Page 18 of Mike

Appearing as nonchalant as possible, Joe stealthily walked up to the house and into the driveway, where three seconds later she had his semi tagged with a tracker. Easy-peasy. Then, keeping an eye out to make sure no one was looking, she vaulted the fence into Havastill’s back yard and perused his enclosed space. There wasn’t much going on. A swing-set. A sandbox. A rusty, well used grill. But toward the back of the yard, there was a stand of three large trees that hadn’t been chopped down during the building of the suburban sprawl.

Pinpointing the largest, Joe quickly hoisted herself up into the bottom branches, then deftly made her second climb in two days. She worked her way higher and higher until she found a likely perch in a fork twenty feet aloft, to place her camera and a hot spot.

This time, she was taking no chances that the device would be seen. She’d brought some green, camouflage netting specifically designed with lens holes, to toss over the equipment. She accomplished that with ease, satisfied that she’d done all she could to further her DEA assignment today, hoping her superiors agreed.

Earlier, Joelle had spoken to her office at length after getting out of the shower, giving her chief an update as he grunted noncommittally over what she’d uncovered so far, which he’d believed wasn’t nearly enough considering her time already spent in Maine. While she stuffed a breakfast burrito into her mouth and cursed him blue in her head, her boss had put their forensics artist on the line, and together—interfacing on her laptop—they’d come up with a great approximation of the guy’s face who’d been giving orders to Benji.

Now the ball was in the agency’s court to check their data-bases to see if they could come up with a positive ID on the man, so Joelle would have more info with which to work her way up the drug-ring’s hierarchy.

Okay. Camera in place.

Her current tree-task complete, Joe gracefully descended the tree, went lightly back over the fence, then hotfooted it out of the neighborhood and back to her car, where she contemplated what was next on her agenda for the day. With the surveillance devices now planted at her first suspect’s home, Joelle was determined to enjoy at least some of her Saturday. She had the next three days off—her bar shifts being Tuesday thru Friday nights—and would stick to that no matter how much Wendel tried to coerce her into picking up more hours. She’d basically told him to fluff-off, because in order to keep juggling all the balls she had in the air—especially now that she’d added Mike’s problems to her docket—Joe needed to apportion her time judiciously.

But she also, right now, needed some breathing room to recharge.

In that regard, she was practically bouncing in her car seat. Just last night, she’d checked out, on line, some local hikes that looked challenging but not treacherous. Joe happily pointed her car in the direction of the trail just east of Bangor that had seemed promising.

Ah, the joys of being off the clock.

For her day out, she’d worn cargo shorts, an old, comfy T-shirt, and the hearty hiking boots she’d had for so long that they’d been scuffed and broken-in to perfection. Hiking was her go-to recreation for decompression, and as she approached the trailhead, she could almost smell the pine scent that always called to her soul.

Living in Nevada, her hikes were more along the lines of desert jaunts, but even in the arid climate there were the occasional groves of Ponderosa pines and Douglas firs to make her happy. Here in Maine, however, her nasal passages were always filled with the lush, terpene fragrance that seemed to be everywhere, and she sighed giddily as she exited her car.

She could get used to this.

Joelle had never been to the northeast before this assignment, but she’d pretty much fallen in love with the region on sight, and was even contemplating the efficacy of asking for a transfer. With her father—her one and only parent—gone, and no siblings in the picture, there was nothing holding her in Nevada except for her job. Add to that, there were DEA offices all over the country, as well as a lot of agents these days working remotely, and… Maybe?

The reason she’d been given this assignment so far from her homebase, was because the influx of drugs into her western jurisdiction had been traced back to this area of Maine. So when she’d been tagged to travel, she’d jumped at the chance because…well, it was something new.

She’d immediately, upon landing in Maine, interfaced with the office in Portland, where they’d let her know they’d try to be available for back-up if she needed it, but they were pretty overwhelmed and understaffed at the moment, so they couldn’t make promises.

Food for thought, because the agent in charge also intimated they’d be pleased to have Joelle join their east coast office. In the back of her mind she wished it were possible. The move could give her a fresh start. A positive path for her future. But her credentials…

She’d had a rough time in her current office for the past few years; continually butting heads with a certain agent in charge, Chief of Operations Lester Gavin, who—lucky her—was not only her immediate boss, but he’d been one of her instructors at the Academy in Quantico where she’d trained. Back then, he’d constantly busted her behind for bad language and insubordination, saying she went off on unauthorized tangents when she should be focusing all her attention on an op.

Once he’d become her superior at their current office, Joe had worked hard, and succeeded in cleaning up her mouth issues, but… Yup. She still tended to go off task if something else arose, as was the case with the Mike situation.

Lester wouldn’t like that.

But what drip-head Lester didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. She stuck her tongue out childishly and reflexively as she entered the trailhead before making her way up the root-strewn path. Dram, she hated that guy.

A half hour in, sweat was dripping down Joe’s neck, cascading between her breasts in the front, and shoulder-blades in the back. But she relished the feeling, loving the fact that she was pushing her body to its limits as she kept up a grueling pace. She’d needed this after prancing around in heels and inhaling the dregs of beer and testosterone at the bar the past few nights.

Reaching a plateau with a stunning view, Joelle paused to take a sip of water from her bottle when the alarm on her phone went off.

Frack.

She checked Mike’s signal first, and he was still where he’d been since six this morning. At a quarry in Frankfort, ME. It was Joe’s best guess that the man was either hiking with buddies, or doing some kind of weekend drill with his SWAT team.

Next, she checked the tracker on the semi she’d left this morning, as well as her camera feed on Havastill’s house. The little family hadn’t arrived home, yet, so nothing there. Which left…

…the murderous pair.

She brought up their beacon and examined their trajectory.

Huh. There was nothing to worry about. Yet. Their vehicle was headed south, toward Bangor, but that wasn’t cause for worry. Bangor was the major hub in the area, and if the couple had any specific shopping needs, that would be the place they’d go. She’d keep an eye on their route, though. If it looked like they were bypassing the city, headed, say, toward Frankfort, she’d have to amend her innocent-outing diagnosis and boogie off this mountain, stat.

As she climbed toward the peak, Joe checked her phone every few minutes. When she saw the blip on her screen bypass Bangor, her gut began sending anxiety signals to her brain, and just to be on the safe side, she turned her feet around to head downhill.

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