The Target (23 page)

He shook his head and kept walking. “Sorry, I’m late for something.”

Jerk.
Dallas glanced back at her targets. Decker was getting up.
Shit.
She needed a better shot of them together. Dallas lifted her camera as if taking a picture of the art structure in the plaza’s center, then started backing toward them. Four steps later, she turned and snapped a shot of the bar counter. Just another tourist documenting everything. As she spun back around, she saw Decker grab her purse from the counter and leave.
Good
. The target had still been in the photo frame. Dallas walked away from the outdoor tables and stopped at a nearby stand that sold souvenirs.

Now what? Instinct told her Decker would head home to her daughter. Dallas decided to stay with the operative and see where she led. Learning something about her would help the bureau put someone on her full time, maybe get a tap on her communications.

She glanced over at the Latin diner again, and the operative was gone.
Shit!
Instinctively, Dallas started toward the bar counter, scanning the sidewalk. Decker, in her black-and-white clothes, was easy to spot in the distance. A group of young people moved together, taking up a chunk of the walkway. Where was the woman in the baseball cap? Had she passed behind her while Dallas pretended to be a tourist looking at T-shirts?

She spun back around. Another group of boys with skateboards surged toward her. A nearby event must have recently ended. She strode through the crowd, with mumbled apologies. Near the end of the row of shops, she spotted a person of about the right size—‌but no baseball cap. This woman had a straight-black ponytail and carried a large bag that could be worn as a backpack. Could that be her? The pink sun, low on the horizon, wasn’t casting enough light to distinguish the shirt color at that distance. Had the woman altered her appearance as she scurried away? Dallas charged forward, remembering her own quick change in the car. Who was this operative? Most for-hire criminals were men, especially if arson or murder was involved. But the bureau had a database full of deadly women too, and this unsub was crafty enough to be an ex-agent.

The ponytailed woman ducked between two small shops and disappeared. Dallas broke into a run. At the break in the shops, she slowed and approached the alley from a wide angle. Just in case the unsub had spotted her and was lying in wait.

The short alley was empty.
Damn,
her new target was fast. Dallas raced to the end of the alley, which opened into another courtyard. A few couples and families with teenagers were eating at tables, but the operative was nowhere to be seen. The shops surrounding the courtyard were all open, and the woman could have ducked into any of them. Dallas checked the closest two but didn’t see her.
Oh fuck.
She’d lost their best lead. Frustration made her head pound, but she tried to appear casual. She left the clothing store and headed for her car. Where had she gone wrong? By turning her back on Decker after the meeting? By moving too slowly after finally spotting the operative? But charging after the unsub too soon could have blown her cover.
What cover?
She was no longer a TecLife employee. But she also didn’t want the arsonist, and maybe killer, identifying her either. Another thought hit her. Would the bureau take her off the case now? She hated leaving an assignment with a sense of failure. It didn’t happen often, but she was hoping to become a Special Agent eventually.

In her car, Dallas accessed the last photo she’d taken. A little blurry, but Decker’s face was recognizable, so the bureau techs should be able to isolate the other image, clean it up, and hopefully ID the unsub. She sent the file to River, put in her earpiece, and started her car. Dallas called twice more on the drive home before River finally answered.

“Sorry, I was tailing Grissom. What’s happening?”

“Decker met with a woman who was careful to disguise herself. Decker also passed her something under a newspaper. I tried to follow the unsub after the meet, but she’s damn good.”

“Did she know you were watching?”

“Maybe. But I got a photo of the meet and sent it to you. Let’s see if the unsub is in our files.”

“If she saw you, maybe we should pull you out completely. Especially now that you’ve lost your access to TecLife.”

She’d known River would say that. “I can tail Decker when she’s not at work.”

River was quiet for a moment. Dallas took the freeway exit and headed north to her condo.

“Don’t beat yourself up. You got a photo of their meeting and brought us a bacteria sample. We can probably get a search warrant now.”

“What about Santera? I think his email got me fired, so I don’t trust him.”

“The team will meet tomorrow morning and make some decisions. I’ll talk to King and ask if you should be there.”

“Let me know if you ID the unsub. She’s about five-eight and slender, maybe one-thirty-five with Middle Eastern skin and hair. Or the hair could have been a wig. She carries a backpack-style bag and changes appearance on the move.”

“Age?”

“Younger than thirty-five.”

“She sounds like an anomaly. But we’ll get the info out to the companies she’s reportedly sabotaged and see if anyone recognizes her.”

Dallas wasn’t ready to give up, but she didn’t know if she should share her plan.

“What are you thinking?” River asked.

‘“I still have my TecLife badge, and I’m tempted to go back in after midnight and poke around some more.”

“I thought they beefed up their security.”

“They already fired me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could get killed, remember? An agent, a warehouse worker, and a scientist are already dead.”

“I’m too hyper to sit around until Decker gets off work tomorrow.”

“Go for another run on the beach. I’ve got to call Agent King and get this photo to the bureau.”

“Keep me updated.” Dallas hung up. A run was a good idea, but it wouldn’t keep her busy tomorrow. She’d have to brainstorm ideas while she pounded along the sand.

Kiya watched the pretty woman with reddish-blond hair get into her car. Who the hell was she? A federal agent? The woman had definitely taken a picture of the counter where she’d met Cheryl Decker. Who was the operative’s target? Decker or herself? Kiya climbed on her motorcycle and waited. She wanted to go back and find the knife she’d lost leaping over the wide plant container in the mall, but couldn’t risk losing sight of the operative.

She seemed to be texting someone. A contact at the FBI? Or did the woman work for Kiya’s ex-husband, who was now a captain in the Uzbekistan army, with access to international information? Had the bastard tracked down Martel in jail, bribed him to get her location, and sent someone out to kill or kidnap her? Kiya had shamed her husband—‌and her father—‌by escaping the marriage. In keeping with tribal tradition, either could have sworn to find her and kill her. But she didn’t believe it. They wouldn’t waste the resources. No, she was the one who’d sworn revenge. As much as she hated the man she’d been forced to marry as a child, her father was to blame. And she would soon make him suffer.

Kiya forced herself to focus on the moment. The spying woman was likely a federal agent, which meant Decker had been stupid somehow and attracted the authorities’ attention. Until the moment that picture had been taken, Kiya had been completely in the clear on the work she’d done for Decker. Even the ProtoCell scientist she’d kidnapped couldn’t identify her. And the U.S. federal government probably wouldn’t be able to ID her either. The hat and sunglasses she’d worn would get in the way. More important, she didn’t think she was in their system, because she’d never been caught or questioned. Still, the agent had seen her and followed, and if Decker caved under questioning, the feds would come after her. It was time to get out of San Diego and follow through on her personal goal. Good thing she had a ticket already. But she wasn’t leaving any loose ends.

The gray midsize car—‌purposefully nondescript—‌backed out of its parking space and headed for the exit. Kiya started her motorcycle, glad she’d modified her muffler to make the bike quieter. She tucked her ponytail inside her shirt, pulled on her helmet, and exited a side street, watching over her shoulder as the other vehicle headed north. Her best guess was the freeway, so she hung back, knowing she could make bold moves on the cycle to catch up if her quarry took a sudden change of direction.

But she didn’t. Kiya followed the agent uneventfully to a complex in the Pacific Beach area. Darkness had nearly fallen, but she could tell by the location and landscaping that they were upscale apartments. A waste of money. She parked a block away, and from across the street, watched with binoculars as the woman entered an upstairs apartment. Breaking into it wouldn’t be challenging, but the agent probably slept with a gun nearby. She would have to plan this carefully, with the limited time she had. She didn’t owe Decker anything, but keeping the federal agent from questioning her client was the best way to protect herself.

Kiya had only killed one other person, and he’d deserved it. The stupid bastard had slammed her against the wall and squeezed between her legs, not realizing she carried a knife and the attitude that sexual predators were subhuman. Too bad she didn’t have the blade with her now. Killing the agent would be unpleasant, but Kiya would do what she needed for survival. She was tempted to warn Decker about the feds but wouldn’t risk contacting her again. They might be monitoring Decker’s phone and email.

After a few minutes, she climbed off the bike and started to take a quick tour of the complex. The soft sound of a door opening caught her attention. She glanced up, and in the dark, saw movement at the target’s door. The woman came out, wearing what looked like shorts and running shoes. Kiya turned away, walked back to the sidewalk, then strode down the street.

She ducked behind a palm tree and waited, trying to predict where her target would go. To the beach, of course. The boardwalk was only six blocks away, and now that it was dark, the crowd would thin out, making it a lovely place for a seaside run. The slapping sounds of a jogger indicated the agent had crossed over and was running west. Kiya waited two minutes, took a parallel side street, and parked when she neared Mission Boulevard. The rest of the job would require her to stay on foot and scout out the perfect spot for an attack.

Trotting up Mission to where she expected the agent to cross, Kiya tried to visualize this section of the boardwalk along the beach. She remembered something big. A pier with little cottages for tourists. Perfect. She would wait under the pier, hiding in the dark behind one of the massive support beams until her quarry came along. Kiya retrieved a heavy flashlight from her saddlebag. A few hard blows to the back of her head, then drag her into the ocean and let the tide do the rest.

River pulled on slacks and a button-up shirt—‌her androgynous work clothes. After sixteen years on the job as Carl, she would probably never wear feminine clothes around other FBI agents. She’d only been back to the apartment long enough to eat and shower, then Dallas had called with the update about Decker’s meet-up. River had contacted Agent King to strategize their next move but he hadn’t answered. She strapped on her Glock, knowing he would get back to her in a moment. That was the nature of their jobs. They were never really off duty, and a ringing work phone made them jump with a mix of dread and adrenaline. She walked to the window, where the sun had set, taking her picturesque view with it. A sense that the case was about to break wide open disrupted her inner peace. They needed to bring in more agents and get a spook team over to keep watch on Decker.

River felt too keyed up now to wait longer. It was time to interrogate Santera again. The suspect had emailed Decker and subtly warned her not to trust Dallas, costing their UC her access to TecLife. River had picked up Santera earlier and left him in the interrogation room at the bureau. A few hours alone in the hole should have made him nervous enough to cooperate. River planned to question him until he gave her something. Their session with him the day before had proved fruitless. He’d maintained that he had no knowledge of the sabotage or Agent Palmer. But warning Decker this afternoon made him look like a conspirator, and the paper-pushers at the bureau were crafting a stack of search warrants that would be submitted to a judge as soon as they found one willing to work after hours. The only piece not in place yet was the bacteria analysis, and she expected that in the morning.

River grabbed two bottles of water from the freezer and headed out. Despite the darkness, the heat was still oppressive. She would never get used to it again. In Eugene, even the hottest days in August cooled off after the sun set.

In the car, King finally returned her call. “What’s happening?”

“Decker met with a female unsub and passed something to her. Dallas captured a photo of the meet and followed the unsub, but then lost her. Dallas plans to keep an eye on Decker until this breaks open, but I think we need 24/7 surveillance.”

“I wish I could get more agents, but the police department asked for our help with a serial killer, so we’re stretched thin.”

Good glory.
“This case is about to break wide open. We can’t shortchange it.”

“If Decker just met with the saboteur, then I wouldn’t expect anything else from her tonight.” He sounded tired and defensive. “Where are you now?”

“Headed into the bureau to interrogate Santera. He sent Decker an email this afternoon that cautioned her about Dallas. Minutes later, they fired her. We need a task force meeting to regroup now that we’ve lost our access.”

“We’ll meet at eight tomorrow, then go serve the papers and confiscate everything.”

“We have a photo of the saboteur, and I’ll upload it as soon I get into the office.”

“Keep me posted.” King hung up.

Was he taking this case as seriously as he should? Three people connected to TecLife and its competitors were dead. Although none looked like murder on the surface, those deaths couldn’t be coincidence. River took deep breaths and willed herself to be calm.
I can only do my best and control my part in this.