See Her Run (A Mia North FBI Suspense Thriller—Book One)

CHAPTER ONE This is it. Leaning forward in the front seat of the fed-issued Camry, Mia North watched the town car she’d been following for the past hour slow to a stop in front of a graffiti-covered Save-All mini-mart. Keeping her distance, she eased into an empty five-dollar parking lot across the street, hoping the guy who took her money wouldn’t also take her hubcaps. Then, keeping the wipers going to ward off the driving rain, she watched through the windshield and twisted the faux pearl ring on her pinky, waiting for something to happen. The windows of the town car were black, so she could see no motion inside. No one stepped out. At least, not at first. The line-up of assorted riff-raff outside the market — there to deal drugs or turn tricks or whatever they did in broken neighborhoods like this — watched intently, because there was only one reason a car like that would be in downtown Dallas after dark. And it wasn’t anything good. Mia heaved in a breath, then another, then reached over and unwrapped a piece of spearmint gum, feeding it into her mouth to calm her nerves. She offered the sleeve to her partner, David, but he shook his head. “You know, if you’re wrong about this, Pembroke’s going to have your ass.” That was true. Luckily, Agent Pembroke had a soft spot for her. At least, she thought so. Not that the hard-a*s would ever say so, but the results didn’t lie. Because of her tenacity, Mia was well-known as one of the best in the Dallas-Fort Worth field office, so she’d earned it. Tough as a bulldog to most of the agents on the force, he gave her a little leeway. But even Mia had to admit that this hunch was going way outside the realm of what was safe. When they’d set out to track the man out of his high-rise apartment in ritzy Highland Park, she’d hoped this would be an easy thing. She’d hoped she’d be able to get some more damning evidence to add to her pile, and be done with this gig by dinner. That was what she’d hoped. And what she hoped never aligned with what actually happened. Because this was just too good. Too good to give up. Once again, she found herself, thinking of her eight-year-old daughter, Kelsey, jumping into bed, without her mother to kiss her goodnight. But this little jaunt to Cedar Crest? She had to be onto something. Looking around at the garbage-strewn streets and empty storefronts, all she knew was that this neighborhood was likely where dreams went to die. No ordinary up-and-coming politician would campaign on this crime-ridden street on a Saturday evening; but clearly, Wilson Andrews was anything but ordinary. They watched as a p********e — she had to be a p********e, wearing a skin-tight dress that barely covered her butt — approached the suspect’s car. The window powered down. “That’s all this is? He just wants some play?” David muttered. “Great. Waste of a Saturday.” “No . . .,” Mia said, though of course, something like a soliciting charge would be damaging enough to the budding politician’s career. But her hunch hadn’t had anything to do with that. “I don’t think that’s what this is.” As expected, the p********e just shrugged and stepped away from the car, a disappointed look on her face. “This is going nowhere, slow,” David muttered, checking his phone. “What is taking him so long? If he’s going to do something, I wish he’d do it. I’m missing Frank’s first game.” Two years ago, before he’d gotten the call to the show and attended Quantico, David had been a high school math teacher, and was used to things happening on a schedule. But after ten years on the force, Mia knew one thing: the FBI was not about keeping schedules. “Just give it some time.” He heaved a sigh. She glanced at the clock on her dash and gave him a sympathetic look. Their kids were about the same age, and Frank was playing first base this year. David, a single dad whose son was his life, had been so proud. The urge to go home and call it a day was a powerful one, but she was so sure she was on the right track, this time. “Wait. Just wait. A couple more minutes. I promise.” David opened his mouth to yawn when the car’s door opened. Mia nudged him, hard. Her partner sat up like he had a rod up his a*s as Wilson Andrews appeared. His thick, graying hair was perfectly coiffed and his three-piece suit without a wrinkle, like he was planning on delivering a speech to a bunch of dignitaries. That’s just what he had been doing, earlier that day. He was Number One with a Bullet to be the nominee for State Senate. People just loved Wilson Andrews, baby-kisser and promise-maker extraordinaire. Unfortunately, his many fans and admirers didn’t realize what a sleazebag he was. And that had nothing to do with his refusal to sponsor the bill that had given free healthcare to kids. No, as Mia intended to prove, it went way past normal politician sleaze. David, who wasn’t exactly Calvin Klein and owned precisely one pair of jeans that he wore incessantly, stared in disgust. “Geez. Think the man ever wears anything that isn’t a suit?” “He has a reputation to uphold,” she murmured, watching him. He did stick out like a sore thumb, here. But perhaps he no longer cared. He’d allegedly done plenty of wrong, gotten implicated in tons of shady business, and had never so much as gotten a slap on the wrist. Now, he likely thought he was invincible. Famous billionaires with friends in high places, the Andrews clan was royalty around here, as invincible as the Kennedys and the Clintons. Exactly why, when he took those underage girls, he thought he could get away with it. Well, he allegedly took those girls. Mia happened to be the only one who alleged it, though. But in her head, she more than alleged. She knew. Thus, him skulking around like a criminal. He had “No Good” written all over him. Wilson Andrews the Third looked around, and then went to his trunk, which he opened. He started to pull out some plastic Target bags, then, loading it all up into his arms, jogged across the street, toward their car. They slinked down as he passed. “Where is he off to? You really think he kidn*pped those girls?” She nodded. Definitely. She had the evidence, mounds of it—logs indicating late-night phone calls, bizarre internet searches. Not to mention that Sara was the sixteen-year-old daughter of his old chum and roommate at Rice. She’d disappeared one morning, on her way to school. Then, two weeks later, her classmate and best friend, Chloe Braxton, had gone missing, too. With no witnesses and few leads, the case had gone cold, up until Mia had decided to check into it. And all roads led to one man. As she went through the piles and piles of evidence the local police jurisdiction had collected, she noticed that one name kept coming up. Wilson Andrews. As busy as he was, he’d organized the search parties to find her. He’d offered a reward for her safe return. And according to interviews with the mother, prior to her disappearance, he’d been almost unnaturally close to the girl, offering her rides to school and the like. It had sent off all kinds of alarm bells in Mia’s head. She could see it, perfectly: He’d pursued her. Maybe offered her a ride to school. Got a little handsy with her. She’d fought him. Then she’d worried him, told him she was going to tell on him. He couldn’t allow that. So he did what he had to do. Unfortunately, no one else in the precinct had believed Mia, despite the six previous cold cases she’d cracked over her nine years on the FBI. Wilson Andrews, it seemed, had powerful friends. No one wanted to touch him. So Mia had done what she had to do. She’d kept quiet, biding her time, keeping tabs on him, collecting little bits of info to add to his file, but now . . . Now, it was go-time. Mixing with her adrenaline, the gum in her mouth tasted bitter. She spit it into the wrapper and flicked it into the cup holder. Once Andrews had gotten a sufficient distance away from her car, she opened her door and climbed outside, shivering in the thin drizzle. “Hurry,” she murmured to David, heading after their target. David hefted his bodybuilder’s frame out from the passenger seat and lumbered to stand next to her. As she crossed the parking lot, she saw their target duck inside a hole in a chain-link fence, disappearing between two boarded-up brick buildings. All the while, he scanned his surroundings, as if he was afraid someone would see him. It looked like exactly what she’d simultaneously hoped for and dreaded… like he was up to the terrible things she suspected him of. She brushed her hand along the butt of her g*n at her ribcage. Feeling it there gave her a sense of security. Picking up her pace, she hurried after him as he rushed through the dark, narrow alley, strewn with and smelling of garbage. Her shoes were quickly ruined by puddles of muddy water. When the alley opened up into a square courtyard, she looked around, confused. No. She couldn’t have lost him. Not after all this. She turned back, exasperated, to her young partner. “Where did he—” A gunshot went off. Nearby. She could hear it, burrowing into the frame of the wooden shed next to her. Mia dove to the ground for cover. Someone is shooting at me. Frantic, she looked up, trying to decide where it’d come from. But night was beginning to fall, a thin mist settling over the barren yard. Everything was cloaked in darkness. “There!” David shouted, and took off after him. She raced after him, trying to overtake him. Not too difficult, since he was built for strength, not speed. She’d be pissed if, after all the work she did, David wound up taking him down. She rounded a corner, well ahead of David, and found herself in a narrow alley, with a straight shot for the man as he raced for a chain link fence. No way out. She had him. Without stopping, she fisted the handle of her Glock, lifting it from her shoulder holster. “FBI! Freeze!” Mia shouted, pointing it at the politician. He did as she said, easily, almost too easily. He turned, holding up his hands—empty hands, with no g*n in sight, and smiling an unsettling smile. The bastard was probably already thinking of what calls he’d make to get himself out of this mess. The Chief of Police. The Governor. They were all his best buds. Or maybe even a member of his rich family. There had to be some sleazy lawyers connected in there. If she hauled Andrews in now, without solid evidence, there was a very good chance he’d be back on the streets later tonight. “What are you doing out here, Andrews?” she barked, carefully stepping closer on a ground covered with ruts from bicycles and patches of weeds. “I don’t think I need to answer that, Agent,” he said placidly. “It’s none of your business.” “Oh, it is my business. You were shooting at us. Evading us. And you’re carrying . . .” She kicked a foot through the bags at his feet. “Bleach, duct tape, plastic bags . . . Right, you’re just out for a stroll.” He snorted, amused. “First of all, I didn’t shoot at you. Someone else did. This is not the best section of town, unfortunately.” He sighed, “You can pat me down. No weapon. And secondly, your partner came at me in the dark, and didn’t announce himself. I had no idea who he was. You blame me for running from Conan over there? He’s a beast.” She narrowed her eyes at him. The man was smooth, with an oiliness that only made her more suspicious. This scumbag had a twelve-point lead in the polls? The voting public had to have been blind for him to have risen in the ranks as quickly as he had. She was done with his excuses. “Where are Sara Waverly and Chloe Braxton?” His eyes went wide in mock indignation. She’d spent enough time studying his profile to know he was an accomplished actor. He’d even been part of the actors’ guild at Rice. No one could believe a single thing he said or did. “How am I supposed to know?”