Fight Dirty Page 7

  “Confiscated and long gone,” Jenna said.

  Morgan exchanged a glance with Andre. “Or the mom lied about why she exiled Bree. Maybe there was something else going on, some reason she wanted Bree out of the house.”

  “Evidence,” Jenna chided. “Not speculation. Evidence.” She glanced around them, the house almost totally dark except for a single light over the front door, the porch shadow looming over them in the dim light of the setting sun. “Let’s get back to the office.” She handed her car keys to Andre. “I’ll ride with Morgan, meet you there.”

  Jenna said nothing as Morgan steered them past the gates surrounding the Greenes’ mansion and down the lane. Instead she seemed to be waiting for Morgan. To do what? Apologize for walking out earlier?

  Finally Jenna made a humphring noise deep in her throat as if she’d swallowed a nasty piece of gristle but was too polite to spit it out. “I don’t like our clients.”

  Morgan resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For someone trained in objectively collecting and evaluating evidence, Jenna was one of the most judgmental people Morgan had ever met.

  “But,” Jenna continued, “you did good back there. Playing them off each other, trying to get them to expose what was really going on. Too bad it’s clear we won’t find the truth behind BreeAnna’s death inside her home. Which means there’s only one place left to go.”

  As if Morgan hadn’t already figured that out. “So you’re inviting me onto the team?”

  “We both know the word team isn’t in your vocabulary. You’ll do what’s best for you, Morgan. Which means I can’t trust you. Never have and never will.”

  Morgan was silent. Couldn’t really argue with that. But Jenna needed her if she was going to save this case and grab Greene’s business for the firm.

  “But,” Jenna continued, “I am willing to offer you a trial run.”

  “How generous of you, seeing as I’ll be the one locked up behind bars.”

  “And there will be some ground rules. First, Andre has to sign on. After I tell him the truth about who you are.”

  “Already told you I have no problem with that. You’re the one keeping secrets from him, not me.”

  Jenna cut in, her words overlapping Morgan’s as if what Morgan had to say didn’t matter. “Second, you and I start on a clean slate. No more spying, no more threats about exposing anything you may think you have on me.”

  “Not think, know,” Morgan muttered. Did Jenna have any idea how much she sounded just like the Greenes? Superior and entitled?

  “And finally, anything happens, anything goes wrong”—Jenna’s tone dropped—“and I go to the authorities, turn you in.”

  “For what? There’s no warrants out, not on me.” Only thing Morgan’s father had ever done for her—kept silent about her part in things. Mostly because he was covering his own ass, but she’d take what she could get.

  “I’m sure I can think of something.” Jenna twisted in her seat to face Morgan. “Do we have a deal?”

  Since Morgan was getting exactly what she wanted—invited on board the Galloway and Stone team—the answer was yes. But she knew Jenna needed to feel like she’d somehow outmaneuvered her.

  “Are you going to make me go undercover at ReNew?” Morgan asked in a petulant tone. She’d already decided she’d go—her curiosity about Bree’s death was too strong to ignore and Jenna was right, ReNew was the place where she’d find the answers.

  “That’s part of the package. All or none. Are you in or not?”

  Morgan drew out a dramatic sigh. “I’m in.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Morgan spent the night worming her way into Bree’s online life. The most exciting thing she found was that by mentioning Steven Moffat on Tumblr, Bree had stumbled into the middle of a Whovian GIF war. Since Bree shared everything with her own page, it seemed she enjoyed the attention from both sides, accidental as it was.

  Eight hours later and that and the slutty-party pix were the sum of Bree’s social life—her entire life—as best that Morgan could document. She hadn’t been able to find more explicit photos from the party where Bree had been drugged. Made her wonder who had come along to clean up that mess. Certainly not Bree’s mother. Had Greene found time in his busy schedule to salvage his daughter’s reputation? Then why hadn’t he pressed charges or at least allowed her to transfer to a different school, one where she wouldn’t have to face her tormentors daily.

  The sun was just coming up when she closed down her laptop. Morgan didn’t have the same sleep cycle as the rest of the world; she tended to catch short naps when she felt like it rather than sleep during any prescribed hours. She didn’t understand why the rest of the world clung to their archaic day-night rotation. After all, sleeping only when you needed it meant less time spent being vulnerable. When the rest of the world was asleep was when she and her father had wreaked the most havoc.

  Sheep and fish snoring away, practically begging for it, her father would sneer.

  Feeling restless and still uncertain about her upcoming undercover mission, Morgan took the Audi out for a drive. She sped out of the city, no rush hour congestion yet to slow her down, and opened up the Quattro on the county highway leading to ReNew.

  About forty minutes out of the city she crested a rolling hill topped by brown fields, waiting for spring to thaw frozen earth, and spotted the ugly squat outline of the ReNew compound in the distance. Had to be it—what other structure would boast towers at each corner, spotlights glinting in the sun, the rigid vertical supports of a high fence lined up like soldiers at attention?

  She coasted down the hill, and the glimpse of ReNew blinked out of sight.

  The Audi roared up another hill, and the prison came into view once more. She refused to think of it as a school or residential treatment center or any other bullshit. It was a prison pure and simple, and her job was to get what she came for and escape.

  She found a good vantage point, pulled over, and grabbed her camera with the long lens. A gravel drive led through a set of gates into the compound; brown grass spread out on both sides. In the distance, Morgan could make out two basketball hoops and what looked like a soccer field. Beyond it, only trees.

  The building itself was single story, looked like an elementary school with its windows covered with bright banners and posters, a stark contrast to the grey cinder-block walls. No bars—at least not on this side, the only part of the building easily seen from the highway or by the public. Surrounding it was church property, the congregational buildings half a mile down the highway, separated from the juvenile facility by a large forested parcel. If she craned her head in that direction, she could make out the church’s steeple glinting in the sunlight, a beacon above the thick trees.

  Idyllic setting, the pamphlets promised. More like isolated, except for the cars and trucks speeding past on the highway beyond the fence.

  Superior attention to your child’s physical and spiritual well-being away from modern distractions and temptations. After successfully completing our twelve-step, faith-based redemptive program, your child will return home ReFreshed and ReNewed!

  Morgan couldn’t wait to see what they meant by that.

  Although the ReNew compound exuded a sense of security, up close Morgan saw it was mostly illusion. Designed to reassure the parents who exiled their children here, no doubt.

  The twelve-foot fence surrounding the building and grounds was simple chain link, no razor wire. The towers were for spotlights, no signs of any guards patrolling outside at all, and the gate, while formidable in appearance, was controlled via a simple keypad. All for show—who needed to worry about the gate when you could climb up one of the light towers and down the fence on the other side?

  These people were amateurs when it came to external security. Which meant they must be good at psychological manipulation—made sense, how better to control a juveni
le population?

  Morgan’s father was a master at stripping his captives of their identity, turning them into mindless puppets who’d never dream of freedom. By the time he was done, the concept of escape was meaningless. He’d often even leave their chains or prison doors unlocked.

  All they had to do was try . . . but they never did. He always laughed at that, how easily sheep and fish learned their place on the food chain. With him at the top, of course.

  Morgan hated those mind games—because she knew he was playing her as well. Telling her she was different, special like him, but at the same time whittling her psyche to fit the role he wanted her to play.

  If she could survive her father, outwit him, then these idiots didn’t stand a chance.

  CHAPTER 13

  Morgan got to the Galloway and Stone office at eight twenty, ten minutes before the Greenes were due to arrive. She’d dressed in what she thought a rich, pampered, suburban teen would wear: torn Juicy Couture jeans, a Jessica Simpson designer top, a retro-style denim jacket.

  Morgan hated it, parading around, dressed like a fish. Which was why she’d chosen shoes she could run in. Just in case.

  Jenna took in her outfit and nodded in approval.

  “You sure about this?” Andre asked in a rumble of concern. Morgan couldn’t help but smile—she loved it when he worried about her. The fact that he still did, even after she’d shown up so unexpectedly yesterday, meant she had a chance of maintaining her mask, her sheep’s clothing.

  “I’m sure,” she told him. “Those kids need help.”

  That earned her a quick hug—surprising since Andre knew she didn’t like being touched. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “We’ll be monitoring everything. Anything happens, we’ll get you out straightaway.”

  “They’ll probably take all my stuff.” Morgan gestured to her outfit. “How are we going to get any bugs in there?” She had a few ideas—and wasn’t leaving anything to chance—but she wanted to give Jenna the lead. It made everything easier when Jenna thought she was in charge.

  In answer, Jenna gestured to the receptionist’s desk. Lined up on it were a pair of glasses with thick frames complete with a rhinestone-encrusted designer logo on the sidepiece, along with a ballpoint pen, and a stack of three pennies.

  “Jenna thought this might call for some specialty items,” Andre said. “What do you think?”

  “Nice job.” Morgan tried the glasses on for size. They actually did have a bit of a prescription—enough to fool anyone glancing at them, but not enough that she couldn’t get used to it. Might cost her a few headaches, but that was the least of her worries. She examined the sidepieces. “Audio and video?”

  “Yes, but unfortunately no transmission. Just a USB upload.” Jenna demonstrated by pulling the end off one of the stems.

  “So I can record, but you guys can’t hear me?” Not exactly the kind of backup Morgan had in mind.

  “That’s why you’ll have the other two,” Andre said. “Both are audio only but they transmit. Voice activated, so you should have several days of battery life. We thought you could leave one in administration and the other in the therapist’s office.”

  He pointed to their floor plan of the ReNew facility. The single-story building had begun life as a school for the ReNew congregation’s children, but then had been reinvented as the treatment center. More profit, less government oversight, Morgan guessed. “If you need us, all you need to do is make your way to either room.”

  “Both of which are locked on the other side of the security doors leading into the detention wing,” Morgan pointed out.

  “Yeah. Any thoughts on that?”

  “Standard procedure is to do a cavity search and strip you of all your clothes,” Jenna reminded her before Morgan could suggest any classic prisoner smuggling techniques.

  “How about something I could hold in my mouth? Like a fake cap over my molars?”

  They exchanged glances. Andre said, “It’d take a visit to a dentist—we don’t have time before you go in this morning.”

  “Worst comes to worst, start a fire,” Jenna told Morgan. “The church might be able to skirt the school and HHS codes, but no way is the fire inspector letting them off the hook.”

  “Start a fire in a facility with fifty kids trapped behind locked doors and windows? Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Andre said.

  “And that they don’t only turn the fire alarm system on when there’s an inspection scheduled,” Morgan added.

  Andre frowned. “Maybe we should delay another day. We need more intel about how things run inside ReNew. And we haven’t finished our research into Greene’s company or interviews with former ReNew students—”

  “All of the ones I’ve contacted have nothing but praise for the ‘good Reverend Doctor Benjamin’ and his practices,” Jenna interjected. “Even the three families who filed complaints withdrew them at the request of the children involved. Now they all swear that ReNew saved their kids’ lives, steered them straight.”

  “Sounds more like a cult than a treatment program,” Morgan said. Her own research had revealed more of the same—as if everyone had read from the same script.

  “All the more reason to wait and do more recon,” Andre argued.

  Jenna turned to Morgan, hands on her hips. “Your call, Morgan. You up for this or not?”

  Typical Jenna making this more about challenging Morgan and less about logistics. But Morgan’s curiosity was piqued—not just about what lay behind the lily-white facade of ReNew and Reverend Benjamin, but about why BreeAnna had killed herself. She’d never felt this invested in someone else before, this need to understand. It was a new experience, and she wanted answers. Only one place to get them.

  “I’m good to go.” Before she could say anything more the Greenes arrived, ready for their final debriefing and preparation.

  Morgan slipped into her new glasses and practiced palming the fake stack of pennies as Jenna played hostess and served coffee. This morning Caren seemed calmer and Robert was the one who fidgeted nervously while they went over the plan.

  He caught her staring at him and laughed. “Never did anything like this before. Going undercover. Have to admit, it’s a bit exciting.”

  Morgan gave him a banal smile and turned to shuffle her notes, then rose as if she’d forgotten something in the other room. Andre followed her. No surprise, he’d picked up on the weird vibes from Greene as well.

  “This isn’t just about his daughter,” she told Andre once they were in the reception area and out of earshot.

  “I know. He hasn’t mentioned BreeAnna once since they arrived.” He frowned. “There was nothing on BreeAnna’s electronics. Jenna and I couldn’t find anything linking Greene or his company to ReNew, other than BreeAnna, could you?”

  “No. But you’re right, he acts like he’s getting ready for a corporate takeover rather than exposing the people responsible for his daughter’s death.”

  “Do you want to cancel?” His voice deepened with concern—a tone she’d only ever heard him use with Jenna before. Clearly Jenna still hadn’t told Andre the truth about Morgan’s past.

  Whatever Greene was up to, it would be best to let this play out, get everything into the open. She could handle him. And the only place left to find answers for Bree was inside ReNew.

  “No. But while I’m inside, don’t stop digging. There’s something fishy about Greene—both of them.”

  The office door opened, and Jenna leaned out. “Problems?”

  Andre answered before Morgan could say anything. “No. I forgot something upstairs. Could you help me, Jenna?” He turned to Morgan. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Andre, I’m fine. You don’t need to—”

  He shook his head. “Just give us a minute, okay?”

  Jenna glared at Morgan as if this was her fau
lt and followed Andre out the door while Morgan returned to keep the Greenes busy while they waited.

  Caren hadn’t said five words since they arrived. She sat slumped on the couch, eyes glazed. More Valium and booze? Morgan wondered.

  “Is it always like this, before an op?” Greene asked, his words rushed. “And you have such interesting gadgets to work with. Makes me feel like James Bond.”

  “Yes,” Morgan answered, mirroring his tone and posture. “Kind of thrilling, isn’t it?”

  He stood and grabbed the folder with the backstory she had prepped for him. “Guess I’d better go over my role once more.” He moved to stand in front of the window, murmuring to himself as if addressing an invisible audience.

  Caren didn’t follow him with her gaze. Just sat, staring at . . . Morgan pivoted to see what the mother was staring at. The coffee table strewn with files and paperwork and BreeAnna’s school photo.

  Morgan moved to sit beside Caren. She didn’t react, didn’t even blink. Her coffee sat untouched on the table beside the folder with the photo paper clipped to the front.

  “You miss her, don’t you?” Morgan said in a soft tone.

  Caren nodded, finally blinked.

  “I’ll bet that house gets lonely with your husband gone—even when it was you and BreeAnna.”

  “She despised that house,” Caren whispered. “Said it was a prison. Most of the time that’s what we fought about—she wanted us to move, anywhere, just get out of that house, that school . . .”

  “Because of what happened at the party? That was, what, three weeks before she left for ReNew?”

  “You know about that?”

  “It’s my job. Was that when she started acting out?”

  “I guess. Robert’s gone all the time, for months. He thrives on it, the wheeling and dealing. Says that’s the best thing about owning the company, he can get his hands dirty doing what he loves and let his staff take care of the boring stuff.”