The Target Read Online Free

field agents as well. Her shrink’s voice popped into her head, telling her it was bullshit. Dallas groaned. She would have to call Dr. Harper too—‌her most difficult conversation. But it could wait until she was in San Diego.
    While Stacie’s phone rang, Dallas stood at the window and stared at Camelback Mountain in the distance. It was more like a hill—‌especially compared to Mt. Shasta where she’d been on her last assignment—‌but at least it was a break in the desert.
    “Jamie. Good timing. I was just going to see if you wanted to grab a drink later.”
    “Sure, but I can’t stay out long. I’m leaving for San Diego tomorrow.”
    “On assignment?” Her friend’s voice fell. “You’ve only been back a month or so.”
    Why did she have to keeping justifying her work?
“An agent is dead and more lives are at stake. This one is really important.”
    “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re taking the wrong approach.”
    Dallas laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not dangerous for me. I’ll be in an office.”
    Now Stacie laughed. “You won’t last a week.
    Dallas took no offense. “I can do anything.”
    “Except sit still. Have you told Sam?”
    “Not yet. But don’t worry, we’re not serious, and I prepared him for it already.”
    A big sigh. “Okay, meet me at the Apollo at eight.”
    “See you soon.”
    In her galley kitchen, she opened a can of vegetable-beef soup and heated a bowl of it in the microwave. While she paced the apartment, listing pre-assignment details, her phone rang. Stacie calling back? She grabbed the device from her black leather shoulder bag and looked at the ID:
Roxy Stuck.
Her mother. Her parents had never married because they collected more benefits as individuals—‌another source of shame.
    Irritation and worry jammed her thoughts. Why was her mother calling? It had to be about money. Dallas let it ring. She had too much to do and needed to focus. She had walked, no run, away from the Queen Liar/manipulator and her worthless father at sixteen and never looked back. She sat at her desk and made a list for the next day: new driver’s license, new burner phones, text Sam and break it off.
    Her cell rang again, and she knew it was her mother without looking. When Roxy wanted something, she could be overwhelming. It was better to deal with her now than put up with fifteen calls. Dallas picked up. “Hey, Mom. What’s going on?”
    “Your dad’s in the hospital.” Her mother’s pack-a-day voice choked up. “He’s dying. You have to come home and see him.”
    Grief and anger squeezed her heart, but the grief quickly let go. The idiot had been trying to kill himself with drugs and alcohol for decades, so it was no surprise. “Why should I? He’s never called me once since I left home, and he wasn’t much of a father before that. I don’t exist for him.”
    “He wants to see you. He regrets a lot of his choices and he wants your forgiveness.”
    Dying bastards always did.
“Pat his hand for me and tell him I said goodbye. But I’m not coming. I have an important work assignment that can’t be put off.” Dallas hung up before her mother could argue. An FBI agent, a good man who’d dedicated his life to serving his country, was dead, most likely murdered. Investigating his death and the sabotage of medical devices was a far better use of her time than making a dying asshole feel better.
    She ate her now-lukewarm soup and got moving again. Guilt followed her around the condo as she watered her cactus, closed the blinds, and set the AC down a notch in preparation to leave for weeks or months.
Damn him.
Her good vibe about flying to San Diego on assignment was slipping away. Dallas changed into workout clothes and jumped on the elliptical machine—‌the best way to clear her head and work off tension.
    Forty minutes later, she was drenched in sweat and at peace with her decision. Unwilling to risk another confrontation, she texted Sam:
I have