Rogers recorded that on her phone.
Morris went on: “The ATF hasn’t used it in over three years. The neighbors were getting suspicious, which often compromises a safe-house location. Anyway, I sent that message up the Alliance chain.”
“Sounds to me,” Reeder said, “like you might be handling any number of former safe houses.”
“That’s true,” Morris admitted. “But the house in Burke was not only the most recent example, it inspired a number of follow-up questions. Something was obviously being planned for that address — my guess? Holding your agent there is it.”
Rogers traded looks with Reeder — despite the People Reader’s usual blank expression, she could tell he found this promising. So did she. Of course, what else did they have...
“We’ll check it out,” Reeder said.
“And if you get your friend back?”
“Then we’ll talk.”
“We have a deal, remember.”
“One thing at a time.”
Rogers put the blindfold back on Morris.
“Aw, come on!” the prisoner said.
She said, “Hush,” and walked away.
They gathered around Miggie. His tablet had some vintage Latin music going, which he cranked to keep their already hushed conversation private.
“Any word from Bohannon?” Reeder asked.
Miggie shook his head.
Reeder spoke to Rogers: “Nichols is your agent who’s gone missing. Take the lead.”
Rogers nodded and said, “All right — Joe and I will check out the safe house in Burke. With any luck, we’ll extricate Anne. Miggie, you keep digging. Reggie, watch the prisoner. We’ll keep you posted by cell. If we go dark longer than, say, four hours, take the charming Lawrence to Fisk and make a clean breast of it.”
Wade frowned. “I rather dump him on the street and make noises about how he gave up his crew.”
Reeder said, “No. If Rogers, Nichols, and I are casualties, our play is over. Letting the Bureau handle it is the better part of valor.”
Rogers shook her head at Reeder. “Joe, our new best friend over there says every sector of government is infiltrated. That would include the FBI.”
But Reeder’s answer went to Wade. “That’s why you’ll need to turn Lawrence over in as public and showy a way as possible. Preempt a cover-up. Go to the Post and give an interview. Contact every 24-hour news channel. Got it?”
The big man sighed big. “I got it. But why don’t you just bring Anne back instead?”
Everybody agreed that was the best idea.
Rogers touched Reeder’s arm. “Let me say good-bye to Kevin.”
“Sure.”
She went back to the bedroom, letting herself in as quietly as possible. The room was just beginning to lighten, the only window allowing in the first hints of sunrise.
Kevin, in dark shirt and slacks, was on the made bed on his side, asleep maybe.
She crept in, shut the door behind her. “You awake?”
He smiled up at her. “Still awake. Can’t sleep. Maybe I should have taken my nylons off.”
She almost succeeded in not laughing.
“Okay,” he admitted, “maybe it is a little funny.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, found his hand. “Thank you for what you did tonight.”
“I kind of enjoyed it. Nice to know I can fool a straight guy like that, not just be some camp oddity.”
“But you’re a straight guy — kind of.”
“And you’re a straight girl — sort of.”
“Made for each other,” she said, and leaned in and kissed him a little. He sat up and kissed her more.
Then she put her hand in his short dark curly hair and said, “Now I need you to do what you were going to before this sting came up — disappear for a while.”
He sat up even more. “I’d rather hang, and help. I proved I can do that, right?”
“No proof necessary. You’re all man.”
“Except maybe for the nylons.”
“And the eyeliner.”
“That, too. So you want rid of me?”
“Just till the guns are gone. Just till having you around doesn’t worry me and make me lose my edge. You need to doll up and get Virginia Plain’s pretty behind out of here. Catch a cab. Grab a bus. I don’t want to know where you’re headed.”
“I’ve got that phone Reeder gave me. You’ll call?”
“I’ll call.”
She touched his face, so handsome, so pretty, and gave him a smooch and got out of there. She didn’t need her eyeliner getting spoiled, too.
An hour later, the sun edging up, Rogers — with Reeder in the rider’s seat — drove the rental car to the far end of Jennings Circle in Burke, then turned around in the cul-de-sac and eased back the way she’d come. The rental had out-of-state plates, making her just a driver (should anyone notice) who’d taken a wrong turn. She rolled past the house a second time, slow as she dared, before turning off Jennings Circle and back onto Old Keene Mill Road.
“Can you read houses,” she asked, “or just people?”
Reeder said, “Good-size, two stories, two-car garage, no cars parked out front. Shades on all the windows, no people, no morning movement. Other houses, cars are backing out of garages, curtains being opened, people stirring. Either it’s vacant... or it’s exactly what Morris said it was: a safe house with a new tenant.”
One cul-de-sac later, she turned up Honey Tree Court. She pulled to the curb and parked. “What’s the play?”
“If it’s a safe house — there’s going to be a shift change in keepers, right?”
“Right.”
“That’s when we hit them.”
She blinked at him. “When there are twice as many bad guys on site?”
Reeder didn’t blink at all. “That’s a negative way to talk about employees of our federal government.”
“My bad.”
“Shift change, they’ll be least expecting trouble.”
“Trouble being the two of us. Just how the hell are we going to keep an eye on the house till the next shift? We’re just a little obvious, strangers sitting in a car.”
He pointed to the woods that separated the backs of houses on this street from those on Jennings Circle. “We go native and try to find an angle where we can see the front.”
“How many you figure, six? Maybe eight?”
“Not more than six. More than that in a suburban home, all adults, probably all or mostly male, would get the neighbors suspicious again.”
They got out of the car, walked up the block, making an odder couple than even she and Kevin did, Rogers in a business suit and Reeder in jeans and Nats windbreaker. Not an average-looking suburban couple out for their morning walk. Not hardly.
Three houses up, they cut between two and ducked into the woods. If some helpful neighbor spotted them and called 911, she and Reeder would have to flash their credentials and hope for the best. Unfortunately, the best was likely a SWAT team that might further endanger Nichols.
Or had Lawrence sent them chasing their tails to buy time? This might be a vacant house, as Reeder said. Worse, could Lawrence be leading them into an ambush? Through this strip of suburban woods, they moved like animals dodging civilization, trying to stay low, the sun glinting off leaves and dappling them with shadow and light. Finally they found a vantage point behind the house next door providing a partial view of the presumed safe house’s front yard.
Reeder said, “I’m going to the far side of the place, and see if I can get a look at the driveway.”
She nodded.
He said, “Keep your cell handy — text you when I see an opening. I’ll just type GO, okay?”