. I’ve got a crap-ton of stuff to file reports on and can’t worry about your love life.”
“Will do, though I’m not looking to get involved with anyone, let alone a country bumpkin.” Mitchell disconnected from the call, locked his keypad then slid the smart phone into an inside jacket pocket. He was more the “love ‘em then leave ‘em” type, always dumping them as soon as things grew too serious. That way, there was virtually no chance his heart could be engaged or him hurt. He wasn’t interested in going down that route again.
Not after Jane.
He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited. He shoved Jane’s memory to the back of his mind before she took over and he’d have to examine his life and intentions all over again. Now wasn’t the time or place. Maybe there wouldn’t be a good time. She was part of the past and that was all.
The green car turned onto the trail from the main road and he steeled himself for another argument about chickens. That was the trouble of being assigned a case that took him deep into rural Indiana. He either spent endless hours alone or the crazies came out for visits. At least there was nothing out here that would mire him in a moral dilemma.
If he was going to go out, he’d do it with a bang. Damn it, but he wanted to be remembered as a hero, for a guy who’d made a difference, not a guy who busted an unassuming farmer needing the cash from growing weed to pay the bills or something, and he didn’t want to haul in a country cook for her Internet search history. How lame.
By the time the car came up the driveway, trailing a dust cloud behind it, Mitchell had decided he’d personally escort Samantha back to town, even if he had to put her in handcuffs to do it. The farm he used for his home base was too dangerous for a civilian to be poking around.
True to their earlier interaction, once she parked, Samantha exited the vehicle like a whirlwind. She stalked over to the front porch then rocked to a halt with a foot on the bottom step, her head tipped up and the sun glinting off her sunglass lenses. They weren’t even designer glasses either, just a cheap, plastic pair no doubt bought at a dollar store.
The abstract thought that she’d clean up nicely if dropped into expensive clothing and accessories flitted through his brain, but he banished it before it could take root. He wasn’t interested in spending any more time than necessary with Miss Dairy Queen.
“I thought I told you this property was off limits?” He made sure there was just enough hint of a growl at the back of his voice to let her know he meant business. Normally, it either pissed a woman off or turned her on.
“You did, but I’m pretty certain you didn’t mean it.”
Just his luck. It did neither of those things with Samantha. Mitchell heaved a sigh. “Hate to break it to you then. I do mean it, and if you don’t heed my warning, I’ll have no choice except to arrest you.” He frowned. “Do you really want a record because of some stupid chicken thing?”
“Well, you do owe me the chickens.” She cocked her head to one side with an equally lopsided tiny smile.
“I thought we already settled the issue.”
“No, you told me to go away. You’re nothing but a big cheat.” She frowned and his attention wandered to the downward curve of her mouth. How had he thought she’d need expensive makeup? Those lips were glorious naked. Did she wear lip balm and would it taste fruity if he kissed her?
Stop it, Mitchell. Focus on the job. He cleared his throat. “No, I’m just trying to keep you safe and do my job. That’s all.” He yanked his gaze away from her mouth, only to have it meet her eyes since she’d perched her sunglasses on top of her head. Such unusual, arresting blue-green eyes that glued him to the spot. And, damn it, there was even a sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Those freckles screamed girl-next-door and picked at his protective instincts for no other reason than she was typical small-town America and didn’t need the ugliness life could bring. The fact domestic terrorism was slowly eroding the fabric of that very same small-town America was annoying enough, but to have it upset her life? Unconscionable. “Please. I’m asking you one last time. Get in your car and drive away from here.”
“Not until I get my chickens or my money back.”
“I was dead serious when I told you before you needed to get them elsewhere. Just call the loss the cost of doing business.”
“I’m sure you were, and as I already explained, it’s too difficult to get chickens somewhere else at the moment, especially when I need them right now.” She darted a glance to the left in the direction of one of the smaller outbuildings on the property. “Never mind. I’ll just grab them myself then I’ll be out of your hair.” She looked at his head. “Which, by the way, there’s a June bug right there on the top of your head.” A shiver shook her frame.
His heart shot into his throat as she marched off in the direction of the building. Holy crap! Not only would she ruin his operation but she’d go blabbing all over town about his digs out here. “Ma’am, I can’t let you go anywhere besides this farmhouse.” Since she wasn’t looking at him any longer, he plowed his fingers through his hair, shaking the strands until the tan-colored beetle fell out. “Gross.” If there was anything in this world he couldn’t stand, it was bugs that wore their skeletons on the outside and would crunch if stepped on.
“It’s okay. I know where Joe keeps the cleaned chickens. He always sells off-the-farm items out of that building over there to locals who need things. Has an old-fashioned cash register and everything. I know Joe, and he’d never cheat anyone.” She didn’t slow her stride. “Unlike you,” she volleyed over her shoulder. The slap-slap of her sandals kept time to his rapidly beating pulse.
“Uh, if you’re talking about the walk-in chiller, it’s not there anymore.” Well, the temperature inside the building was still cold, but the shelves no longer contained processed farm fowl or dairy products ready to sell. Panic dripped down Mitchell’s spine as he vaulted off the porch and set out after her. The only thing the shelves held now was sensitive listening equipment and surveillance stuff. Computers and electronic wires ran everywhere. Not to mention the few guys also working the case.
“I want to see for myself.”
“Yeah, see, that’s not going to happen.” He ran ahead of her and reached the building mere steps ahead of Samantha. As he barricaded himself in front of the door, he extended his arms as if he were a bird with a wingspan. “If you must know, I ditched whatever perishables Joe had in there a few weeks ago. What’s inside doesn’t even resemble farm fare any more than—”
“You resemble a farmer?” One of her feathery eyebrows rose toward her hairline.
“Sure. We’ll go with that analogy.” He sucked in a sharp breath. She smelled like flowers. None that he could identify, but he liked the faint scent. “Ms. Arnold—”
“It’s miss. I’m not married and neither do I go for that feminist stuff.”
“Fine. Miss Arnold, I’m begging you, get off this property if you know what’s good for you.” Did he look as stupid as he felt, all flung out in a dark suit against the peeling paint of a farm out-building with sweat making the button-down shirt stick to him?
“What’s good for me is either getting my missing chicken order or my money back. Fair is fair, Mitchell Mitchell, and you know it.” She ignored his plea and reached around him for the rusting handle.
What he thought was fair had no bearing on the current situation. If life were fair, Jane would still be among the living. “Why won’t you just listen to reason?” Mitchell gripped her bare shoulders then turned them both around until her back pressed against the door. He planted his hands on either side of her head, and for good measure, moved into her personal space, their bodies barely touching. The thin cotton of her sundress rasped against his pant legs as she squirmed for freedom. “I tried to be nice. I tried to be accommodating. Now we’ll have to do it the hard way, won’t we, Samantha?”
“Call me Sam.” She stopped wriggling and stood still, peering awkwardly up into his face since her ponytail made tipping her head difficult. “And, FYI, you haven’t been accommodating. If anything, you’re extremely difficult.”
“There’s a reason for that.” Mitchell leaned closer, only stopping when the tips of their noses nearly touched. “I’m not kidding around. You’re not allowed in this building. Also, you’re trespassing on what is now government property. All I have to do is say the word and you’ll find yourself in a boatload of trouble. There are no chickens here or anything else you might be interested in. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Her breath warmed his chin. Annoyance mixed with trepidation in her eyes then finally changed to resignation. A tendril of hair had escaped the elastic and lay plastered against her temple. “There is one thing I need to know before I leave.”
He employed all the willpower he had not to tuck that hair behind her ear just to find out if it would be as silky as it looked. “What?”
Sam moistened her lips, and Mitchell’s stomach clenched. “Tell me what happened to Joe. Where is he? Is he okay? We haven’t seen him in town for a while.” She narrowed her eyes. “He is still alive, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s alive.” He took a huge step backward and let his arms fall to his sides. “Let’s just say Farmer Joe had the opportunity to take a vacation of a lifetime. He did and I’m sure he’s quite happy. For the first time in Joe’s life, he doesn’t have to toil for a living.” And why would he? The Feds bought the guy’s farm for twice the amount it was worth.
“But...” She frowned then glanced around as if the old farmer would suddenly appear from thin air. “Where is he? Why did he have to go? What are you doing here? How—”
“Enough.” He grabbed the upper part of one of her arms and marched her toward her car. “It’s all classified, and you don’t need to know.” Though her arm tensed and he knew she’d try to fight him, he ignored her and didn’t let her go until they’d reached her vehicle. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, ma’am, but you need to go. And stay away this time.” He brought his gaze crashing into hers. “I mean it. You don’t want to attract the FBI’s interest any more than you already have.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nevermind.” He gestured to the car with his chin. “In you go.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared until she opened the door then slid behind the wheel.
With a little huff, she started the engine. She executed a perfect three-point turn before traveling down the gravel drive.
When she hit the access trail, Mitchell allowed himself to relax. “Good Lord, the woman is a menace.” Belatedly, he realized he should have made her buckle her seatbelt. He shook his head then headed back in the direction of his surveillance equipment. Hopefully, that would be the last he’d see of Samantha Arnold.