Chapter 7

Joelle spent late Saturday morning staking out Benji Havastill's house. He was the owner of the semi whom she'd researched.

Finding out he lived in a busy, suburban neighborhood in Bangor had been a lucky break, as she was able to scope out his house from all angles without anyone becoming suspicious. He lived on a fairly busy street, and once Joe had the lay of the land, she knew one more car parked along the roadside would be no big deal to any lookie-loos.

She settled down in her little Kia, eating a bunch of peanuts for a burst of protein. She would have preferred a third donut, but that would have made her sleepy after already scarfing down two while she'd been on the road.

Eventually, just before noon, the man and his family took off in their car, hopefully for a full, weekend day of fun.

It was time to move.

Appearing as nonchalant as possible, Joe stealthily walked up to the house and into the driveway, where three seconds later she had his semi tagged with a tracker. Easy-peasy. Then, keeping an eye out to make sure no one was looking, she vaulted the fence into Havastill's back yard and perused his enclosed space. There wasn't much going on. A swing-set. A sandbox. A rusty, well used grill. But toward the back of the yard, there was a stand of three large trees that hadn't been chopped down during the building of the suburban sprawl.

Pinpointing the largest, Joe quickly hoisted herself up into the bottom branches, then deftly made her second climb in two days. She worked her way higher and higher until she found a likely perch in a fork twenty feet aloft, to place her camera and a hot spot.

This time, she was taking no chances that the device would be seen. She'd brought some green, camouflage netting specifically designed with lens holes, to toss over the equipment. She accomplished that with ease, satisfied that she'd done all she could to further her DEA assignment today, hoping her superiors agreed.

Earlier, Joelle had spoken to her office at length after getting out of the shower, giving her chief an update as he grunted noncommittally over what she'd uncovered so far, which he'd believed wasn't nearly enough considering her time already spent in Maine. While she stuffed a breakfast burrito into her mouth and cursed him blue in her head, her boss had put their forensics artist on the line, and together—interfacing on her laptop—they'd come up with a great approximation of the guy's face who'd been giving orders to Benji.

Now the ball was in the agency's court to check their data-bases to see if they could come up with a positive ID on the man, so Joelle would have more info with which to work her way up the drug-ring's hierarchy.

Okay.Camera in place.

Her current tree-task complete, Joe gracefully descended the tree, went lightly back over the fence, then hotfooted it out of the neighborhood and back to her car, where she contemplated what was next on her agenda for the day. With the surveillance devices now planted at her first suspect's home, Joelle was determined to enjoy at least some of her Saturday. She had the next three days off—her bar shifts being Tuesday thru Friday nights—and would stick to that no matter how much Wendel tried to coerce her into picking up more hours. She'd basically told him to fluff-off, because in order to keep juggling all the balls she had in the air—especially now that she'd added Mike's problems to her docket—Joe needed to apportion her time judiciously.

But she also, right now, needed some breathing room to recharge.

In that regard, she was practically bouncing in her car seat. Just last night, she'd checked out, on line, some local hikes that looked challenging but not treacherous. Joe happily pointed her car in the direction of the trail just east of Bangor that had seemed promising.

Ah, the joys of being off the clock.

For her day out, she'd worn cargo shorts, an old, comfy T-shirt, and the hearty hiking boots she'd had for so long that they'd been scuffed and broken-in to perfection. Hiking was her go-to recreation for decompression, and as she approached the trailhead, she could almost smell the pine scent that always called to her soul.

Living in Nevada, her hikes were more along the lines of desert jaunts, but even in the arid climate there were the occasional groves of Ponderosa pines and Douglas firs to make her happy. Here in Maine, however, her nasal passages were always filled with the lush, terpene fragrance that seemed to be everywhere, and she sighed giddily as she exited her car.

She could get used to this.

Joelle had never been to the northeast before this assignment, but she'd pretty much fallen in love with the region on sight, and was even contemplating the efficacy of asking for a transfer. With her father—her one and only parent—gone, and no siblings in the picture, there was nothing holding her in Nevada except for her job. Add to that, there were DEA offices all over the country, as well as a lot of agents these days working remotely, and… Maybe?

The reason she'd been given this assignment so far from her homebase, was because the influx of drugs into her western jurisdiction had been traced back to this area of Maine. So when she'd been tagged to travel, she'd jumped at the chance because…well, it was something new.

She'd immediately, upon landing in Maine, interfaced with the office in Portland, where they'd let her know they'd try to be available for back-up if she needed it, but they were pretty overwhelmed and understaffed at the moment, so they couldn't make promises.

Food for thought, because the agent in charge also intimated they'd be pleased to have Joelle join their east coast office. In the back of her mind she wished it were possible. The move could give her a fresh start. A positive path for her future. But her credentials…

She'd had a rough time in her current office for the past few years; continually butting heads with a certain agent in charge, Chief of Operations Lester Gavin, who—lucky her—was not only her immediate boss, but he'd been one of her instructors at the Academy in Quantico where she'd trained. Back then, he'd constantly busted her behind for bad language and insubordination, saying she went off on unauthorized tangents when she should be focusing all her attention on an op.

Once he'd become her superior at their current office, Joe had worked hard, and succeeded in cleaning up her mouth issues, but… Yup. She still tended to go off task if something else arose, as was the case with the Mike situation.

Lester wouldn't like that.

But what drip-head Lester didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. She stuck her tongue out childishly and reflexively as she entered the trailhead before making her way up the root-strewn path. Dram, she hated that guy.

A half hour in, sweat was dripping down Joe's neck, cascading between her breasts in the front, and shoulder-blades in the back. But she relished the feeling, loving the fact that she was pushing her body to its limits as she kept up a grueling pace. She'd needed this after prancing around in heels and inhaling the dregs of beer and testosterone at the bar the past few nights.

Reaching a plateau with a stunning view, Joelle paused to take a sip of water from her bottle when the alarm on her phone went off.

Frack.

She checked Mike's signal first, and he was still where he'd been since six this morning. At a quarry in Frankfort, ME. It was Joe's best guess that the man was either hiking with buddies, or doing some kind of weekend drill with his SWAT team.

Next, she checked the tracker on the semi she'd left this morning, as well as her camera feed on Havastill's house. The little family hadn't arrived home, yet, so nothing there. Which left…

…the murderous pair.

She brought up their beacon and examined their trajectory.

Huh.There was nothing to worry about. Yet. Their vehicle was headed south, toward Bangor, but that wasn't cause for worry. Bangor was the major hub in the area, and if the couple had any specific shopping needs, that would be the place they'd go. She'd keep an eye on their route, though. If it looked like they were bypassing the city, headed, say, toward Frankfort, she'd have to amend her innocent-outing diagnosis and boogie off this mountain, stat.

As she climbed toward the peak, Joe checked her phone every few minutes. When she saw the blip on her screen bypass Bangor, her gut began sending anxiety signals to her brain, and just to be on the safe side, she turned her feet around to head downhill.

When her target traveled straight thru Hampden without stopping, Joe knew there was no time to waste. The car was on a direct path to Frankfort, and if that weren't for nefarious purposes, Joe would eat her dirty boots.

She picked up her pace and began to run.

Joe had speed-traversed plenty of trails before, and even though this one was a little rougher than what she was used to, she was able to move quickly. But her attention must have wandered as she finally came within sight of her car, because her boot hit a root, and she went sprawling.

"Uhhh," she grunted, as she hit the ground.

Attempting to catch her breath, she took instant stock of her condition. She'd managed to mostly catch herself on her hands, which had taken the brunt of the damage. Before she moved, she examined them carefully. They were scuffed up a bit by the sticks and stones where she'd landed, but there were no big lacerations she could see. Good. Time to regroup and get her ass in gear.

Joe sat up, and as she did, a sharp sting on her chin had her hissing. She sent up a questing probe, and… Her fingers came away bloody.

Goshdangit. She didn't have time for this. She looked at the pointy-arsed rock at her feet that was the culprit, and knocked it askew.

Getting up as fast as possible, scolding herself for being careless, she jogged a little more gingerly to her car. Once there, she slid into the driver seat, reaching into the glove compartment to pull out a napkin, holding it firmly against her cut as she examined her phone feed again.

Flock.There was no doubt in her mind, now. Her perp was definitely headed to the quarries.

She quickly punched the address into her GPS, and saw that it would take her forty minutes to get there, if she obeyed the speed limit. Without wasting another second of time worrying about her chin, she dropped her car in drive, and navigated one-handedly out of the park.

It wasn't easy staying on the road and keeping her cut from dripping while having one eye on the app showing Cameron's progress. But when the perp's car, did, indeed stop twenty feet from where Mike was parked, Joe was finally able to acknowledge she'd been right, put her phone down, and punched the gas. Her goal was now getting to the site as swiftly as possible, and in one piece.

When she turned onto the road for the quarries, Joe realized she needed a plan, and pulled over beneath some trees.

First things first. Where was Cameron, or Cameron and company?

She activated her phone again, and looked at the screen.

Crawblammit!

Her perp was on the move again, taking a different road out of the quarries, clearly having finished what he'd come for. Which had to have been sabotage of some type to Mike's vehicle. Her job had just changed from preventing damage to Mike's truck, to fixing whatever had been done so the man wouldn't kill himself navigating the treacherous roads home.

Joelle's guess was that the brake-lines had been cut, since it had taken the perp or perps so little time to do their deed. If they'd attempted to vandalize the steering column, they would have had to break into the vehicle to mess with the controls, and that would have taken a lot longer. They could have set an incendiary device in that amount of time, but Joe doubted it. Neither Cameron nor Melanie looked like they had the brain power to rig explosives.

Joe pulled back onto the egress into the quarries, but this time slowed her roll. The damage to the truck, whatever it was, had clearly already been done. And it still being early afternoon, Joe hoped it meant whatever Mike was doing here, whether swimming, hiking, drilling, or a combination of all three, he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

The minute Joe pulled into the main parking area, she breathed a sigh of relief. She saw what was most certainly a SWAT team command bus, as well as more than four dozen vehicles, all sporting law enforcement stickers of one kind or another. So, Mike was drilling with his peeps. Which meant he probably wouldn't be back to his truck—which she easily spotted in the middle of the grouping—until the following day.

Still, she wouldn't take any chances. She extracted her firearm from her glove compartment, tucking it into her waistband before getting out and eyeballing the area. Not a soul stirred within her line of vision.

Sweet. Joe had plenty of time to play mechanic, then get the schell out without Mike ever knowing she was there.

Mike had just completedhis second rappel down the high quarry wall, dressed not for the weather in his black BDU's and bullet proof vest, carrying a full pack of rocks as well as his AR-15. It was damned hot, and he was ready to shed some layers when the motion alert on his phone went off. He wiped the sweat from his face because…yeah. He needed to at least see the screen. Not that he expected anything momentous, but… When he saw that the alarm was continuing to complain, he knew it wasn't just a bird landing on his truck this time. Someone had to be messing with it.

"Chief," he yelled over to Mason, who was timing the individual descents down the rock face. "Someone's engaging with my truck." He didn't have to say more, because he'd already explained to Mase about the spy shit that had been planted at his house.

"Go," Mason barked. "You want backup?"

"As soon as you can spare somebody." He looked aloft and saw the rest of his squad on top of the cliffs, but he didn't want to wait.

"Six minutes behind you," Mason stated, knowing exactly how long it would take for the next person to come down.

Mike took off, shedding his pack as he ran by the team's home-base. Goddammit. Even at a run, he wouldn't reach his vehicle for another nineteen minutes. The units were training in a remote part of the quarries, so as not to have to interface with any of the park's regular visitors.

He also ditched his AR, but kept his handgun in its shoulder harness in case he met up with any serious trouble. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it and create a scene. No matter. He'd catch whoever was dicking with him, and there'd be hell to pay.

Reaching the parking lot twenty-one minutes after his initial alert, Mike didn't see a damn thing. Nobody was at his truck, and there were no people milling about in the dirt lot. What the fuck?

He pulled out his phone and looked at it again, shaking his head. The time elapsed between the first alarm and the last was just under eight minutes. That meant whoever had put hands on his truck, they were long gone.

He still approached slowly, knowing the need for caution regardless of what his eyes were telling him. He did two complete circuits around his truck before unlocking the door.

Well, that was good. It didn't blow up.

Now, before he opened it up, he'd look for trip wires that would detonate a bomb upon entering, or any other red-flags that might be cause for alarm.

He dropped to the ground and peered under the back of his truck, looking first for the tracker which was still in place, before perusing the rest of the undercarriage.

No wires, but…

When he saw fluid dripping to the ground from locations on the side and front of his vehicle, he slid all the way under on his back, cursing when he noticed the damage to his brake-lines. Plural. This was no accidental scrape on a rock that had torn through a single rubber hose. This was sabotage, pure and simple. Both the feed to the front brakes and rear brakes had been compromised.

What the hell?

The sound of a car pulling close to his rear bumper had Mike pausing his inspection. Had the subversives returned? It sure seemed like it, since whoever it was had apparently blocked his vehicle in.

Mike scooted further forward and into the shadow of the front wheels, waiting to see if someone would come close.

A door closed, and footsteps moved in his direction.

A pair of dirty hiking boots came into view, and he watched as they moved around his vehicle, just as he'd done earlier.

When they paused, near his head, Mike didn't hesitate. He snapped out a hand, grabbed an ankle, and yanked.

There was a grunt before the body went down, hitting the dirt on the opposite side of the front tire from where he lay.

Fuck yeah.

Now, Mike would get some answers.