Hashtag Rogue Read online

  Hashtag Rogue

  Agency Files Book Five

  Chautona Havig

  For notices of releases and special promotions, sign up for my Newsletter.

  Copyright 2019 Chautona Havig

  Kindle Edition

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chautona Havig lives in an oxymoron, escapes into imaginary worlds that look startlingly similar to ours and writes the stories that emerge. An irrepressible optimist, Chautona sees everything through a kaleidoscope of It’s a Wonderful Life sprinkled with fairy tales. Find her on the web and say howdy—if you can remember how to spell her name.

  Edited by: Haug Editing

  Fonts: Garamond, MS Gothic Regular, Alex Brush

  Cover photos: FotoMaximum/thinkstock.com

  Cover art by: Chautona Havig

  The events and people in this book are purely fictional, and any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental. I’d love to meet them!

  Connect with Me Online:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/Chautona

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/chautonahavig

  My blog: http://chautona.com/blog/

  Instagram: http://instagram.com/ChautonaHavig

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Chautona

  BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/chautona-havig

  Amazon Author Page: https://amazon.com/author/chautonahavig

  YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/chautona/videos

  My newsletter (sign up for news of FREE eBook offers): https://chautona.com/newsletter

  All Scripture references are from the NASB. NASB passages are taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE (registered), Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation

  Table of Contents

  Terry

  Perry

  Clark

  Noah

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Author’s Note

  Chautona Havig’s Books

  Terry

  I don’t know you, but your interest in this series is such a blessing to me. The kindness you show my girlie doesn’t hurt, either. Thank you for serving the Lord in all the ways you do. Many are blessed by your ministry.

  and…

  Perry

  Thanks for the inspiration for Keith’s new dream car… he’s no Brent, so he can keep on dreamin’.

  and…

  Clark

  Without your brainstorming brilliance, this book would still be languishing in St. Louis. Thank you for being the awesome friend you are.

  and…

  Noah

  Especially to Noah—the real Noah who made sure “his” scene was realistic, believable, and fun.

  One

  The steady snap-clink-snap-clink of a Newton cradle provided percussion to the steady drone of half a dozen news channels played out on the screens. A single finger tapped a key on the keyboard, and the volume rose for the center top screen. “—sources say that the bio-terrorist threat is over. With fifty-seven confirmed dead and thirty-seven in critical condition, as well as hundreds still being tested, it is being called the widest-spread act of terrorism on American soil…”

  Snap-clink-snap-clink. The balls continued their steady swing as a finger tapped again. Another screen’s volume rose as it pulled into the foreground. “—in protective custody from the Malakov organization located in Portland, Oregon. West and the man assigned to protect him, Secret Service agent, Keith Auger, were gunned down at a safehouse. There are no ties to the Malakov organization for this attack on the safe house, but law enforcement assumes…”

  A finger crooked around two of the balls swinging in the Newton’s cradle and let them go. Snap-plink-snap-plink. Another screen’s volume rose and fell. Another. Most received no more than a moment or two, but three stories—anytime they showed up on a channel—received full attention.

  The Secretary of Homeland Security filled the screen again. Snap, plink, snap, plink. There had to be a connection. Snap, plink, snap, plink. To the Malakovs and their Russian connections? Snap, plink, snap, plink. To the North Koreans? Snap, plink, snap, plink. Both? Snap, plink, snap, plink. Time to discover. Time to act.

  Snap, plink, snap, plink.

  Same make. Same model. Same color. Same car.

  No one could argue it. Flynne Dortmann, assistant extraordinaire to The Agency, stared at the screens she’d captured over the past month. A third of them showed the same man sitting in the same spot. Waiting. Watching.

  Flynne’s gaze slid to the doorway that separated her from her boss’s office. Would Mark listen this time? A sigh escaped. Probably not. Why change his modus operandi?

  Listen or not, Flynne’s job was to check and report on Keith Auger—Shafter now that he was officially dead—and report anything that looked like someone might be watching him. Mark took good care of his men, and though Keith wasn’t an agent anymore, he’d given everything to keep The Agency and its clients safe.

  While Erika Polowski wasn’t Keith, as his girlfriend, she was Keith’s weakest point. And this car was watching Erika Polowski. She just knew it.

  If I was, like, going to try to find someone who’s hiding, it’s so obvi that I’d just find his favorite person and, like, make her take a permie vacay.

  That did it. Mark could ignore the facts. Flynne couldn’t. She grabbed her iPad and stormed the citadel also known as Mark’s office. “Got a minute?”

  “For you… two.”

  She couldn’t help a grin. “Aw… I’m getting me a coolio graphic tee that says, ‘I’m Mark’s Fave.’ The agents will be sooo jellie!”

  The new, oversized chair jumped out of position and attacked her toe. Again. “Next time you redecorate, do it one piece at a time!” Flynne scowled at the chair until she was confident it felt her displeasure.

  “I was going for the Band-Aid approach. I didn’t know you were so clumsy.”

  “I’m not!” At the look he gave her, she added, “Okay, so I pay more attention when the room’s a new place—then I totes go on auto-pi.”

  “Auto-pi?”

  She sighed and popped imaginary gum. “Pilot? Like airplanes? Anyway, I have that statement transcribed and something to show you. Statement’s in your inbox and…” Flynne took a deep breath. “I’ve been watching this for the last month. I think it’s something to pay attention to.”

  Swipe after swipe, Flynne showed the car parked outside the coffee shop in Dolman. “He’s there. All the time. Every day that she is.”

  When Mark took the iPad and gave every picture his full attention, she relaxed. Of course, Mark would take a threat against Keith or his friends and family seriously.
She’d been totes ridic on that one.

  “I see why you’re concerned,” he began.

  Oh, good.

  “But I don’t think it’s actionable, and even if it were, Erika has Keith. They’re probably going to get married. She’s in the best hands possible as it is.”

  “Will he be on his guard if he doesn’t think she’s in danger?”

  At that, he shut down. Oh, he acted engaged, but she saw it… total shutdown. “Thanks for bringing it to my attention, and I want to see any more that you find, but we’ll mark this as insufficient for now.” Mark gave her a perfunctory smile. “I will let him know you had some concern.”

  “I think—”

  Mark sent her off, insisting that he had to read that statement.

  “But—”

  “Not now, Flynne.”

  She turned to storm from the room in a brilliant display of displeasure and did a front-flip over the stupid blue chair. Way to go, Dortmann. Supes Ridic.

  “You okay?”

  Some things you don’t dignify with an answer, and that was one. Three seconds later—maybe four, if Mark was lucky—Flynne made up her mind. After a glance at the surveillance cameras, she jerked her Burberry backpack from the desk drawer and flipped the flap open. A glance inside showed two refillable bottles of water. Against everything she believed in, Flynne set them on the desktop. I can put a whole lot of cash in that space.

  Her phone came next. That took a bit longer to decide, but she eventually sent out a group text message telling friends she’d be gone for a bit, pulled the SIM card from the back, and reassembled. That, she left beside the water bottles.

  After much deliberation, only her license and one credit card were hidden in the RFID tucked in a hidden pocket. The wallet joined the rest of her rejects. Three books and a Kindle. She dumped them all. Too tempting when I need to be on my game.

  At last, she’d pared down to bare essentials. Brush, toothbrush and floss, retainer and case, a note from her boyfriend, Tyler, and her car keys—for now. With all that decided, the rest became almost automatic.

  Five thousand dollars in cash dropped to the bottom of the bag—and filled it a third of the way. Flynne grabbed a couple of bundles of hundreds and several more twenties. Ten thousand. After that, three burner phones—charged and ready to go, of course—and two tranq pistols, complete with as many darts and CO2 cartridges as she could stuff into the bag. One cartridge lay abandoned on the desk when she finished.

  Instinct said to repack with the tranq stuff on the bottom of the backpack, but she didn’t have time for that. Besides, my instincts could be mallow fluffs. A glance at her monitor told her she’d spent enough time already.

  The logbook of inventory went into Keith’s personnel file—the paper one. If Mark had any brains, he could find it. If not, well, that wasn’t her problem.

  A sound from the employee room nearly sent her through the roof. Tyler and Raina are sleeping just one door away, and you’re over here banging drawers.

  Shadows appeared where there were none, and Flynne could have sworn that she tasted V8 Juice. Probably bit the inside of my cheek again. It’s like every sense is in hyperdrive.

  With everything set, Flynne zipped a message to Mark through the office system. Going to lunch. Want me to bring back something? Mexican to go with your cool new last name? Paper clips?

  The reply came swifter than usual. I’m good, but thanks. Take your time. Slow week here so far.

  Until someone makes off with Erika… But Flynne didn’t say it. Instead, she assured him she’d see him asap and dashed from the building with the backpack swinging over one shoulder.

  The Chevy Volt rolled to a stop a mile south of Hearthfield Way—beside a field of early-blooming wildflowers. A curve in the road would hide Keith’s ‘39 Packard when it turned, but she’d see it moving to that curve and could count from there. With that in place, Flynne swapped out the sim card from one of the burner phones with her sim card and made the call.

  Keith answered on second ring. “The answer’s no, Flynne. I’m retired.”

  “You’re still training newbies, so technically, you just had a demotion.”

  “Promotion,” he argued.

  “Those who can’t do, teach.” Guilt wracked her as she said the words, but it’s what Keith would expect.

  Keith’s low rumble of a chuckle told her she’d made the right call. “Well… you guys will thank me when your new recruits actually save a life instead of hasten their earthly extraction.”

  A dozen comebacks surfaced, but her lips refused to allow any of them to pass. She tossed out a, “Ha!” before jumping into the purpose of her call. “Look, I’d love to have a word fight, but Mark needs you to come in—like now. It’s supes important. He didn’t think so at first, but I convinced him. Hashtag Flynne for the win.”

  It was sort of true—or would be ten minutes after Keith got on the road.

  “What’s up?”

  “Possible danger to Erika. It’s why I’m calling on my own phone. I’ll have to ditch my sim, thanks to this. He said not to call. Just come in. Ready for today’s code?”

  A short huff told her he was either ticked or concerned—or both in one. Probably that. “Give it to me.”

  “9-2-2-0-6-3-5-5-8-4-3. I can repeat…”

  As expected, he rattled the numbers off without a hitch. “9-2-2-0-6-3-5-5-8-4-3.”

  “Yes.”

  “Got it. Heading in now. Erika’s getting ready for work. Do I tell her to call in?”

  She hesitated. Would it be easier to grab Erika in HearthLand where they had friends or in Dolman? In town there’d be more people who might try to stop her, but would they even care? “I’ve got Tyler en route to her cafe just to watch over her while you guys talk. If you think there’s a threat, he can get her out.”

  “Excellent. You’re awesome, Flynne. Bye.”

  You won’t think so later. It only took a minute before she saw the speck approaching the curve. It grew until Keith’s ’39 Packard tore around that corner and shot out of sight. Flynne started her car and eased it into position. The counting began. One… two… Not until she hit sixty did Flynne pull out onto the highway and gun it. Just as she rounded the curve, she saw Keith ahead, already streaking down the Dolman Highway.

  “Phase one: complete. Now if Erika just cooperates…”

  She’d considered just putting a gun to Erika’s head and demanding the woman do what she said. The thought prompted a snort. No one with half a brain would believe Flynne would shoot at close range—if at all.

  “Okay, Plan K… or is it L?”

  After taking a deep, fortifying breath, she shot down Hearthfield Way and zipped past the growing town square to the road leading to the newest development in the small, planned community. What looked like a freshly-tilled field signaled the corner to turn to Erika’s house. Keith’ll live there soon enough, too, I bet. For now, however, he lived in a trailer on empty property—between training runs, that is—just across from Erika’s micro house.

  The adorable little house seemed to rush toward her as Flynne considered a dozen ideas and settled on the one she liked least. “I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do,” she muttered and slammed on the brakes.

  Minutes ticked past as she struggled to see if she had the gun loaded properly. Of course, she didn’t bring instructions, but it looked loaded… ish. She kicked open the car door and stormed around to the passenger side in an attempt to block anyone seeing what she planned. One shot, and the dart flew out and hit the dirt. Flynne retrieved it, tossed it in the back seat, and climbed back in the car.

  With the chamber reloaded, Flynne drove up to Erika’s house and pulled her car as close to the front door as she could. The sky-blue trim and red geraniums in the tiny window boxes of Erika’s house mocked her. I’m totes gonna turn a tranquil scene into a nightmare with a tranquilizer. So not cool.

  Movies said to put the gun in her back waistband. Gang bangers stuck them in
front. She’d thought that was just to be macho, but Mark had said it was actually more efficient—a faster draw. Not using any waistband. At that thought, she shoved the gun back in the backpack and hefted it. The thing nearly gave her a one-way ticket to the chiro, but Flynne kept walking as if it was nothing.

  The door opened and Erika stood there, staring. “You just missed Keith. He shot out of here a minute ago. I’m just waiting for his call now.”

  “He’s gone to talk to Mark…” If puppy dog eyes and exaggerated innocent smiles could do it, Erika would invite her inside in five… four…

  “Come on in! Sorry. I just thought you needed Keith.”

  “I came to be your escort if they find the problem credible.”

  Erika blanched. “Problem?”

  “I found some anomalies in the surveillance at your work. It’s probably nothing, but…”

  Flynne found herself escorted to the mini couch and nearly shoved into it. The backpack jabbed her side. “Oof!”

  “Something wrong?”

  Lies—they flowed. I’ll be cray cray if I don’t get to stop with the lies like… now. “Nope. So, how do you like it out here?”

  “Takes getting used to, actually. It’s really quiet. All. The. Time. You don’t get that in the city. And dark…” Erika sighed. “But when summer gets here, we’ll have fireflies right out my front door. That’s cool.”

  Half a dozen sentences of chit-chat ended with Erika fumbling for her phone. “I should call and see if Keith has spoken to Mark. Excuse me.”

  Despite every effort to get the gun out of her bag and aim it before Erika could stand, it didn’t happen. Instead, Erika had taken three steps away before Flynne felt ready. She aimed at the upper thigh and squeezed the trigger.

  The dart landed in Erika’s right butt cheek. “Wha—?” A glance behind her made Erika roar. Eyes flashing, she demanded, “What’d you do that for?”

  Flynne did the only thing she could think of. She fired again. Two for two—aimed for thighs both times and managed to hit cheeks of the posterior area.