The Widow: Federal Hellions Book 1 Read online

  She turned and frowned up at him, mouth open in distress but unable to express it.

  “But, Dr. Thomas…”

  “I’m busy tonight. See you tomorrow, Jane,” he said, turning to shut down his computer. He had to really tamp down the urge to send her out of the door with a quick smack on her backside. She was a good kid, but she needed to listen to him or she’d find herself in real trouble she couldn’t get out of.

  She opened her mouth to speak as he ushered her out but nothing good came to mind. Exhaling loudly, she turned and left. This was all just so perfect.

  On the Prowl

  Dr. Thomas looked out across the student body in the refectory as he tried to spot Jane. She was hard to miss since no one had quite her shade of dark red hair hanging at her shoulders, but he couldn’t seem to find her. He wondered what in the world she could be doing to get herself into trouble at the moment, then he wondered why he was so concerned about her. How could she possibly be up to mischief when he’d just taken her cell phone? And spanked her with a ruler? He shook those thoughts out of his head and turned to talk to the group of girls lining up to chat with him that evening.

  George scaled the wall of the boys’ dorm as the last ounce of sunlight drained from the sky and pried her way inside Christian Whitman’s room. She’d already tapped James Clancy’s phone when he wasn’t looking one day in English, but she kind of thought this Whitman kid might be valuable and maybe even more involved.

  She felt around the pants hanging on the chair, checked all of the desk drawers, and finally found the phone in his backpack. She carefully split the phone apart planted the bug and was about to crawl out of the window when the door knob turned. Quickly, she dove underneath the bed with all of his, or his roommate’s, stinky clothes and waited silently for whoever had entered to leave.

  The waiting was painful. The boys came in, yelled across the hall to their friends, played a video game, showered, threw dirty clothes under the bed at her, and didn’t leave the room again until eight pm. The instant the door shut she was at the window and leaping to the grass below. The side of the dorm she was on was not well lit and she stumbled around in the bushes until she could find her footing on the green grass and a way around the building to the sidewalks.

  She was about to head back to her dorm and try to figure out a way to call Director Nelson from the social room when she remembered something. Dr. Thomas had said that he wasn’t grading papers because he was busy. She wondered if that meant he was off campus. Debating whether or not she should risk it, she backed into the trees on the south side of campus to stay out of sight. She was still in her school uniform, which meant a cranberry red pea coat, stark white socks, and a matching shirt. There was a chance someone would see her.

  She decided to risk it. She needed to call several people and she needed that phone. The administration building’s windows were all black as she quietly approached. She made her way to Dr. Thomas’s office, checked to see if it was unlocked just in case, then quickly picked it and entered the large, dark room after a glance over her shoulder.

  “What the hell?” she mumbled to herself, riffling through the confiscated items and searching each drawer twice, the phone not turning up. Unless there was an emergency, it was imperative that she use the phones Nelson sent her since they scrambled the waves, and no one could listen in. Not that anyone would be listening in on kids at a remote boarding school, but she couldn’t be too careful these days.

  She fell back into a chair and stared at the shelves behind his desk in the darkness. If he was going to have a secret hiding place, where would it be? Her eyes scanned the room until they finally stopped on the door. She turned and looked at the door where she’d entered, then back at this one. There was a second door? She’d hardly noticed, though in her defense she was busy concocting lies about dead parents the last time she was in there.

  Turning the lock, she slowly pulled it open and peered through the crack. Outside. And at her feet, another white ribbon that curled through the green grass: a sidewalk leading to the faculty housing in the far corner of the campus. Tenured professors got their own homes with separate entrances leading out of the perimeter wall. Maybe her cell phone was inside Dr. Thomas’s house.

  Bad idea. This was such a bad idea, but she continued to sprint along the walkway until she came upon what appeared to be her professor’s two story colonial at the end of a long row of homes.

  Thomas was engraved in a white stone among the red bricks and mortar at the front door. He’d been at the school long enough to get his own house and his own name stone, so if she got caught she’d definitely be through at this school. And with the DEA for that matter. Her life, basically.

  The lights were off, so after glancing around a few times, she decided to just walk around to the back of the house for a minute or two. Kicking at the pebbles in the driveway, she inched over into the grass and found a window in a bathroom that slid right open.

  The bathroom was small, but the rest of the house was absolutely amazing. Bamboo floors, a high, vaulted ceiling in the living room with a copper chandelier, leather couches, a long oak table with bench style seating, an enormous kitchen with slate floors and marble countertops—this guy liked to entertain. She was just admiring the huge fireplace when she remembered why she was there. Racing to the foyer, she found his canvas satchel by the coat tree and flipped it open, digging around until feeling the little plastic phone and yanking it out.

  Looks like she outsmarted him this time. Ha! She felt victorious and back in control.

  The lock on the front door, only about a foot away from her in the darkness, began clicking as a key was placed inside. What? No! Her luck was supposed to be turning around, damn it! She was going to have to hide twice in one night? George frantically replaced the satchel as it had been and made it as far as the couches and dove behind them before the door swung open, holding her breath as footsteps walked inside. More than one set, she noticed.

  “Thanks for taking me to the chess tournament,” a woman’s voice shrilled, not even attempting to sound coy or anything. George found herself frowning. A girl?

  “Well, it’s not too exciting, I know, but I do support the school’s new policy of attending our students’ after school activities. I don’t know if a professor attending is encouraging or intimidating but it seems supportive nonetheless,” Dr. Thomas said, tossing a coat over the back of the couch. It brushed against the top of George’s head which she kept very still.

  And then they started kissing. Oh God. George had to hold in her complete and utter annoyance and resentment so that she wouldn’t stand up and try and break them apart. What she resented, she wasn’t entirely sure. She just knew that this was a totally uncomfortable situation and she had absolutely nowhere to go.

  Unless they moved to the bedroom, which thank God, they never did. They did move to the study to mix a drink, so George took the opportunity to dash across the living room, around to the bathroom, and dive out of the window. She smashed her knees into the leafless autumn shrubbery, but stood up and sprinted back to her dorm regardless.

  “This Whitman kid’s going to talk,” George said, pacing around on the roof of her dorm, the night air biting at her as she ignored it. “He’s soft, and he likes me. I’ll grill him good, get a few names and where he meets his connection. Then we’ll move on his supplier and get the hell out of here.”

  “Rough day?” Nelson asked.

  George guessed she was sipping on a scotch, making her wish that she could have one, too. Not a normal cocktail for her on a Tuesday, but George didn’t even care. She felt rattled. Must be the case. Definitely.

  “No,” she huffed, pacing back and forth. “I’m just ready to move on to my next assignment. These gaw-damned kids are driving me crazy.”

  The handsome Professor Thomas was driving her crazy. He was powerful but kind. She hadn’t even known she liked that.

  “You know how these undercover high school ops are.
The kids won’t talk unless they get to know you.”

  “Whitman will talk,” she assured her boss in a loud voice, nodding in the darkness as the wind whipped her pajamas across her body. The biting air was doing her some good.

  “George, hypothetically, if he doesn’t give us what we want, why don’t you take a liberty this weekend?” Nelson offered, sounding concerned.

  George nodded as she lit her cigarette.

  “Are you nodding, Agent George?”

  “Yeah, good, a liberty sounds good. I’ll call and meet up with some friends in DC.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. You sound like you could use a break. Be careful tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “George?”

  “I got it,” she replied, snapping her phone shut and blowing smoke out into the night. Why was she so jittery? Why had spying on Dr. Thomas and his date left her feeling so unraveled? He was allowed to date. She was sure that most of the professors who weren’t married dated. It was kind of weird to think about, though. She groaned and tried to clear her head, getting ready for the next day.

  * * *

  No matter how much planning went into it, things had yet to go smoothly for George on this operation. She had barely sat down the next morning by herself to eat her banana when Dr. Thomas grabbed her up under her arm and pulled her out into the empty hallway. Everyone watched as she stumbled behind him into the quiet, dark hall.

  “Seriously, Jane, am I going to have to frisk you?” he asked, looking incredibly irritated and standing very close to her.

  She didn’t know why, but she blushed a little as she shook her head and quickly turned out the pockets of her black jumper. “N-no sir. Why?”

  “I think you know why,” he fumed, folding his arms across his broad chest and raising his brow. How she’d done it, he could only guess, but that light pink blush across her cheeks was very telling.

  She gave him the most innocent look she could conjure and stared silently until he conceded. Acting dumb was usually how she could get out of explaining uncomfortable situations.

  “All right,” he finally sighed, reaching out and gripping her arm. “I don’t know how you broke into my house. I don’t know how you knew your phone was in my satchel, but I do know that it is now gone and you, Jane, are in a whole lot of trouble which is going to lead to consequences that even that cute little face you’re making right now won’t get you out of, do you understand?”

  George stared up at him dubiously. He seemed to be trying to be serious, but his eyes were so kind. She knew that he was entirely too compassionate to really be as angry as he wanted her to think he was. She nodded anyway and wished he would release her so that she could eat her banana.

  “I’m not kidding around here, Jane. After you grade those exams this afternoon you’re going to help me with the rest of my papers.”

  No, no, no, she was busy come ten pm, and she had to prep with wires and mics beforehand as well. She opened her mouth to protest but then he of course hit her with the ultimate threat. It seemed to echo down the long hallways as he said it.

  “I could just take you to see the Dean of Students right now if that’s what you want,” he began, pulling her forward by the arm he was still holding and taking a few steps in that direction.

  “Wait wait wait,” she protested, digging her heels into the hardwood floor of the wood paneled hallway and shaking her head. “I’m happy to help you grade, Dr. Thomas.”

  “Smart choice,” he said, turning and leading her back into the refectory. He patted her back. Then he went to the faculty table and sighed heavily as he sat. What was it about her?

  “Grueling day already?” Dr. Ollie, the art professor, leaned over and asked him.

  He leaned back as the stench of incense radiated off of her dreadlocks and nodded in agreement. He just needed someone neutral to talk to for one minute. She would do.

  “Do you ever have a student who you absolutely just can’t figure out?” he asked, stabbing a strawberry with his fork and wondering if Jane had really broken into his house the night before. And if she had, how much did she see? He’d taken a Georgetown student who was interning for the math department out as he supported one of his students on the chess team, and when they’d returned to his house their actions weren’t exactly G-rated.

  They weren’t R-rated either, though, since he’d lost a little interest when he asked her what she was reading and she responded that she didn’t have time to read and hadn’t in the past four years. Had Jane witnessed any of that? It actually made him smile to himself as he thought about it. She was just the strangest kid. Interesting—a little naughty, and strange.

  George had sweated through her shirt and was trying to calm herself down before her first class, but she was way too keyed up. Dr. Thomas looked really angry. She knew it was his job to keep her in line, but if anything went wrong and escalated through the day, she had the feeling he wouldn’t be so merciful on her.

  But he was. He didn’t make her lean over his desk so he could spank her with a ruler. They didn’t talk much that day, either. They were both too busy trying to figure the other one out. Would he switch gears and smack her with the ruler? Would she smart-off at him and make him spank her again, which he didn’t really like doing? He kept her until nine pm, grading exams and homework, and then let her leave with a stern warning about cell phones.

  She mumbled a goodbye and sprinted to her dorm, quickly assembling all of her gear and changing into jeans and a designer black hoodie. She checked the wires from the receiver to the mic and tested the sound a couple of times before climbing onto her bed and crawling out of her window.

  Pulling the hood over her head, she stuffed her hands in the front pouch pockets and strolled through the trees to the student parking lot. Since she was classified as a sophomore her Tahoe was not in a prime location for a short walk to the dorms, but it was in a great remote location for extracting information from a high school dealer.

  As she progressed, she noticed red flashes reflecting off of the shiny finishes of the expensive cars around her. When she found her car she swiftly ducked, peering around the bumper at the police car stationed there, lights flashing, two cops busily making an arrest.

  Holy shit. She stood up straight and backed away. They had Whitman. Whatever was going down here was not supposed to be happening. Fuck her life!

  “Nelson!” she whispered, ducking between a couple of silver Mercedes a few rows away from the commotion. “Get the county sheriff’s office on the phone! You have to intercept this arrest!”

  “You arrested Whitman?” she asked. George heard a slurping sound. Most likely the director was eating her usual bowl of instant noodles.

  “No!” George angrily whispered. “Someone tipped off the local fuzz and now they’ve arrested my suspect! Notify NLETS immediately. I have no leads now except for that damned Clancy kid.”

  “How in the hell?”

  “I don’t know! But it’s happening now and I need to speak with this kid before he goes into lock-up.”

  “George, let me call the sheriff and see what’s going on, then I’ll get back to you, okay? Just calm down. You knew this was going to be a long process.”

  “Yeah,” George groaned, swiping her phone and ripping the wires off of her waistband. She stuffed everything into her pockets and sat on the cold pavement for a second. She didn’t want this to be long. For some reason she just wanted to get out of there and be done with it. Now the whole Whitman sting was ruined. She’d have to wait for Nelson to get back to her, and even if she did get a chance to talk to Whitman in lock up, her cover would be blown.

  So great. She wasn’t ready for her cover to be blown with the senior. Now she’d have to work him and get him to turn on his buddies, which stubborn rich kids rarely did.

  She stood to leave but didn’t make it three cars over before she heard someone approaching her.

  “What’s going on over here?”

 
George slowly turned and found a cop, probably younger than she was, slowly approaching with his hand on his gun, his flashlight shining in her eyes.

  “Nothing,” she replied, standing completely still. Small movements were key when firearms were involved. The rookie looked like he’d draw if the wind hit him the wrong way.

  “What are you doing out here in the dead of night?”

  “Just getting something out of my car.”

  “Yeah, up against the car, missy. Spread ‘em,” he instructed, reaching for her arm.

  She backed up a few steps. She seriously didn’t have time for this bullshit. “Look, sir, I don’t know why you’re here but I’m here because I needed my iPod out of my car.” She waved the flat receiver and wire around, hoping it would pass for an MP3 player, then stuffed it back into her pockets. It had no recordings on it because this idiot and his friends had disrupted her bust.

  He totally didn’t buy it. She was so angry that the locals had destroyed her investigation that as he had her bent over the hood of the car with her hands behind her head so that he could frisk her, she was sincerely considering throwing her head back and knocking him out cold. If she could get the right angle and the right leverage.

  She never got the option of making that moral judgment, however.

  “Jane?”

  She tried to stand up to see who it was, but the cop pushed her face back into the car’s hood with a bang. Rolling her eyes, she wanted to swing kick him, but someone crouched down on the opposite side of the car and made eye contact with her.

  Mother fucker.

  “Jane, what are you doing out here?” Dr. Thomas asked, the kindness in his eyes burning with something resembling utter irritation.

  “Oh, fuck this shit,” she mumbled into the hood.

  “Excuse me, Jane George?” he asked, wondering how in the hell he’d come across her. Again.

  “I, I needed something out of my car. I’m sorry, Dr. Thomas. I didn’t know…” she mumbled, cheek pressed against the cool hood of the white car as she tried to give him a look that said she was sorry. Which she wasn’t.