Page 12 of Mike

Drammit. She’d been sure her babies wouldn’t be spotted because, well… What teenagers actually messed around outside these days? No kids she knew. The ones with whom she was familiar all played video games in their basements like good little teens. Why couldn’t Mike’s son be normal like that?

Joe hastily applied her make-up and blew the wetness from her hair before putting it up in a ponytail, all the while continually watching the screen. And…yup. Mike had just discovered her second camera, but still he didn’t climb into the treehouse to disable it.

That didn’t bode well, and Joe knew why. Mike had the resources of a SWAT team behind him, and he’d one-hundred percent called in an expert from his team to come inspect the devices before bagging and tagging them. Which was not optimal, but not terrible, either. If the person Mike called in really knew their stuff, they’d understand in a blink that the equipment was state-of-the-art and government issued. Luckily, however, that’s as far as it would go. Her cache, like everything issued to agents, couldn’t be traced to any specific user or buyer. Which meant the only intel Mike would have, was that some government agency had eyes on him.

He’d clearly wonder why, and Joelle, perversely, would have liked to be a fly on the wall; seeing his face when that realization hit him.

Two other things bothered Joe, now that her brain was in Mike-mode.

The first being, the man had most assuredly sensed her presence in the grocery store earlier today, and that stupidity was on her. She hadn’t needed to follow him inside. She could have sat in her rental like a good little spy, simply watching his truck. But no. She’d had to get closer. Joe kicked herself. She’d let her superficial attraction to Mike drive her actions, and if history was any indication, her loose-cannon tendencies might just come back to bite her in the patootie.

Her other problem was, now that he’d found her cameras, he’d be on high alert, and might think to sweep his truck for bugs. That would mean that every safeguard she’d put in place to make sure he stayed un-dead would be kaput.

So, what now?

Drang. She had nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Bupkis.

If she were smart, she’d turn her intel and questions regarding Mike’s safety over to her main office. But because of the delicacy of her current, sanctioned assignment, she knew her superiors would tell her to let the possible jeopardy to Mike, go. Which she couldn’t do.

And that sucked. She’d only become vested in her side gig, because she’d thought—easy-peasy—she’d be able to keep her finger on the pulse of that situation and keep a clear head regarding her main objective; the fentanyl ring.

Now things had gotten more complicated.

Before taking off for work, Joe watched a friend/colleague of Mike’s—until she lost her feed—come to his home and competently disable her paraphernalia. With a huff, she walked away from her now dead spy-cam app to don her white button down, a short black skirt that was her uniform tonight, and her half-apron, all the while going over options.

Or option, because there really was only one.

It didn’t make her happy, but she was going to have to tag Melanie and Cameron’s car, keeping a close watch on their whereabouts instead of Mike’s. She hadn’t wanted to do that, since there were two of them and one of her. Ah, Helsinki, Joe swore. She had to be honest with herself and admit that following the pair simply hadn’t been in the least bit appealing. Especially since her other choice had been sniffing after Mike. She’d felt a pull toward him since the minute she’d seen his picture on line. Then the physical presence of him when she’d followed him into the gym had made her decision to dog him…pleasurable.

Now that leash had been severed.

Sitting down at her table after microwaving a burger, she plopped it onto a plate without a roll or condiments, and forked the thing up, taking a bite.

It was protein. Sort of.

As she chewed, Joe opened her laptop and reacquainted herself with the vehicle the plotting couple owned; a green, 2002, Subaru Impreza. She’d memorized the plate number on file so she’d have it in her brain. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the car in the lot tonight if the pair showed up. And if they didn’t, she had their address, and would tag the vehicle with a tracker, much later as they slept.

It was a plan. But one that didn’t make her happy.

Was she actually sour, being foiled by Mike’s son? Maybe. She could only hope Mike didn’t find the tracker on his truck. Which would mean Joe still had the option of stalking him when the murderous-mates weren’t on a roll.

It took three minutes for Joe to clean up after her simple meal before leaving the small rental unit where she lived. The good thing about the one bedroom place the DEA had procured for her? It had once been part of an obscure roadside motel. Rundown and nondescript, her digs were nestled amongst five other, equally as rough, one floor apartments. Nobody would ever give any of them a second look.

The bad thing? The place smelled like old shoes, and even if Joe had wanted to eschew the air conditioning and open a window to get rid of the stench, the givers-of-fresh-air were all painted shut. Plug-ins were her new best friend.

Sliding into her Kia, it took Joe four minutes to arrive at the bar, where she steeled herself for another night of avoiding Handsy-Wendel.

Three hours into her shift, Joelle was feeling good. The bartender hadn’t made any inappropriate moves yet, and Joelle got lucky in another way, as well. The couple she’d nick-named Cam-Mel had finally entered the bar, hanging all over each other to take a seat at one of her high-tops. She approached them and set down napkins.

“What can I get you folks?” she asked.

“Bud on tap,” Cameron said, not paying a bit of attention to her, which was just fine as far as she was concerned.

“A marguerita,” Melanie intoned, also treating Joe as nothing more than a piece of furniture.

Joelle could work with that. If the pair ignored her, she might get to hear more regarding what they had planned for Mike.

Unfortunately, the bar was hopping, even for a Friday night. And loud. So circumstances dictated there’d be no additional intel to be gathered from the pair.

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