Chapter 5

Right before the start of her shift, the motion sensor on Joelle's cameras once again alerted her to movement in Mike's yard.

Just an hour earlier it had also beeped, and when she pulled up the live footage, she'd seen two teenage boys messing with a drone. When it had become lodged in a branch near her spy-cam's hidey-hole, she'd held her breath, hoping they didn't spot it. She'd watched as they'd extricated their machine from the tree, then given a sigh of relief as they'd walked away. It looked like she'd gotten lucky.

Her alarm had pinged three more times shortly after that. Once when one of the boys she'd seen left the premises to presumably head home, and the next signaled the arrival of what had to be Mike's daughter. The final alert had been when Mike himself arrived home with the bunch of groceries she'd seen him buy a few hours earlier.

Joe had grinned, thinking it was a good thing he hadn't picked up that fake ice cream he'd erroneously thrown in his cart. The kids would have had a fit over that.

After all the activity on her phone, a lack of anything thereafter left Joe free to get ready for work.

She was in the shower when she heard her phone ping once more. Feeling no urgency to check—it was probably the kids in the yard again—she finished with her ablutions and dried off before she checked the latest update.

Frippin', frackin', shnitt.

Joelle wanted to scream. She couldn't believe it. The young man and his buddy had spotted her camera, and now it was Mike's face she saw down below its perch, angrily looking up at her device.

She watched closely, expecting him to climb the tree and disable it, but when he shook his head and walked away, making the rounds of his yard with his kids following, she grunted. She knew what he was up to. The smart man was looking for additional surveillance apparatus, and he certainly wouldn't miss camera number two.

Drammit. She'd been sure her babies wouldn't be spotted because, well… What teenagers actually messed around outside these days? No kids she knew. The ones with whom she was familiar all played video games in their basements like good little teens. Why couldn't Mike's son be normal like that?

Joe hastily applied her make-up and blew the wetness from her hair before putting it up in a ponytail, all the while continually watching the screen. And…yup. Mike had just discovered her second camera, but still he didn't climb into the treehouse to disable it.

That didn't bode well, and Joe knew why. Mike had the resources of a SWAT team behind him, and he'd one-hundred percent called in an expert from his team to come inspect the devices before bagging and tagging them. Which was not optimal, but not terrible, either. If the person Mike called in really knew their stuff, they'd understand in a blink that the equipment was state-of-the-art and government issued. Luckily, however, that's as far as it would go. Her cache, like everything issued to agents, couldn't be traced to any specific user or buyer. Which meant the only intel Mike would have, was that some government agency had eyes on him.

He'd clearly wonder why, and Joelle, perversely, would have liked to be a fly on the wall; seeing his face when that realization hit him.

Two other things bothered Joe, now that her brain was in Mike-mode.

The first being, the man had most assuredly sensed her presence in the grocery store earlier today, and that stupidity was on her. She hadn't needed to follow him inside. She could have sat in her rental like a good little spy, simply watching his truck. But no. She'd had to get closer. Joe kicked herself. She'd let her superficial attraction to Mike drive her actions, and if history was any indication, her loose-cannon tendencies might just come back to bite her in the patootie.

Her other problem was, now that he'd found her cameras, he'd be on high alert, and might think to sweep his truck for bugs. That would mean that every safeguard she'd put in place to make sure he stayed un-dead would be kaput.

So, what now?

Drang.She had nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Bupkis.

If she were smart, she'd turn her intel and questions regarding Mike's safety over to her main office. But because of the delicacy of her current, sanctioned assignment, she knew her superiors would tell her to let the possible jeopardy to Mike, go. Which she couldn't do.

And that sucked. She'd only become vested in her side gig, because she'd thought—easy-peasy—she'd be able to keep her finger on the pulse of that situation and keep a clear head regarding her main objective; the fentanyl ring.

Now things had gotten more complicated.

Before taking off for work,Joe watched a friend/colleague of Mike's—until she lost her feed—come to his home and competently disable her paraphernalia. With a huff, she walked away from her now dead spy-cam app to don her white button down, a short black skirt that was her uniform tonight, and her half-apron, all the while going over options.

Or option, because there really was only one.

It didn't make her happy, but she was going to have to tag Melanie and Cameron's car, keeping a close watch on their whereabouts instead of Mike's. She hadn't wanted to do that, since there were two of them and one of her. Ah, Helsinki, Joe swore. She had to be honest with herself and admit that following the pair simply hadn't been in the least bit appealing. Especially since her other choice had been sniffing after Mike. She'd felt a pull toward him since the minute she'd seen his picture on line. Then the physical presence of him when she'd followed him into the gym had made her decision to dog him…pleasurable.

Now that leash had been severed.

Sitting down at her table after microwaving a burger, she plopped it onto a plate without a roll or condiments, and forked the thing up, taking a bite.

It was protein. Sort of.

As she chewed, Joe opened her laptop and reacquainted herself with the vehicle the plotting couple owned; a green, 2002, Subaru Impreza. She'd memorized the plate number on file so she'd have it in her brain. It shouldn't be too hard to find the car in the lot tonight if the pair showed up. And if they didn't, she had their address, and would tag the vehicle with a tracker, much later as they slept.

It was a plan. But one that didn't make her happy.

Was she actually sour, being foiled by Mike's son? Maybe. She could only hope Mike didn't find the tracker on his truck. Which would mean Joe still had the option of stalking him when the murderous-mates weren't on a roll.

It took three minutes for Joe to clean up after her simple meal before leaving the small rental unit where she lived. The good thing about the one bedroom place the DEA had procured for her? It had once been part of an obscure roadside motel. Rundown and nondescript, her digs were nestled amongst five other, equally as rough, one floor apartments. Nobody would ever give any of them a second look.

The bad thing? The place smelled like old shoes, and even if Joe had wanted to eschew the air conditioning and open a window to get rid of the stench, the givers-of-fresh-air were all painted shut. Plug-ins were her new best friend.

Sliding into her Kia, it took Joe four minutes to arrive at the bar, where she steeled herself for another night of avoiding Handsy-Wendel.

Three hours into her shift,Joelle was feeling good. The bartender hadn't made any inappropriate moves yet, and Joelle got lucky in another way, as well. The couple she'd nick-named Cam-Mel had finally entered the bar, hanging all over each other to take a seat at one of her high-tops. She approached them and set down napkins.

"What can I get you folks?" she asked.

"Bud on tap," Cameron said, not paying a bit of attention to her, which was just fine as far as she was concerned.

"A marguerita," Melanie intoned, also treating Joe as nothing more than a piece of furniture.

Joelle could work with that. If the pair ignored her, she might get to hear more regarding what they had planned for Mike.

Unfortunately, the bar was hopping, even for a Friday night. And loud. So circumstances dictated there'd be no additional intel to be gathered from the pair.

It was growing late,and the crowd had mostly disbursed, so Joe, seeing an opportunity, steeled herself to beg Wendel for an outside ciggie-break in order to tag the still mooning-it-up pair's car. Pulling a fresh butt from her apron pocket, she approached Wendel and waved it around with a hopeful look.

"Really?" Wendel grunted, but when she gave him a beseeching look he gave in, being a tobacco fiend himself. "Fine." Begrudgingly, he let her go.

He didn't need to know she never put the damned thing in her mouth. Handy, though, that the nicotine plea gave her an excuse to walk the parking lot for any suspicious goings-on, every time she asked for a break. Tonight, her objective was two-fold. Look for drug dealers and slap a tracker on the cozy-couple's car.

She'd previously slipped the small GPS disc into the decoy pack of cigarette before her shift, so it wasn't tough digging it out and palming the small item while she walked through the darkened lot. Once she found the car in question, she went low on her back, and easily attached the device beneath the Subaru's chassis. She found a perfect spot, heard the small disc settle into place, then slid out and began to stand up when…

Deep, male voices, not too far away, raised in dispute. Joe swiftly went back down on her heels, hiding between cars.

"I'm not bringing that shit to my house," one man argued. "What happens if my wife sees it, or the kids get into it? I'm okay transporting your stuff, but I'm not putting my family at risk."

Asp-hole, Joe growled to herself. Didn't he know he was already doing that by getting involved with people who were illegally making and selling the nasty shlimazel she surmised they were talking about? Some idiots were so clueless.

Keeping to her squat, Joelle inched closer to the conversation.

"You'll do what the bosses want, or you'll find yourself missing a few of those family members," a gruff voice responded.

Fudge.Why was Joelle always right?

"Fine," the reluctant mule gave in. "I get this is an emergency because your storage facility is under inspection to be sold. But this is a one and done. I'll keep your shit locked up in my tractor for now, but as soon as your unit is in the clear, that stuff goes back to you."

"We can work with that," the second man answered, seemingly appeased.

Joelle needed to get closer. She had to get an identity on the men; see what they were driving. The first guy had talked about his tractor, and Joe assumed it wasn't the farming kind. Which meant he had to drive a semi. But would he have brought that to the bar? She hadn't seen one as she'd walked around.

The only way Joe could think to get an ID on the pair, was to back off, then approach with an unlit cigarette in hand, making her heels crunch on the crushed stone parking lot as she sashayed over to flirt. They'd drop any controversial talk once they saw her coming, then would hopefully engage without suspicion.

She moved silently away, unfastened the top two buttons of her shirt, and held the unlit cancer-stick between her fingers. Then doing her very best impression of a lady of loose morals, she sashayed across the lot, back toward the men's position, putting an extra swing in her hips.

Joe made as much noise as possible as she approached. "Hey, y'all. Either of you two gentlemen have a light for a lady?" she asked in her fake southern accent.

"Nope. Get lost."

Ahh.So voice number two didn't want to play nice.

"Seriously?" Joe pouted as she walked closer. "Where are all the noble souls these days?" Dagnabbit. The pair weren't even close to the one and only sodium vapor light in the lot, so their faces were in shadows. But not for long if she had her way.

"Back off, lady," number two said again.

She stopped and simpered.

"Aw, Chuck. What's it going to hurt." The married perp must have felt bad for her, because he walked over, fishing a lighter out of his pocket.

"Fine," guy two clipped. "But we're finished. I'm out of here." He quickly strode away and got into a car that was too far away to ID. It looked blue in the dark, and was shaped like an older sedan, but that was all Joe could determine.

Still, getting a look at one of the pair wouldn't be a bad night's work. From what she'd overheard, the nicer of the two guys was a trucker who ran the drugs. The agency was after the bigger fish, but this perp would be a good place to start.

"Thanks," Joelle purred. "You're a lifesaver."

The guy held the flame to her cigarette, then lit one for himself while she was then forced to inhale. But in the light, while Joe dragged the smoke into her lungs, she took careful note of his face. Luckily, it wasn't ordinary. The man was actually pretty darned good looking.

What a waste.

Without being able to snap a picture, Joe memorized the color of his eyes, the style of his hair, the shape of his chin, and every little laugh line around his mouth. Already having mentally catalogued his height and weight, Joe would talk to the agency's forensic artist first thing in the morning, and see if they could do a mock-up of the guy that might get a hit in their criminal data-base.

Unless…

Joelle blew the offending smoke out from between pursed lips as provocatively as she could muster. "I don't suppose you…? Um…" With her free hand, she twirled her ponytail flirtingly. "…would you be in the mood for company? Like, in your car, maybe?" She stuck her tongue out and licked her bottom lip, hoping for an invite.

Seeing what he drove and getting his plate number would be a bonus.

"Listen lady. I'm married," the guy demurred, taking a step back. "So thanks for the offer, but I'm good."

Schlock.Leave it to Joe to find the one drug runner who had scruples regarding his marriage. But Joe didn't want to make the rejection look like it was too a big deal. If she pushed, he might get suspicious, so instead, she shrugged. "Just asking," she snickered. "Ya'll make sure to tell your little woman that another female found you cute, tonight. You hear?" Joe winked.

The guy's chest puffed up. "I'm not sure she'll believe me, but thanks. It feels good, a pretty thing like you making my night like this. Thanks. Have a good evening." Without giving his exit another thought, the guy executed a quick wave, flicked his mostly unsmoked cigarette to the dirt, and walked to his vehicle which luckily was only a few cars away.

Bingo.

Crushing the mostly unsmoked cigarette under her heel, Joe did an internal fist pump, pretending to walk away, but…

She had the make, model and license plate number filed away in her mental rolodex before the guy left the lot, then went back to pick up the butt for DNA.

The restof Joe's shift had gone without incident. If she could say that Wendel grabbing her breast was no big deal. But…she hadn't let the impropriety go. In response to his blatant move, Joelle had managed to squeal and "accidentally" toss her night's-end waitress tray—holding the dregs of an impressive number of beers—into good old Wendel's face, splashing him not only in the eyes, but making sure the liquid cascaded down into the neckline of his crappy polyester shirt.

She'd apologized up and down, mopping at him ineffectually with her dirty bar-rag, until he'd yelled at her to "get the hell away from me and clock the fuck out".

Her repentant response as she'd walked down the back hall had quickly turned into a snorting snicker once she was out of earshot.

Yup.It had been a good night all the way around.

But now…

Dramzit.It was very late as she sat at her small kitchen table…or very early depending on how you looked at it. Still, Joe couldn't pull herself away from her computer. She not only had a name and address for her gallant cigarette-lighting perp tonight, but had gone on to catalogue everything she remembered about his companion in detail so it would be fresh in her mind for morning.

Thatintel had her pumped, for sure, but even better? From a purely personal standpoint? Her trackers on the drug runner and the wannabe-killing-conspirators' vehicles were both up and running, and…

…Mike hadn't disabled his.