The Trigger (2 page)

“That’s the strategy, for now.” Her boss leaned back. “But you don’t have to take the assignment. An agent in the ’Frisco bureau wants the case, but the field man in Redding thinks she’s too old.”

“You know I’m in.” Just the thought of getting on a plane made Dallas’ body hum. “What’s my cover story?”

“I think you need to have money in your background. A trust-fund gal who works when she wants to as a social media consultant.”

“I like it. Who are my clients? Small companies and artistic individuals?”

“Exactly. One of our tech people is putting up a website, and we’ll have business cards for you by the time your ID is ready.”

“What inspired me to fly out to California and join the Destiny community? The recent shootings in my hometown? Fear of the national debt and financial collapse?”

“The latter. More important, your fiancé recently died. Spencer will sympathize with that.”

“Who’s my local contact?”

“Agent Caleb McCullen.” Her boss pushed a thick stack of paper at her. “Here’s the background information on the Clayton brothers and the community. But I’ll send you PDFs if you prefer.”

“Thanks for the assignment. I was going a little stir-crazy.” Dallas picked up the paperwork, knowing she’d read it on her e-tablet. “How long do you think I’ll be gone?”

“That depends on how quickly you can get close to Spencer and be invited to join. You should plan for a month or two, but I expect you’ll work faster than that. You always do.”

This could turn out to be her longest—and most challenging—undercover job yet. “It’ll take a few days to wrap up some personal business here.”

“Sorry, but we need you on a plane tomorrow. Agent McCullen thinks Emma’s father might do something stupid if we don’t move on this immediately. The undercover unit will have your new paperwork ready and shipped to you shortly, but you’ll need to visit the DMV today.”

She already had a name picked out. “I want to be Sonja Olivia Barnes.”

“SOB?” Gossimer laughed, but it was a hollow sound.

After answering emails and changing her voicemail message, Dallas left the bureau. Her main priority was to pack her clothing, but even before that, she had to take a box of personal items to FedEx. She kept a collection of photos, books, and emergency duct tape in a box that went with her on every out-of-town assignment. The knick-knacks made her temporary place look lived-in and personal if someone dropped by. The Redding office had sent the address of a long-stay motel where they’d booked her a suite. With any luck, she’d move out to the Destiny community within a week.

In the meantime, she had to notify her condo manager, call her friend Stacie, and say good-bye to her current boyfriend. She and Trevor had been dating about five weeks, and she suspected he would be more upset about the breakup than she was. Trevor had a good sense of humor and was an energetic lover—her top priorities—but she’d quit looking for a long-term relationship. Her specialty as an undercover agent kept her moving around, and sometimes her assignments took months.

Dallas drove to her condo on the edge of Scottsdale, pleased by the sight of Camelback Mountain, which wasn’t really a mountain at all. But in a city that stretched forever into the desert, the view of the hill made her happy, even though it wasn’t anything like the mountains around Flagstaff where she’d grown up.

Dallas called Stacie while she prepared the box for shipping. Her friend owned a beauty shop, and Dallas would get two things off her list at the same time. Stacie picked up after five rings. “I’m with a client, Jamie. Can I call you back in ten?” Stacie was one of the only people who still called her Jamie, but they’d known each other since high school.

“I’m leaving town on assignment tomorrow, and I need a cut and color.”

“Can you come right now? I’ll take an early lunch and squeeze you in.”

“Of course. Thanks for making time for me.”

“How long will you be gone this round?”

“Maybe several months.”

“Crap. Do you have time for dinner?”

“Sorry, I have an early flight.”

“See you in a few.”

Dallas took another look at the photo of Lisa Clayton. Spencer’s wife had shoulder-length hair that, in a bottle, might be called light amber brown. Mrs. Clayton also had more natural curl than Dallas did, so she considered getting a perm too. Dallas slipped the photo into her shoulder bag, hoping it wasn’t a breach of protocol to show it to Stacie, one of the few people who also knew she worked for the FBI. Dallas had never told her parents, but they’d never been particularly involved with her life, and now that she was an adult, that was fine with her.

Her Aunt Lynn knew, because Dallas stayed in touch with her. Aunt Lynn had given her the only normal, happy parts of her childhood. Whenever her parents’ drinking, fighting, and instability had spiraled out of control, she would call her aunt or grandmother, then pack her overnight bag and wait for one of them to pick her up. Often her parents would leave her with a cranky uncle while they partied, and later, as a teenager, she’d done a lot of sleepovers with friends. Her whole childhood had been spent on the move and now she couldn’t stop. Packing to go somewhere gave her a rush, a sense that things were about to get significantly better. On top of that, becoming another person for a while was the ultimate high.

On the way downtown, Dallas picked up two prepaid phones. Her personal cell would go with her so she would have all her contact information, but she would keep it hidden and unused most of the time. Her FBI work phone would also stay out of sight when she wasn’t using it to contact her UC team. In the car, she keyed her new ID into one of the burner phones. The second prepaid was just for backup. Dallas made a quick stop at the bank for cash, most of which would be stashed in hidden compartments. Her monthly bills were paid automatically, so she had no worries about finances while she was on assignment.

Stacie’s Glamourama, a name Dallas hated, was in a strip mall off Indian School Road. She pulled in and parked in the last available space. She would miss her RAV4 while she was gone, but at least this time her background ID was that of a wealthy person, so the bureau would have to lease her something decent, unlike the time her cover had required her to drive an old piece-of-crap Volkswagen bug.

Stacie was with a client, so Dallas sat and read more about Spencer and Randall Clayton. Before he was thirty, Randall had been elected mayor of Santa Carmichael, a small mid-California city, then had run for Congress and lost. He and his brother had started building the community outside of Redding two years later. The 9/11 attacks had happened in between, and that could have been the driving influence. Dallas also wondered if the political defeat had undermined the younger brother’s confidence and sent him into hiding.

After a few minutes, Stacie called her over, gave her a fleshy, perfumed hug, then stroked Dallas’ long blond hair. “I can’t believe you want to cut this off. Most women would kill for your hair.”

“It’ll be a nice break from the maintenance.” Dallas took a seat in the beauty chair, feeling a flutter of apprehension. She’d been thinking about making the change for a while, but it would still be an adjustment. “I get more respect when I go brunette, and I think less hair will have the same effect. So what the hell.”

Stacie, who changed her hair color every month, laughed. “With your cheekbones and luminescent blue eyes, you’d still be gorgeous if you shaved your head.” Her friend grabbed a plastic drape and tied it around Dallas’ neck. “How short and what color?”

She pulled out the picture of Lisa Clayton. “Like this.”

Stacie’s eyes widened. “She looks like you, only older. Are you going to impersonate her?”

“No. And if I was, I couldn’t tell you. Let’s do this. I still have a lot of packing.”

While Stacie cut and colored her hair, they talked about the recent mass shooting in Glendale, and Dallas hoped her friend wouldn’t ask if her new assignment was dangerous. She didn’t. They both knew Dallas would lie anyway.

When her hair was finally blow-dried, Dallas decided she liked it. Not as sexy but more trustworthy. Stacie made a whistling noise. “Very nice. Trevor will be quite surprised.”

“Thanks. I love it.” Dallas stood and reached for her purse.

Stacie shook her head. “You
are
going to see Trevor and tell him you’re leaving, right?”

“I thought I would text him.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “You’re ending it?”

“I have to. I’ll be gone for at least a month, probably more, and we’re not that serious.”

“Whatever.” Stacie knew better than to argue. They’d had this conversation before. She hugged her tightly. “Be safe.”

Dallas stopped at the Motor Vehicle Division, bypassed the long line, and went straight back to the FBI liaison. She’d been through the process a few times, so twenty minutes later she had a new driver’s license issued to Sonja Barnes. When she returned to Phoenix, she would trade it in and get her original back. Time to head home and pack.

The process was both an art and a science, and Dallas had perfected it. While she carefully crammed her life into two large suitcases and a carry-on bag, she called the property manager of her condo complex, then composed a text to Trevor in her head. When she was packed, she keyed in:
I’m leaving town for a month or so and won’t be able to contact you. I can’t expect you to wait, so feel free to start dating someone new. It’s been fun. JD

She hoped Trevor would take it well.

Feeling logistically ready, Dallas reached for her laptop, prepared to make contact. She opened the Clayton brothers’ blog/website, called Uncertain Future. It covered subjects from how to grow vegetables in the winter to how to put on a gas mask in case of sarin poisoning. Dallas read Spencer’s latest post about buying gold and silver and keeping it in a safe at home as a protection against the coming economic collapse when bank accounts and credit cards would be worthless. After registering as Sonja Barnes, she left a comment about how she’d been using her trust fund to buy gold for years and was pleased to find likeminded thinking on the subject. She perused a few more posts, then found the link labeled Destiny. She started to scoff at the name again, then caught herself. It was time to become Sonja, a pampered young woman who didn’t trust the future… and was looking for a more natural life.

The website was a work of art: uncluttered, bold fonts, clear subcategories, and compelling photos. Its creator was an experienced designer, and she wondered about the tech level of the community, and the brothers in particular. Dallas clicked another link called
Joining Destiny
. The page outlined the process, which involved filling out an application, writing an essay, and meeting with the founders. The essay part irritated her, so she filled out the application first, referring to the background dossier the bureau had sent her.

A section near the top asked her to list her skills, and Dallas realized they might be critical to admission. To survive after the apocalypse, the community would need a diverse group of people with high-demand expertise. After ten years, Dallas assumed they’d found the basics such as doctors and scientists, so she listed marksmanship, outdoor survival, herbal knowledge, and multilingual. Most of it was true, and she could learn enough about herbs to fake that part. She spoke Spanish and could read and write simple French. Speaking the damn language was not something she’d ever mastered. She was slowly learning Arabic too, with the idea that she might someday work for the CIA.

Halfway through writing the essay, her doorbell rang. Dallas hurried to answer it, thinking it was an FBI courier with her new paperwork. She checked the peephole. Trevor stood there, looking blond, handsome, and worried.
Shit.
Dallas pressed the intercom to tell him she was busy, then changed her mind and let him in. He was a sweet man and—what the hell?—she could use some breakup sex.

“Whoa.” Trevor stared at her hair.

Dallas reflexively reached for it and regretted letting him see her new look. “That’s why I texted instead of meeting you to say good-bye. I didn’t think you’d like it.”

He pulled her in and held her tightly. “I don’t care about your hair. I care about you. Where are you going and why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Is this about your government job?”

“Yes.” She’d been vague, as usual, knowing the relationship wouldn’t last. “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.” Dallas wondered if she’d ever have a long-term partner she could confide in.

“You’re going undercover, aren’t you? Is it dangerous?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“When will you be back?” Brow crinkled, eyes misty, Trevor had never looked sexier.

“Maybe a month or so. But we can’t contact each other, so let’s just say it’s over.”

“No.” Trevor grabbed her shoulders and kissed her deeply. “I think I love you, and you’d better call me the minute you get back.”

Love?
Stunned, Dallas pulled away, no longer aroused. Even after years of therapy, she still had a central issue: She enjoyed sex with strangers and with men she’d dated briefly. But as soon as she felt emotionally connected, the sex lost its zing and the relationship fizzled. Apparently that applied if men felt overly attached too.

“We barely know each other and you have to go.” She pushed him toward the door. “Find someone else. You deserve a good relationship.”

Trevor tried to kiss her again, but she turned away.

“I’m not letting you go.” He stood near the door and locked eyes with her, but Dallas waved him off.

He finally left, but instead of feeling relieved, Dallas felt lonely. She’d miss him and their art gallery visits, breakfasts at Chorios, and Jason Statham movie nights. She shook it off and went back to her laptop, where she clicked open a photo of the Clayton brothers. Spencer was in his early forties, lean and attractive with wide-spaced brown eyes, a classic nose, and perfect teeth. His brother, Randall, looked much like him, but was shorter and thinner-faced, with lighter hair. Something about the younger man’s smile seemed off, then Dallas remembered he’d been a politician.