The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) (24 page)

The Bidwells lived in Park View, right next to a golf course. Jocelyn didn’t envy their massive house with the guest cottage in back, but she would have killed for access to the greens. She loved golf but hated driving to the range and had quit the sport for lack of time when Kyle was growing up and she’d had to attend his weekend sports instead. She made a decision. That’s what she would do with her free time now. Get back out on the green. Her sister would love it. To hell with the glass blowing. Jocelyn pulled into the long driveway and forced herself to focus. Another vehicle, a midsize black truck, was already there.

She walked slowly past it, looking inside, an occupational habit. The pickup was old and dented and looked out of place in front of the million-dollar home. A yard-care person? She grabbed her cell phone, keyed the license plate into a text message, then added:
Who is this?
She sent the message to Detective Snyder, then added her ex-husband to the queue. Sometimes the feds had faster access to information.

Jocelyn walked up the flagstone path to the double front doors and noticed one was ajar. Raised voices echoed from the interior. Jocelyn shoved her jacket flap behind her weapon so she could access the gun more easily, then pushed open the unlatched door. Stepping into a white-stone foyer, she moved toward the voices, grateful for her quiet work shoes. The sounds came from the kitchen, on the other side of a spacious living area, and she heard someone mention the judge. She quickened her pace. The witness she’d come to question could be in danger, and her duty to protect justified her presence in the house.

As she approached, she spotted two people talking at a table in a breakfast nook. A tall older woman with short dyed-brown hair and a muscular man in his early thirties. They were both too emotionally engaged to notice her, but their voices were loud enough to be heard clearly.

Joan Bidwell cried as she talked. “You’re right. I did know about the payoffs. Not at first, but eventually J.D. told me. He said he took the money partly because I earned so much more than he did.”

“Why didn’t you report him or make him stop? Hundreds of lives were ruined!” The man was upset, but held on to his dignity.

“I couldn’t turn my husband in and watch him go to jail, but he promised me it was over, and I believed him. For a while.” Mrs. Bidwell put her hands to her face in obvious shame. “I’m so sorry. I’ve tried to make up for it. Not just for you, but for everyone he hurt.”

“How? What are you talking about?” The man slumped back in his chair.

Jocelyn’s cell phone vibrated silently in her pocket. She slipped it out and glanced at the message. It was from Ross:
Truck is registered to Hana Kasumi but driver could be Luke Maddox.
The top suspect in the judge’s murder. Jocelyn unholstered her weapon but kept it at her side and didn’t move. She wanted to hear everything.

Mrs. Bidwell finally said, “I donated a lot of money to Justice Reform Now, then I supported your group generously for the last year and a half.”

Maddox sat up, mouth open. “You’re the anonymous donor?”

“Yes, but I have to stop now.” Joan Bidwell leaned forward, her voice desperate. “You can never tell anyone about the donations.”

“Why stop? We have so much more to accomplish.”

For a long moment, she was quiet, twisting the ring on her hand. “Because J.D. is dead, and the police are asking questions. And the IRS froze our accounts. And because my family owns a big chunk of CSA, and they’re going to be investigated next.”

“The judge was taking bribes from a company you own?” Maddox raised his voice to a new level of volume and disbelief.

“I don’t own it directly!” Joan Bidwell started to cry again. “I’m so sorry about all this. But now that you’ve got your closure, you should go.”

Maddox didn’t move. “The judge killed his clerk, didn’t he?”

“Of course he did. J.D. was worried about her testimony because he thought she might have kept records.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I’m also sure the police will never prove it. He knew how to destroy evidence.”

Jocelyn wished she could get out her recorder, but she wasn’t willing to put away her weapon.

“The judge should have gone to prison,” Maddox cried out. “Who the hell killed him?”

A loud sob escaped her, but Joan Bidwell didn’t answer at first. After another long moment, she said, “I couldn’t let J.D. go to trial. Too much would have come out, and I could have lost my position at the bank.”

Maddox was on his feet. “You killed him? Your own husband?”

“He deserved to die. He was heartless. You know that as well as anyone.”

Holy shit!
Jocelyn’s pulse escalated, and she took a step forward without meaning to.

They both turned to look at her, and she brought up her weapon. “Get on the ground! You’re under arrest.”

Joan Bidwell slipped from her chair to her knees and raised her hands. She was crying too hard to speak.

The man didn’t move. He stared at Jocelyn long and hard.

Don’t come at me,
she pleaded silently. “Get on the ground! Hands in the air!”

Maddox turned and ran for the sliding door.
Shit!
She couldn’t shoot an unarmed man in the back, and she couldn’t chase him either. Not with a confessed killer right there who needed to be cuffed. Jocelyn called dispatch. He wouldn’t get far.

The lush green countryside kept rolling by, but its tranquility was lost on Dallas. Her mind worked overtime, playing out scenarios in which she tried to save herself—while keeping Shawn from escaping. With her wrists duct-taped together and the bomb still strapped to her stomach, she had to fight off panic. The bureau wasn’t coming to her rescue. Drager and his team were at Senator Pearlman’s, arresting the inner circle. Drager would be alarmed by her disappearance, but he would have no way of connecting the Aaron Foster alias to Shawn Mortlock. The best she could hope for was that the bureau had put out a statewide alert for Aaron’s car—and didn’t think she’d gone rogue.

“Do you have a family?” Aaron’s question surprised her. He’d been silent for most of the drive.

“Not much. Why?” She had no desire to chat with him, but if it helped make him see her as a human worthy of life, then she would say anything.

“Any brothers to carry on the family name?”

“No, but in my case, that’s probably a good thing.” Her parents shouldn’t have been allowed to breed, and she couldn’t believe she’d turned out to be so law-abiding. If she had a brother, he would probably be in jail.

“You have no loyalty.” Aaron sounded disappointed. “I had hoped you would understand why I can’t let Shawn die in prison.”

“I do understand. Didn’t you say you’d promised your mother?”

“That I did, and I’m a man of my word.”

Yeah, right.
“Does your mom know you’re dying?”

“Of course. That’s why Shawn is so important now.” Aaron shook his head. “The one kid I have is a girl, who got married, changed her name, and disowned all of us.”

Smart woman
. “You live as Aaron Foster now, so the family name can’t be that big of a deal.”

He snapped his head toward her, eyes flashing. “That was temporary! Witness protection assigned it to me, but it’s not real. It’s not who I am.”

He was in WITSEC? How had Drager missed that? “How did you end up with the inner circle?” She remembered the story he’d told her last time. A load of bull.

“I needed a new place to hide out, and they seemed useful.” Aaron changed the subject. “How did you end up in the FBI?”

“I wish you would get over that idea and let me go.”

“I saw your message on the Real Food blog. That’s what tipped me off. Plus the call to a cash-only phone.”

Had he spied on everything she’d done? Aaron had more hacking skills than he’d let on to the inner circle. “That’s a lot of conjecture. Have you considered taking medication for your paranoia?” She tried to sound sincere but knew it didn’t matter now.

He laughed. “You’re good, but you’re wasting your talents for the wrong team.”

Aaron turned off to yet another back road. She hadn’t seen any traffic in the last twenty minutes, and she didn’t expect to see any along this route. Would a prison transfer van come through here? Did they take back roads on purpose? After a minute, Aaron pulled off at a break in the trees, took his laptop from under the seat, and searched online for something.

“Checking on the transfer van?”

“It’s on schedule.” He gave her a sly grin. “Hacking into prison systems is relatively easy. I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often.” He pulled back onto the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the detonator. The gun was in his lap.

Dallas’ chest tightened. They must be close to the interception site. What the hell was his plan?

The asphalt narrowed and passed through a series of rock cliffs. After a long slow curve, Aaron braked and coasted to a stop, half off the road. He parked, shut off the engine, and popped the hood latch. “Stay put, okay?” Aaron climbed out and propped open the hood, then came around to her side of the car. “Now you can get out.”

Her legs trembled as they hit the ground. Instinct told her to run—to get as far away as she could, as fast as she could. But she couldn’t outrun a bullet or a click of a switch. Her feet, still in their running shoes from the evening before, still itched to move. Going out for a jog had been her last act of free will.

Pepper spray! She’d tucked it into her yoga pants pocket like always before her run. Had Aaron searched her while she slept and taken it or was it still there? If she could get her hands free…

Aaron cut into her thoughts. “After I remove the tape, I want you to lie down in the road, like you’re hurt.”

“You think the driver will stop?”

“A bleeding woman on the road? Of course he will.” Aaron started cutting the duct tape from her wrists.

“Then what?”

“Just stay down and you won’t get hurt.”

Lying piece of shit. He would shoot her right after he shot the van driver and the guard accompanying him. Unless one of them managed to shoot him first. Aaron thought he would have the element of surprise, but the prison employees would be on alert for anything that looked like a trap or an assault. Wouldn’t they? Unless he’d bribed someone, which was probably why Shawn Mortlock was being transferred.

“Move!” Aaron pushed her toward the road.

She hurried out of his reach, tension making her ache. Confronting him now would result in a bullet in her brain, and she really would bleed on the road. Her forearm had quit dripping, but she still had blood smeared all over it. Dallas reached the asphalt and turned around. Aaron shuffled toward her, breathing hard.

“Any particular place?”

“Right there is fine, but we need more blood.”

Oh shit.

He stepped up, still holding the gun in one hand and the device in the other. “Rub that cut and make it bleed.”

Dallas pressed her thumb into the wound and bore down, clenching her teeth, more in anger than in pain.

“Now wipe the blood on your shirt.”

While she rubbed her arm against her chest, careful to avoid the explosive, the pasty son-of-a-bitch smashed his gun into her forehead. Shards of pain stabbed into her eyes, and she clouded over for a second. Forehead throbbing, she tightened her hands into fists. Every fiber in her body wanted to lash out and hurt the little fucker. She visualized punching him in the throat just to keep herself calm. Warm blood oozed down her nose and over her lip.

“You can lay down now.”

Dallas lowered herself to the ground, plotting her next move. As soon as she heard a shot, she would roll to the other side of the road, then take cover behind the prison van. Or make a break for the trees. With her hands free now, she had more options. She might even be able to rip off the explosive while Aaron tried to free his brother. She’d been trapped in a room once with a man who threatened to set off a bomb, but this time, no sharpshooters were out there waiting to take him out.

“Try to look injured,” he commanded. “Maybe bend one of your legs.”

She went along, hoping he would eventually walk away. She assumed Aaron would hide behind his car.

The road was cool and hard under her back. Her forehead hurt and blood continued to flow, only now it trickled down the left side of her face and into her hair. Wind roared in the trees, rustling the crisp fall leaves. In the distance, the gushing sound of a river played softly like background music.

How long would she have to lie here? What if the prison van was late? Or changed its route?

A moment later, she had the answer. An engine rumbled in the distance, and the road under her hummed with a growing vibration. Her pulse jumped a notch, and she could feel throbbing in her throat. Would this be her last experience? The most fucked-up adventure of all? She said a silent goodbye to Cameron, her long-time friend and lover, a man of endless patience and inner tranquility. Qualities she loved him for, yet resented too. He deserved better, and now he would be free to find that person.

Shut up and focus!

The roar of the engine grew loud, and the road hummed. She braced for the worst. Once the van rounded the corner, it had little time to stop, depending on its speed. She had to be ready to roll out of its way. Would she blow herself up doing that?

What if the driver didn’t stop? If she moved too soon, he would see that she wasn’t injured and know it was trap. Would he run over her to protect himself and keep his prisoner secure? Would Aaron or the guard shoot her if she moved?

Another thought hit her. Aaron might detonate the bomb as soon as the van got close. The explosion would probably knock out the driver and send the vehicle off the road. But his brother would likely survive. Or was that too risky for him? She was fucked either way. The engine roared around the corner and Dallas held her breath.

Oh god, the van wasn’t stopping.

Aaron held his breath as the squeal of brakes ripped through the air. He wanted to go now! Just run and shoot and get it over with. But he made himself wait. He needed at least one of the guards to get out of the van and leave himself open. The squealing continued, and he smelled burning rubber. Leaning forward, he peeked around the back of the car. The van screeched to a stop, and the air was suddenly quiet. To avoid hitting the woman, the prison vehicle had pulled off the road on this side. Perfect. His targets were closer than he’d expected.