Prepper Jack

by Diane Capri

  Thursday, April 14

  2:50 a.m.

  Detroit, Michigan

  Kim’s personal cell phone pinged on her bedside table, signaling a new text message. She rolled over in a sleepy fog, lifted the phone, and squinted against the bright light to read the curious words on the screen.

  “Can’t make dinner tonight. Still in Albuquerque with Ross. Join me here? xoxo JT”

  She frowned. The text was bizarre on several levels. Which meant simply ignoring it and going back to sleep was not an option.

  She tossed the covers aside and headed to the kitchen, carrying the phone. She started the coffee maker and read the words again. They were even more curious the fourth time through.

  While the coffee brewed, she hurried to get dressed and collect a fresh disposable phone from her bedside table.

  As she showered, she analyzed the message again. Everything about it was wrong.

  For starters, the text message itself was total fiction.

  She and Lawton didn’t have a dinner date tonight. She had no idea who Ross was. There was no way Lawton would have invited her to Albuquerque for dinner, expecting her to drop everything and fly out there. Nor had he ever have signed any message with “xoxo JT.”

  All of which meant the text message was meant to be something else entirely.

  Leading to a host of disturbing issues.

  The text appeared to have been sent from John Lawton’s phone. Which probably meant his phone had been stolen, cloned, or the number was spoofed.

  Only low-level expertise would have been required. A savvy teenage hacker could have done it.

  More concerning was that the sender knew Lawton had traveled to Albuquerque on business a week ago. Was he still there? She had no idea.

  Lawton worked on matters that he couldn’t share with her. To be fair, she didn’t share much about her work, either.

  They’d been dating off and on, when they had the time, for a couple of months. Sometimes weeks passed when they didn’t connect at all.

  The reality was that their relationship was casual. Their lives were not so intertwined. She had no intimate knowledge of his exact whereabouts.

  So Lawson’s absence wasn’t noteworthy and Kim’s ignorance of his activities wasn’t atypical, either. He could have traveled around the world since she’d seen him last, and she might have, too.

  She pulled her still-damp black hair into a low chignon on the back of her neck and headed toward the kitchen.

  She poured coffee into a to-go cup, grabbed her coat and her gun. She left her personal cell phone on the table, added the new burner to the other essentials in her pockets, and headed toward the elevator.

  From the first floor, she pushed through the lobby doors to the dark, windy street. She was reminded again that Detroit was not the city that never sleeps. In the wee small hours of the morning, many streets were deserted.

  She glanced around, looking for a ride, but taxis were scarcer than innocent felons at this hour. She hustled a couple of blocks to a taxi stand outside a hot sheets hotel where she’d helped to shut down a human trafficking ring a couple of months ago. She settled into the back seat of a dirty cab waiting at the end of the line.

  “Greektown Casino, please,” she said to the driver, naming a place that would provide decent cover and operated twenty-four-seven.

  The driver rolled out and pushed the button on the meter, all without speaking. He was no doubt used to customers who didn’t want to be traced. He could probably be trusted to keep his mouth shut for the right price. She had a fifty-dollar bill in her pocket, which she’d give him at the end of the short ride, intended to buy his silence should anyone ask about her.

  From the back seat of the cab, she fired up the new burner and dialed Gaspar. She let the phone ring twice and hung up, which was their signal. She knew he’d be awake. He slept whenever he could, but never well or long. He’d soon call her back on a new phone from a secure location.

  The taxi driver dropped her off at the casino. She gave him the fifty and watched him drive away. Then she made her way inside. The place was busy enough. The more activity, the less likely she’d be noticed, and the harder it would be to isolate her activities from all the others.

  She found a relatively quiet corner where four slot machines were arranged facing each other. None of the four were occupied and she wanted to keep it that way.

  She pulled four twenties out of her pocket and slipped one bill into each of the four slots. She set each machine for one credit per play, twenty-five cents each, attempting to stretch her eighty bucks as far as possible. Slowly, she pushed the buttons, one at a time. Won nothing. Waited a bit. Repeated the process.

  She burned through almost fifty dollars and about twenty minutes time before Gaspar rang back on the new disposable phone. She picked up the call.

  “Good morning, Suzie Wong,” Gaspar said before she had a chance to answer, a weariness in his tone that confirmed he’d never slept tonight at all.

  “Sorry to bother you so late,” she replied. Since he had retired from the FBI, he’d taken a new job with Scarlett Investigations, a private investigative firm based in Houston. He was also a father of five and no longer her partner. No longer on call twenty-four-seven, either. All of which meant he owed her nothing and he had plenty to do.

  She’d tried to respect his boundaries. But he’d offered to help and he remained the only one she trusted implicitly when it came to hunting Reacher. She kept him in the loop and talked to him regularly, precisely so she could call on him for help when she needed it.

  She’d also developed a sort of sixth sense where Reacher was concerned. Maybe she was stretching things here, but somehow, her gut said, the puzzling text message involved Reacher. Gaspar could help her sort things out.

  “What do you need?” Gaspar said.

  She kept it short. “Seems like John Lawton might be in trouble.”

  He must have heard the background noises, the unmistakable pings and jingles of dozens of slot machines, blaring televisions, conversations and more, because he replied, “You called me from a casino at three-thirty in the morning to talk about your love life?”

  She ignored the quip and punched another credit into each of the four slots. “Somehow, Reacher’s involved.”

  He sighed. “And you know this how?”

  “I had a meeting with Finlay. His request.” She paused to feel his disapproval across the miles and let him get it out of his system. “He introduced me to Holly Johnson, an FBI agent with an old connection to Reacher. Fifteen years ago, after Margrave, the two of them survived a kidnapping and a firefight with some wacko militia group gone rogue. She said she hasn’t seen Reacher since, but she’s still a fan. One hundred percent.”

  “No accounting for taste, I guess,” Gaspar said sourly.

  He understood Reacher thoroughly. They came from similar backgrounds and had similar experiences. But that’s where the common threads ended.

  Gaspar was as straight as they come. He was steady, reliable, dependable in every way.

  But after an unconventional army career as a military cop, Reacher had become a vagrant and a vigilante. He was a hero to some and a criminal to others. And he was one of the least dependable men on the planet.

  Gaspar didn’t approve of Reacher and didn’t trust him. Not at all. He made no secret of the fact.

  Kim said, “Finlay had told Johnson that I was dating Lawton before I arrived. How did he know that? And more importantly, why mention it to Johnson?”

  “Go on,” Gaspar’s ears had perked up like a dog hearing a whistle.

  His reaction confirmed her instincts. He’d always thought she should be just as wary around Finlay as she was around Reacher and the Boss. All with good reason.

  “An hour ago, I got a fake text, claiming to be from Lawton inviting me to Albuquerque for dinner tonight. On the surface, it seems okay, if you know nothing about me or Lawton. Mentions someone named Ross.” She took a deep bre
ath. “The message signed off with x-o-x-o and his initials.”

  “I take it none of this is normal.”

  “Not even remotely.”

  “And you think Finlay sent the text,” Gaspar said, as if her conclusion was rock solid when it was anything but. “Let’s be logical. Why would Finlay want you to go to Albuquerque? And if he did want you there, why not simply tell you himself? It’s not like he’s ever failed to make his wishes plain before.”

  “If I knew all the answers, Chico, why would I be talking to you?” She teased, although she was uneasy. “I didn’t try calling Lawton. Whoever sent the text is probably monitoring his phone and mine, too. I didn’t forward the text anywhere. The Boss is likely to get a copy of it soon enough without me putting a red flag on it by sending it around.”

  After a moment, Gaspar asked, “All right. Let’s parse this thing. Is Lawton in Albuquerque?”

  “Possibly. He said he was headed out there last week to meet with a whistleblower. Somebody looking for a big reward for tattling on friends and colleagues who are allegedly cheating on their taxes. He does a lot of that sort of investigation and we didn’t talk about it much.” She ran a hand over her hair. “Haven’t heard from Lawton since he left. He could be in Albuquerque or on the moon at the moment as far as I know.”

  She waited while Gaspar considered the intel.

  “Just to be clear,” Gaspar said after a bit, “you’re thinking what, exactly?”

  She took a deep breath, fully aware that her suspicions might sound a little paranoid to a normal person. Fortunately, she didn’t think like a normal person anymore and neither did he.

  She walked him through it, one point at a time.

  “Everything about hunting Reacher is hinky and off the books,” she said.

  The assignment was ongoing. It came directly from the Boss. Only Kim and Gaspar knew the specifics and they’d been told to keep it that way.

  “Right.”

  “The operation is so dark that only the three of us should have known about it.”

  “Until Finlay got involved, and then four people knew,” Gaspar replied. “Which was problematic enough. Now there are five.”

  “Yes.” She knew he meant Reacher had to know. There was no other way to explain his actions in the past few weeks.

  Gaspar continued, “Which means one of the five is our suspect for the fake text. Neither of us sent it. So which one of the other three did?”

  “The Boss has more direct ways of communicating with me. Reacher would have sent a less cryptic message.” She paused for a quick breath. “Which leaves Finlay.”

  “He gave you a direct number a while back. Why didn’t you call him instead of me?” Gaspar said.

  “If we’re right, the text was a clear signal not to contact Finlay using the usual method.” Which was odd, too. The whole point of the private number he’d given her early on was to provide a direct line between them.

  “I’ll do some digging. When are you going to Albuquerque?” Gaspar asked, just when one of her plays happened to hit a noisy jackpot and the machine went a little crazy with the bells and whistles.

  “Today. I don’t know what’s going on, but it involves Reacher,” she replied. “Finlay would have no reason to prod me to action otherwise.”

  “You think it’s wise to go after Reacher alone?” Gaspar said, making it plain that he didn’t think so. Not at all. But it was an argument he’d never win, and when she didn’t respond, he let it go.

  Gaspar sighed. “What about the Boss? Cooper will be suspicious when he can’t find you. How are you going to do all of this and stay under his radar?”

  “I’ll be forced to call Finlay. Let him run interference, if I need it. There’s no way around it.” She paused. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  He didn’t approve of Finlay. But he had no brilliant alternatives to offer, either. He said nothing.

  “Just as I thought. When there’s only one choice, it’s the right choice,” she said flatly.

  “So why are you talking to me?” Gaspar said sourly.

  “Looking for something I’ve missed, I guess.” She noticed another woman hanging around like maybe one of these four was her lucky slot machine.

  Kim glared at the woman, turned her back, and fed more rounds into the one-armed bandits. The woman hovered a bit and then left. There was a whole casino full of machines.

  “I’ll run interference with Cooper for you. He’ll call me. When he does, I’ll keep him out of your way as long as I can. That’s the best I can do,” Gaspar finally replied.

  “Thanks,” Kim said.

  “Should I say you’ve eloped with your lover?” Gaspar teased. “Tell him you’re on a secluded island without access to electronics?”

  “Yeah. That’s just perfect.” Kim curled her upper lip. “You doing stand-up comedy in your spare time now, Chico?”

  He laughed and briefly it seemed like they were on the same team again. Too bad they weren’t. She preferred working with a partner. Call it training or common sense. Either way, two guns were better than one. She popped another antacid into her mouth.

  “Keep me in the loop. I’ll try to track this burner. But when you ditch it, I won’t have any way to find you,” Gaspar said.

  She took a deep, shaky breath, and popped another antacid into her mouth. “Okay, so when we hang up here, I’m calling Finlay. Find out what he knows. Then I’m off to Albuquerque. Too risky to call Lawton, so I’ll just have to hope he’s still there. Or that I can find Ross, whoever he is, and learn what’s going on. I’ll touch base with you as often as I can.”

  “Meanwhile, send me the reports you got from Holly Johnson.”

  “Already done.”

  “Good. I can follow up on those while you’re in the air. I’ll see if I can learn anything about Lawton’s activities. And I’ll find out who ‘Ross’ is, assuming he exists. Let me know if there’s anything else you need. I’ll be here.” He paused briefly, as if he wanted to be sure she heard his next words. “Watch out for yourself, Suzie Wong. Finlay’s agenda, whatever it is, can bite you in the ass.”

  “Thanks, Chico. Give my love to Marie and the kids. We’ll talk again soon,” she promised and hung up.

  She looked at the burner a couple of seconds. She’d hold onto it for now. But Gaspar was right. If she held the phone too long, the Boss would find her. She’d need to destroy it. Soon.

  Then she pulled Finlay’s burner out of her other pocket and pressed redial. He picked up instantly, which was a little unnerving.

  “Took you long enough,” he said. “Russell’s out front with your ride. We’ll be wheels up in ninety minutes.”

  Without comment, she disconnected, dropped Finlay’s phone into her pocket along with Gaspar’s, and considered his use of the word “we” as she walked swiftly toward the exit.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Thursday, April 14

  6:07 a.m.

  En route to Albuquerque, New Mexico

  Kim was belted firmly into her seat in Finlay’s spacious and luxuriously appointed private jet. Weather was calm and clear all the way to Albuquerque, the pilot had said before takeoff. Nonstop flight-time was projected at three hours and forty minutes.

  They’d had breakfast and coffee and exchanged very few words so far. Finlay had called this meeting and Kim waited for him to explain himself. So far, he hadn’t.

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and stood to stretch. She had come aboard with nothing but the clothes she was wearing when she left her apartment and the contents of her pockets. Wallet, badge, gun, and three burner phones. One of which was still fresh. She planned to remain off the grid as long as possible, but if the Boss had reason to look, he’d find her before the jet landed. He was that well connected.

  “You don’t have a spare toothbrush aboard, do you?” she asked.

  Finlay grinned. “You’ll find everything you need in the bathroom. When you finish, we’ll talk.”

  She
nodded and made her way past the bunks toward the tail section of the plane. Like everything else aboard, the bathroom was spacious and nicely appointed. She opened the medicine cabinet and found a fresh folding toothbrush and a sample-sized tube of toothpaste. She used them both and dropped the folding toothbrush into her pocket. It was compact and convenient to carry. The next place she stayed might not be as well stocked.

  She splashed water on her face and dried with a freshly laundered towel. A few strands of black hair had worked away from the knot at the nape of her neck, so she tucked them into place. Nothing she could do about the dark circles under her eyes until she got some sleep.

  She returned to her seat across from Finlay in the main cabin, buckled her seatbelt and waited, ready to hear whatever he had to say.

  He pushed a button to lower a flat screen television across the cabin. He pressed a button to begin a slide show presentation. The first slide was a typical FBI head shot photo of a clean-cut guy, south of forty, close-cropped sandy hair, weary brown eyes.

  “This is FBI Special Agent Peter Ross. Albuquerque Field Office. Temporarily assisting the Gang and Criminal Organization Task Force,” Finlay said. “He may be John Lawton’s contact in Albuquerque.”

  “Lawton is Treasury. IRS enforcement.” Kim raised her eyebrows. “Albuquerque has a gang Ross wants to take down for tax evasion? Seems a little tame compared to the more violent crimes gangs do.”

  “The situation is complicated. More on that in a minute,” Finlay said, moving to the next slide. “Mason O’Hare, CPA.”

  This one was another formal head shot, probably from a state business license photo. A plain vanilla guy, mid-thirties, brown hair, brown eyes. Maybe a little heavier and softer than Ross, but just as bland and boring.

  Nothing at all remarkable about O’Hare that would turn heads on the street. The name meant nothing to her.

  “Pinto Vigo,” Finlay said to identify the man in the next photo.

  An involuntary shudder ran through her. She’d seen this exact photo before and recognized the man instantly. He was unmistakable.