The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) (15 page)

A dozen pairs of eyes looked over to see the new detainee, but most turned away just as quickly. One young woman, sporting a shaved head with a bandana tied around it, kept her eyes on Dallas as she took a seat on the floor next to the wall. Even in the dim light, Dallas wanted to be able to see everyone at once—in case one of the meth addicts in withdrawal came at her in misguided rage. This would be a sleepless night. The best she could hope for was an early morning arraignment, with bail set low.

A few hours later, a woman on the bench next to her was released, and Dallas took her space. The steel bench was slightly less uncomfortable than the concrete floor, and eventually she was able to lie down for a while. For short periods throughout the night she drifted off, but was awakened repeatedly by the clanging of the doors as women were brought in and out. Thirst finally drove Dallas to vacate her spot long enough to sip water from the rusty drinking faucet. She hoped to avoid the toilet in the corner. Listening to others use it was bad enough.

Time stretched into eternity, and her bones ached from the pressure of the hard bench and inactivity. But there was no room to pace. One of the middle-age homeless women occasionally walked back and forth in her own tight space, mumbling to herself, but it annoyed everyone when she did. The crowded room had to be a nightmare for anyone who was claustrophobic, antisocial, or anxiety prone.

Dallas tried to stay focused on her case, thinking through scenarios and next steps. But in the early hours of the morning, she gave up and replayed fond memories of travel and adventures she’d taken. She remembered one excursion during high school with her Aunt Lynn, who’d taken her to Florida on one of her research trips. After growing up in Flagstaff, Dallas had loved the beaches, the warm winter sun, and the bright colors everywhere. If not for her aunt, her childhood would have been a lot worse. Without the acting lessons, language workshops, and a host of other keep-her-busy activities, she wouldn’t have the skills and confidence to handle undercover assignments. She might have ended up following in her parents’ troubled footsteps and spending a lot of time in jails like this one.

Her mother, perpetually jealous of Aunt Lynn’s success, had sometimes refused to give Dallas permission to participate. Drunk and belligerent, Roxy had fought with her sister about taking Dallas to Florida. Aunt Lynn had simply ignored her sister, bought the ticket, and told Dallas to pack and be ready. By fifteen, she no longer cared what her parents thought. They had shuffled her from one relative to another while they partied and blew what little money they had. Her father had been prone to fistfights and had landed in jail a few times while she was still in grade school. This was the first time she really understood what that experience had been like for him. Now that he’d died of liver failure, her heart had softened, and visualizing him being treated like a non-human tugged at her emotions.

Heavy footsteps caught her attention and made her sit up quickly. A big woman with thick arms and a giant head loomed over her. “Get yo’ ass up! It’s my turn on the bench.”

Oh hell,
she didn’t need this. The angry inmate was even bigger than the guard, maybe two-fifty. Dallas decided to give up the space. But she didn’t move fast enough. The woman reached down, grabbed her hair, and yanked.

The bitch!
Dallas reacted without thinking. She shot to her feet, going in the same direction as the woman’s pull, while landing an undercut to her solar plexus. The combined forces knocked the woman back, and she let go of Dallas’ hair. But the inmate didn’t give up. She hauled herself up and came at Dallas, head down, trying to ram her. Dallas stepped aside, but the space between them was small, and the big woman caught her on the hip. Dallas’ body flew back, her knees buckled against the end of the bench, and her head slammed into the concrete wall.
Fuck!
The pain enraged her, and she pushed to her feet, fearing another onslaught.

The doors clanged and a guard shouted, “Stop or I’ll taser you both!”

The big woman came at her anyway, aiming to land a roundhouse punch to her face. Dallas ducked enough to take the blow on her cheek instead of her nose. But the knuckle on bone was excruciating.

The guard crossed the room and shoved her stun gun against the other inmate’s back. Her assailant blinked, cried out, and spun around. The guard zapped her in the chest, hitting the charge again and again until the giant woman finally dropped to her knees.

Dallas had already stepped back, hoping to avoid getting shocked.

Another guard, a male, came into the holding area. “You should have put Aussie in a cell by herself.” He grabbed the big woman by one arm. The female guard grabbed the other, and they led the stunned inmate out of the holding area.

A young detainee near the door laughed. “Big dumb fuck.”

Dallas breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hey, you’re bleeding.” A woman on a nearby bench pointed to her head.

Dallas reached up to her cheek, but it was dry. The side of her head where she’d hit the wall was sticky though. Grimacing with pain, she shuffled over to the toilet area, grabbed the last few tissues on the roll, and held them to her wound.
Damn,
this place reeked.

When Dallas sat back down, the woman who’d mentioned the blood scooted next to her. She was older than the others, with short, ragged hair and lines around her mouth. Her dark skin shimmered with sweat. “What are you in for?” she asked. “A pretty white girl like you?”

“Trespassing.” Mentioning the drugs was unnecessary.

The woman scoffed. “You’ll get released after your arraignment.”

“I hope so.” Surprising herself, Dallas asked her name.

“Mona.” Her voice quivered. “I won’t be so lucky. I always get lost in the system.”

With time to kill, Dallas decided to hear her story. “How so?”

“My first arrest was in New York when I was sixteen. They accused me of mugging some white guy.” Mona shook her head. “They just grabbed the nearest black person and hauled me off. They had no witnesses and no case against me, but I spent three years on Rikers Island—or Rikers Hell, as I like to call it—waiting for a trial.” The woman shook her head, her voice resigned and weary. “They pressured me again and again to plead guilty and take a deal, but I wouldn’t. Finally, the DA admitted he had no case, and the charges were dismissed. Three fucking years of my life. I was just a kid! So I never finished high school.”

“I’ve heard horror stories about Rikers Island, but that’s insane.”

“They’re all true. And it’s hell for the young kids out there. After they put me in solitary for two months, I tried to kill myself. I thought I would starve or go crazy. It fucked me up. I have anxiety and flashbacks, and I can’t seem to fit in anywhere. So I live on the streets and do odd jobs to get by.”

“You could probably sue the prison.”

Mona let out a sad laugh and shook her head. “Nobody cares about me.”

Dallas was trying to stay in character and didn’t know what else to say. How did shit like that happen? If Mona’s parents had put their teenage daughter in a room by herself for twenty-three hours a day with nothing to do and very little food, they would have been arrested for abuse. But it was somehow okay for the state to treat her that way. Dallas couldn’t let herself listen to any more of Mona’s story. She was on assignment and had to keep her head clear and focused. Becoming too sympathetic with her targets could undermine her effectiveness. But boy, did they have a point.

She got up and walked in place for a while to get her blood flowing. She needed some ice to put on her face, which had started to throb, but that wasn’t going to happen. What the hell time was it, anyway?

After another long stretch of time, it was finally morning, and two new female officers came into the room. One of them called out three inmate names, including Tara Adams. Dallas sat up.

“Time for court. Use the toilet now if you need to.”

Oh hell.
Her bladder hurt too much to wait. An inmate whistled as Dallas pulled down her pants, but she didn’t care anymore. At least she was getting out of this room.

“What about me?” Mona yelled. “I’ve been in here for days.”

The guards ignored her, put handcuffs on the three who’d been called, and escorted them out. They went downstairs, through another maze of hallways, and outside to a secluded area where a small bus waited. The morning sun on her skin was glorious—for a brief thirty seconds—then Dallas climbed on the bus, headed for an arraignment.

The courtroom was packed with handcuffed men, some in prison scrubs and some in street clothes. Several security officers stood in back. One by one, the inmates were called before the judge, an older woman with oversized glasses. A clerk read the charges, and the people in handcuffs entered a plea. Dallas couldn’t help but notice that most of the prisoners were black. Except three of the men, and one of them was Latino. Her turn came, and the charges surprised her: breaking and entering, possession of burglary tools, trespassing, and resisting arrest. No drugs? What the hell? Had someone pocketed them along the way? She felt almost giddy with relief. The rest of the list was a familiar tactic. Charge a suspect with everything you could think of, then pressure them to plead guilty to the most important offense by offering to drop the rest.

“How do you plead?” The judge peered over her glasses, staring, as if Dallas were an alien. She had barely looked at the other inmates who’d stood before her.

“Not guilty.”

“Can you afford an attorney? If not, one will be appointed for you.”

“No.” As a ghostwriter, Tara Adams couldn’t. Defense attorneys charged two to four hundred an hour.

“Bail is set at twenty thousand. Your next court date is November fifth. Do not miss it.”

Damn. Dallas hoped the inner circle could afford two thousand for a bail bondsman to get her out. They seemed to have money for adventures, but she’d overhead Luke and Abby talking about their main benefactor pulling support, so they might not want to spend the cash. Dallas went back to her place on the bench and waited through another round of pleas.

Unless the bureau made her charges go away, eventually the Virginia court would issue a no-show warrant for Tara Adams’ arrest—when she didn’t come back. Her photo was now in the criminal database too. Dallas had darkened her hair to dirty blond for this assignment and wore heavy makeup, especially around her eyes, but none of that would fool facial recognition software—if anyone ever did a comparison. As long as she kept out of the news and off social media, her cover wouldn’t be blown.

Seven hours after leaving, she arrived back at the jail, and the three female inmates were split up. One seemed to be headed back to the holding area, and another was led upstairs, where the main long-stay cells were located. Dallas was escorted to the in-take room where she’d been processed. Yet another female guard pointed at the wooden chair. “Wait here.” She moved toward the door.

Dallas didn’t sit. Whatever was happening made her nervous. “I want to make a phone call.”

“You don’t need to. You made bail. I’m getting your things.”

Hallelujah!

An hour later, she stood outside the back entrance of the jail, looking around for the van or Luke’s truck. All she had in her pockets were her phony driver’s license and her cell phone. The twenty-dollar bill she’d brought along, in case of a scenario like this one, was gone, and so were her lock-picks and lucky cloth. She’d been too embarrassed to even ask what happened to it. Knowing the keepsake was gone forever gave her a low-level anxiety. Yet, she felt strangely liberated as well. Someone had stolen the packet of meth too, and for that, she was so grateful she considered the other items a fair trade. She desperately needed a shower, a meal, and a toothbrush, but she felt giddy anyway.

A middle-aged woman in large sunglasses approached her. “Tara Adams?”

“Yes.”

“I’m with JRN, and I paid your bail. Your ride is waiting for you two blocks that way.” She pointed left.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but it wasn’t my money. I’m just a delivery woman. Now go get back to work, fighting for the cause.”

“I’m on my way.” Dallas nodded and jogged down the street. She would have liked five minutes alone to find a public phone and call Drager, but she was too relieved to care that much.

Dallas spotted the white van at a gas station. Both front seats were occupied.
Damn.
Abby had come along. Dallas climbed in the side door and sank into the bench seat, relieved to be getting the hell out of Richmond.

“I’m so happy to see you both,” Dallas said. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Abby turned in her seat and narrowed her eyes. “We have a problem.”

Wednesday, Oct. 8, 9:30 a.m.

With a can of Mountain Dew in hand and a blueberry muffin on the dashboard, Jocelyn took the I-95 ramp and headed south. She crossed into Virginia soon after without any fanfare. State lines didn’t mean much to commuters in this area, but she was officially out of her jurisdiction now. She’d spent the first half of her childhood in North Carolina, then moved to Maryland in high school when her father got a job with the government. She’d always lived in the suburbs because downtown DC was too expensive, and because she liked to have a yard with a grill and some sunflowers. So driving took a chunk out of her life every day, and she sometimes listened to e-books, mostly biographies, but she’d also recently enjoyed a sci-fi series called
Wool.

A thick, lush band of trees lined the road, with hints of red and yellow in the leaves, and a high cloud cover gave the sky a bluish-silver tone. Overall, a pleasant fall day for a drive. Instrumental soul music played softly, letting her mind roam freely. Her thoughts kept drifting to Ross. It had been such a surprise to see him at the meeting yesterday, followed by his call.
But that had been mostly business,
she told herself. She was an asset to him at the moment, that was all. That was how the bureau operated. They cultivated people and used them. It annoyed her that Ross wouldn’t share details about his investigation into Luke Maddox. They used to share their cases with each other—sometimes. More often, after a long day of focusing on crime, they’d wanted to talk about anything else. Or simply be alone with their books or TV programs. Nothing specific had gone wrong with their relationship. They’d simply gotten on each other’s nerves, then lost their sexual spark and drifted apart. Once Kyle was gone, they’d known it was over, but she had been the one to say it out loud. Seeing Ross yesterday had stirred up old feelings. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but why else was he on her mind? Why else did she keep reaching for her phone to call him? Had they made a mistake? The divorce wasn’t final yet.