Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
The country road into Jackie’s property was cracked pavement and grass hills for eight miles after the highway turnoff. Barbed wire fencing ran parallel to both sides. Cattle dotted the distant slopes. Mountains to the south still held snow on the peaks.
Siren had been driving since they’d left the hotel that morning. It had been an awkward night full of fitful sleep and lust filled dreams she couldn’t seem to escape even during the day. Reed was silent in the passenger seat, satisfied with riding shotgun.
Dom’s instructions to the property had been specific. Turn right at mile marker 47, then drive 8.2 miles to a gravel road on the left. There would be a red reflector on the fence post. Jackie’s property would be at the dead end of the road.
She’d be expecting them.
Siren found the reflector and turned onto the gravel road. Stones crunched under her tires. They drove several miles along the driveway before cresting the final rise. Jackie’s place finally came into view, spreading out before them in a shallow valley.
The house was a one-story log construction with steep metal roofing. A covered porch ran the length of the front, supported by peeled log posts. Wood smoke rose from a river rock chimney, and solar panels were angled on the south-facing roof slope.
There was a detached shop about fifty feet behind the house, with metal siding on a concrete slab. About forty or fifty acres of native grass surrounded the buildings, growing green in the early season. Cottonwoods marked a stream cutting along the western edge.
They reached the gate, and she got out to find it closed but not locked. There was a camera on the gatepost, small and easy to miss. She swung it open and drove through. “She knows we’re here,” she told Reed before asking him to get out and close the gate behind them.
Siren parked beside a white F-350 dually with mud on the wheel wells and a toolbox in the bed. The front door opened before she killed the engine. Jackie walked out and started down the steps.
She was in her early fifties, tall, and fit. Her gray-streaked brown hair was braided down her back. She wore a Carhartt jacket, worn jeans, and work boots.
She crossed the gravel with unhurried strides and a military bearing that never quite faded. Siren and Reed stepped out of the SUV. The air smelled of wood smoke and awakening prairie. Jackie reached her and extended her hand.
“You must be Siren,” she said. “Dominic described you well. It’s good to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot of good things.” She turned to Reed with the same handshake. “And you must be the musician who recorded a murder.”
“That’s me,” he said, giving her a faint smile.
“You seem to be holding up well. Come on inside. I’ve got some coffee brewing.”
Jackie led them up the porch steps through the front door.
The entryway opened into an open floor plan.
The air smelled of coffee and something baking.
The living area had a river rock fireplace with a low fire burning.
Leather furniture faced the fireplace, and built-in bookshelves lined the walls on either side.
The living area opened into a kitchen with modern stainless-steel appliances. A long farmhouse table held manila folders, a laptop, and stacks of paper.
A hallway led to several additional closed doors she assumed were bedrooms and bathrooms. There was a backdoor in the kitchen that led to the shop.
In the kitchen, Jackie slid on an oven mitt, opened the stove, and bent over. She then pulled out a loaf of banana bread, the scent filling the air.
“Have a seat,” she said, motioning for the clear end of the table.
Siren and Reed sat down while their host sliced banana bread and poured them all cups of coffee. She brought everything over to the table. They each took a cup of coffee and plate of buttered banana bread before settling into business.
“So,” Jackie said after taking a sip of coffee. “Dom gave me general details about the situation. You were attacked by a professional team after Reed discovered the recording. And you’ve been on the road since Tuesday afternoon.”
“Correct,” Siren said, taking a bite of banana bread. It was delicious, and she appreciated being treated to home cooking. It made the whole situation feel more comfortable.
She gave her more details about the Crown Mountain conspiracy, and how Siren believed the attack and murder were connected. Jackie absorbed the information while Reed sipped his coffee and ate his food.
“You haven’t seen a tail since Oregon?”
“I haven’t. I’ve changed my plates twice on the way here. Patched up the bullet holes in the vehicle’s armor. I am confident we were not followed.”
“Good. Now, for the reason you’re here.”
She opened one of the manila folders on the table and pulled out the contents. There were two Nevada driver’s licenses with their faces on them. Credit cards to match. And a vehicle registration.
“Sarah and Michael Phillips. You’re a married couple from Henderson, Nevada. It’s a suburb outside of Los Vegas. Sarah is an administrative assistant at a law firm. Michael is a high school chemistry teacher. You’re on a cross-country road trip during Michael’s spring break.”
Siren picked up the license and examined it. The quality was flawless. This was professional work.
“It will hold up to anything short of FBI database access,” Jackie said. “The backstory is thin, but you’re driving across country, not applying for security clearance. Don’t get pulled over. Don’t do anything that would give anyone a reason to look twice at you.”
Jackie picked up one of the stacks of paper on the table. “Dom asked me to dig around into anyone who might have information on outfits taking anti-shifter contracts.”
She slid the paper toward Siren. “A former contractor named Garrett Cole. He worked some of the shadier outfits before he got out. Lives off-grid in Wyoming now. He’s paranoid as hell, but if anyone knows which private military contractor might be running operations like what you’re dealing with, it’s him. ”
Siren studied the paper. It was coordinates in the Wild River Range. There was a recognition code written below it.
“That phrase lets him know I sent you. Without it, he won’t talk. Or worse.” Jackie raised an eyebrow. “He’ll meet you at those coordinates.”
Siren folded the paper and put it in her jacket pocket.
“The camper van is in the shop. Registration matches the documentation I gave you.”
“Thank you,” Siren said. “You’re saving this mission.”
She waved it off. “Dom’s done favors for me plenty of times.” Jackie took a sip of coffee and set down her mug. “One more thing…” she hesitated. “You’re visual profile needs to change if you want to effectively utilize your cover.”
Siren nodded. She knew this was coming.
“Right now. You’re reading military or biker chick. He already reads as nerdy high school teacher so that doesn’t need to change.”
Reed glanced at her, hands gripping his coffee mug.
“What did you have in mind?” Siren said, bracing herself. “I’d rather not dye my hair. I’ve been blonde before and it made me look terrible.”
“Nothing like that.”
Reed’s face was unreadable.
“How do you feel about florals?”
“Florals?”
“Right now you look like a woman who could kill a man with her bare hands.”
“It’s not just her looks,” Reed said, smirking.
“Exactly.”
“I need to be able to protect my asset,” she muttered.
“That won’t be a problem.” Jackie stood up, motioning for Siren to follow her. “Come try on what I’ve got for you.”
“How do you know my size?” Siren asked as she followed Jackie down the hallway.
“Dom told me. I went into Bozeman yesterday.”
At the end of the hall, Jackie opened the door and they walked into a guest room. There were spring dresses and feminine outfits spread across the patchwork quilt on the bed.
Jackie grabbed a sundress from the bed and held it up to Siren. It had a white background with large tropical flowers. It was a midi dress with thin straps. Siren couldn’t remember the last time she wore a dress like this.
“I’m glad I got the right color palette,” Jackie said. “It looks good with your skin tone.”
Siren grimaced. The woman was ex-military but made fake IDs. She had an eye for detail. “Where am I supposed to carry my weapon?”
“Thigh holster,” Jackie said, grabbing another outfit. “These linen pants will look great on your figure.”
“Okay, I get it. I’m a secretary on vacation with my chemistry teacher husband. I need to tone it down. This all looks great.” Her words came out with more bite than she’d expected, and Jackie raised an eyebrow. She then gave her a knowing look.
“You know I’m a hawk shifter, right?” she asked, picking up a pale green cardigan.
“I lost my mate about twenty years ago. We were both in the military. He was an analyst who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. It took me a long time to recover.” She held the sweater up to Siren.
“But I know what it looks like when mates are resisting the bond.”
Siren took the sweater, looking down at the ground. “I need to protect him,” she said, her voice low. “If I have to wear a floral dress to do that, I will.”
“Your shoes are in those boxes,” Jackie said, patting her on the shoulder. “Thigh holster is somewhere under all these clothes. I also bought you some basic makeup. The black eyeliner and red lip does everything for you, but…”
“I know. I’m Sarah Phillips.”