Sabotage

by Jessica Linden

  Sophie held open the door of a coffee shop for Abbie to walk through. “I bet Jonathan is happy you’re pulling desk duty.”

  Abbie frowned. “Why would you say that?”

  “He’s a presidential hopeful. He probably doesn’t want his girlfriend chasing down bad guys and getting shot—again.”

  “I saved his life by doing just that. Besides, he knew what he was getting into when we started seeing each other.”

  “Then he’s a better man than most. When my last boyfriend learned I could choke him out, he ran away so fast he left skid marks. For once I’d like to meet a man who isn’t intimidated by my job.” Sophie stepped up to the barista to place her order.

  Abbie crossed her arms. Somewhere deep down inside him, did her job bother Jonathan? He’d never said anything about it. He didn’t seem to mind that she didn’t fit the mold of the other political wives. And she’d made an earnest effort to play nice at his functions, even though it required enduring conversations about nannies and recipes and clothing. At least the fashion talk she could get on board with.

  No, Sophie had to be wrong. Jonathan supported her. And anyway, it didn’t matter. Her career was non-negotiable.

  Back on the street, the women sipped their lattes and tilted their faces up toward the sun, which was finally making an appearance through the overcast sky. It had been a harsh winter and Abbie, for one, was looking forward to packing away her jackets.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Sophie said, breaking the silence. “Anyway, if you take over as director, it won’t matter soon anyway.”

  Abbie abruptly stopped and hot liquid splashed out of her cup and splattered onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing her shoes. “Shit! What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The rumor is Director Oliver is retiring.”

  “Has anyone confirmed that?”

  Sophie gave Abbie a look. “Of course not. Do you want to ask her?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Exactly. And the second part of that rumor is that she has you pegged to replace her. I can’t believe you haven’t heard.”

  “That’s…I mean…I can’t…” Abbie couldn’t put her thoughts into words, probably because she didn’t know what her thoughts were. Sure, she’d thought about—no, dreamed about someday taking over as director. But someday, as in, like, twenty years from now. Certainly not anytime soon.

  Why the hell was she the last to know this type of shit? Goddamnit!

  Sophie serenely sipped at her coffee, as if she hadn’t completely rocked Abbie’s world.

  Abbie stared straight ahead. “Who knows about this?”

  “It’s only a rumor. But honestly, you’re the best choice.”

  “There are other agents with more seniority.”

  “Seniority doesn’t mean squat. You’re the best choice. Besides, it’s not like you can do much undercover work anymore.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Sophie cocked her head. “Come on, Abbie. How many pictures have been published of you and Jonathan in the last few months? You’re not exactly living incognito.”

  “That’s not—” Except maybe it was true. Shit.

  Abbie rotated her shoulder. Yup, stronger than ever. Could her relationship with Jonathan be the real reason she wasn’t out in the field? She felt like such an idiot for not thinking of this possibility before.

  “Is that why the director has me on desk duty?” she asked.

  “Not that I know of, but Oliver doesn’t exactly run her decrees by an approval committee. She runs a straight-up monarchy and she is the queen.” Sophie grinned slyly. “And you are apparently the princess.”

  Abbie shook her head. “How have I seriously not heard about this?”

  Sophie shrugged. “Beats me. I—”

  Abbie put her hand on Sophie’s arm to stop her. She narrowed her eyes at a teenage boy who was about a block ahead of them. He didn’t look quite old enough to have graduated high school. What was he doing out here?

  She watched as the boy expertly slipped his hand into a lady’s purse, coming out with her wallet in his hand.

  She passed her coffee to Sophie. “Hold this.”

  The boy turned to make his getaway and locked eyes with Abbie. His eyes widened and he turned on his heel, taking off at a sprint.

  Oh, it’s on.

  Abbie took off, easily closing the distance between them. It only took her a block to catch up with him. She hooked him around the neck with her forearm and swung him around so that his back was pressed up against the building.

  “I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “Lady, I didn’t do—”

  “Cut the shit.” Abbie glanced at Sophie as she walked up. “Call the locals to come get this one.”

  “Face the wall and spread ’em,” Abbie commanded. She released the boy and put her hands on her hips, making sure he caught sight of her gun. The color drained from his face.

  Yeah, maybe it was overkill, but the boy was young enough to turn himself around. Scaring the shit out of him was for his own good.

  Sophie suppressed a smile as Abbie frisked the boy, coming up with the wallet he’d stolen, a wad of cash, and a small hoard of credit cards.

  A few minutes later, the Arlington police arrived. They cuffed him and stuffed him in the back of the police cruiser.

  The officer, Officer Miles, nodded at Abbie. “Always a pleasure.” It wasn’t the first time they’d run into one another.

  Abbie held her hand out for her coffee with a small smile of satisfaction. The smile turned into a frown as she realized how happy it made her to apprehend a teenage pickpocket.

  Yeah, princess or not, she definitely needed to get out more.

  Chapter 5

  Sitting in her car parked outside the event venue, she watched the couple step out of the black car. Watched as the man kissed the woman’s knuckles before moving his hand to the small of her back to guide her into the restaurant. Watched as the society of Washington regarded them with both fascination and infatuation.

  Abbie and the congressman made a striking couple. No one could argue that. They could easily be on the cover of GQ.

  It made her hate them more.

  Rage burned in her gut until her vision blurred.

  Hold it together. Your time will come.

  The public adored them—the golden couple. But because of that bitch, her work had been overshadowed and undone by that goddamn princess. This bitch was supposed to stand for justice. But how was the way she’d been treated by her just?

  For a while, she was content to be the bigger person and let bygones be bygones, but not anymore. Things had changed. She had changed. Passive acceptance was no longer an acceptable option.

  She ran her knife along her palm, remembering yesterday’s incident with Pluto. Stupid oaf—he’d always underestimated and undervalued her. The feeling of plunging the metal into the man’s throat and the sound of his gurgling blood had been euphoric.

  The asshole had deserved it.

  He wasn’t the only one. There were other people who did, too, but if she had taken revenge on every person who undervalued her, the city would be flooded with blood. No, she needed to be selective.

  She hadn’t thought it possible, but killing had been almost as satisfying as hacking. Death can only occur once, though, so she would save it for Abbie’s grand finale.

  Earlier today, she had to force herself not to do a slow clap when the bitch apprehended the juvenile delinquent. Such flair. Such a display of fortitude.

  What a show-off bitch. She should have slit her pretty little throat right then. Wouldn’t that have been poetic justice? Taken down in the line of duty. No—then they’d probably make her a fucking martyr. She was already revered as if she were a goddamn goddess.

  Someone needed to knock that princess off her throne. The bitch had it coming.

  Her hands shook as she clenched her tee
th. She hoped she had the patience to wait.

  She stroked her knife along her arms and a sense of calm came over her. Soon she wouldn’t be on the bottom. And it would feel so good.

  Chapter 6

  Jonathan sighed at the sight of the reporters and camera crews outside his building. “Is someone doing a press conference today?” He had enough on his plate already and didn’t need to get caught up in a media circus.

  Earl shook his head. “Not that I know of. Do you want to go around back?”

  Before Jonathan had a chance to answer, a reporter in teetering heels and a bright red suit caught sight of him and practically galloped toward him.

  “There he is!”

  A stampede of reporters followed.

  Shit. What the hell was this about?

  He took a moment to exchange a look with Earl. Then he passed the man his briefcase and straightened his tie. He had no idea what was going on, but he needed to uphold his image in front of the camera.

  The reporter in the red suit that was just a shade too bright stuck a microphone in his face. “What can you tell us about the money you’ve embezzled from your campaign?”

  Jonathan’s eyes widened, only a fraction, before he blinked and displayed his famous smile. “I’m sorry, Miss?”

  “Joanna Forehand with Channel Eight News.”

  She didn’t crack a hint of a smile. Not the reaction he was used to. He gazed around at the other reporters and was met with similar expressions.

  He was a media darling. He knew it, accepted it, and used it to his advantage. He might as well, right? Only a fool would reject such an advantage in politics.

  It wasn’t doing him any good now, though. And the worst part was he had no damn clue what shit storm he’d somehow gotten thrown into.

  “Miss Forehand, I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  “Are you denying the fact that tens of thousands of dollars have gone missing from your campaign fund?”

  “This is the first I’m hearing of it. However, you can be assured that I will be looking into the matter. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”

  Jonathan brushed past her, with Earl close on his heels. Shouts of “Congressman Lassiter! Just another question!” followed them.

  Normally, he’d entertain them. But not today. Not now. He needed to figure out what the hell this was all about.

  He’d never been so glad to retreat to the safety of his office. Unfortunately, once he got there, his staff mirrored the same grim look he’d witnessed on the reporters’ faces. The dread that had settled in his stomach tripled in size.

  Jonathan put his hands on his hips. “Can someone tell me what is going on?”

  Beth, his newest staffer, pointed to the laptop screen in front of her. Jonathan took a few steps closer to read the headline.

  “Has the Capitol Hill Bachelor Gone Bad?”

  He’d always hated that nickname, but never more than he did right now.

  “It says that money has mysteriously gone missing from your campaign,” Beth summarized, then added, “Sir.”

  He could have figured that out from the reporter’s questions. But where was this story coming from? He didn’t keep the closest tabs on the campaign accounts—after all, that’s why he had staff. But he still didn’t understand why the media was all over this bogus story.

  Unless it wasn’t entirely bogus.

  He took a deep breath. “Is there any legitimacy to this claim?”

  His staff looked around nervously, avoiding his gaze. And that was his answer.

  “Sir, we’ve pulled up the reports and there are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of small transfers that were authorized last night.” Beth swallowed. “It adds up to forty-two thousand dollars.”

  “And?” Jonathan was losing his patience. “The money didn’t disappear into thin air. Where did it get transferred to?”

  Beth met his eyes before answering this time, and in her gaze was an accusation. “Your personal account.”

  Chapter 7

  Abbie ended the call feeling sick to her stomach. Jonathan, embezzling campaign funds? It was almost laughable, but the media was having a field day with it. His image was squeaky clean and reporters were circling this story like the hungry vultures they were.

  Taking the lead was a rookie reporter named Joanna Forehand. She was trying to start her career with a bang by ruining Jonathan’s.

  Joanna better hope she didn’t run into Abbie in a dark alley. Abbie hadn’t given a good ass-kicking in a while and this chick seriously deserved one for reporting such bullshit.

  It wasn’t right. No one was more devoted to service than Jonathan. And now on top of getting his reputation smeared, Jonathan had to waste valuable time dealing with this fiasco. He should be focusing on what mattered. Namely, the issues.

  He’d said all the right things on the phone—after all, he was in full-on politician mode—but Abbie could tell from his tone that this situation had gotten to him. Everything he’d worked for in his whole adult life was in the balance. A scandal like this, whether it was warranted or not, could end his career.

  “How is he?” Sophie asked.

  Abbie considered the question before answering. “Exasperated.” She wanted to pound the shit out of something, but Jonathan sounded tired more than anything. Which only pissed her off more. He’d been dealing with this since first thing this morning and he was no closer to figuring out what had happened. The defeated tone of his voice was like a punch to her gut.

  “That sucks,” Sophie said, bringing Abbie back to their conversation.

  “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  “Does he have any clue who is behind it?”

  Abbie shook her head. “And you know him—in moments of stress, always the politician. I’m sure he has his suspicions, but he won’t say. Not until he has concrete evidence.”

  Sophie snorted. “No offense to him and his staff, but how do they expect to find concrete evidence? They’re politicians, not detectives.”

  “True.” Abbie paused, her gaze sliding over to Sophie. “Wait. Aren’t you the one who normally compiles our case dossiers?”

  Abbie didn’t even have to ask. Sophie swung around to face her computer and rolled up her sleeves, revealing a bandage that covered the length of her left forearm.

  “Whoa, Sophie, are you okay?” Abbie asked.

  “Fine,” she replied tersely. “It’s just stupid poison ivy. Now, who has it out for Jonathan?”

  Abbie resisted clapping her hands together and rubbing them gleefully. Even though she was still sitting on her ass in the office, at least she was finally doing something dangerous. No bitch in a cheap polyester suit with a microphone was going to ruin Jonathan’s career. Not if Abbie had anything to do about it.

  “The first thing that comes to mind is Hak Tanir. Most of the organization has been dismantled, but there are still a few lingering followers.”

  Thanks to Abbie, Hak Tanir had failed in their attempt to kill Jonathan. But Abbie knew there was more than one type of death—they could still be trying to end him by killing his career. Whoever was behind this wanted to hit him where it hurt.

  “Jonathan confirmed that the money is in his account, right?” Sophie’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

  “Yes.”

  “This is pretty brilliant hacking, actually,” Sophie said. “Whoever got access to the funds could have simply stolen them, but transferring the money to Jonathan’s account is much worse. So whoever it is must already be well funded themselves.”

  “Hak Tanir’s assets were frozen. Well, the ones we could find, anyway. But their motive wouldn’t be money, anyway. It never was.” Abbie paced in front of Sophie’s desk. “This move is definitely meant to destroy Jonathan’s career. So another obvious suspect could be his political opponents.”

  “Does he have any enemies in Congress?”

  “Enemy is too strong of a word. More like frenemies.”

  Sophie stopped
typing. “Is this Congress we’re talking about, or a group of high school girls?”

  Abbie ignored the comment even though it had merit. Because when it came to the primaries, the party members fought one another to the death. Then when it was all said and done, they held hands, sang “Kumbaya,” and stood behind their party’s candidate like the bloodshed of the previous six months had never happened.

  It was mind-boggling.

  “Ed Bringle is his chief opponent right now. See what you can dig up on him.”

  Abbie had never liked the man. She only met him a handful of times, but he’d rubbed her the wrong way. She wouldn’t put it past him to play dirty in his efforts to acquire a bid for the presidency.

  As Abbie watched Sophie do her magic, her fingers itched to get in there and do it herself. She preferred to be in the driver’s seat. But the other woman was freakishly good—and fast—when it came to this sort of thing.

  “Huh,” Sophie commented.

  “What?”

  Sophie, completely consumed by her work, didn’t respond.

  Abbie pantomimed wrapping her hands around Sophie’s neck and huffed. Sophie was the best, and she would find anything there was to find, but damn, she was frustrating to work with sometimes.

  “Here,” Sophie said twenty minutes later, pointing to an image of a birth certificate on the screen. Abbie looked back and forth between it and Sophie. Sophie’s expression was expectant, like the meaning of the image was obvious.

  “What am I looking at?” Abbie finally asked.

  “Bringle’s illegitimate daughter.”

  “So what? Lots of people have children out of wedlock.”

  “Yes, but lots of people aren’t senators. And lots of people don’t impregnate strippers turned prostitutes.”

  Abbie frowned. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

  “It’s not public knowledge.”

  “Why not? It didn’t take you long to find it.”