DEADLY
AGENDA
Double Down Book 3
LisaPhillips
Copyright 2018 Lisa Phillips
Smashwords edition
All rights reserved
Cover design by Lisa Phillips
Photos: Shutterstock
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Excerpt from Deadly Holidays – coming December2018!
Chapter1
Megan twisted the lock pick against the tumbler. Sheheard the click, pulled out the pick and twisted the handle.Bingo. With one quick glance over her shoulder, she headedin. Outside was dark, the street quiet and still—apart from theflash of light from a TV across the street. Upstairs window.Someone watching a show at two in the morning.
The door didn’t open all the way. She shoved it farenough to get through, shifting back a pile of boots and shoeskicked off behind the door. Like the occupant didn’t even use hisown front door, except as a spot to discard clothing when he gothome. Inside was musty. Like old laundry left wet in the washer fortoo long.
Cardboard boxes had been stacked on the left side allthe way down the hall, with only a foot and a half gap to get intothe living room. One couch. A coffee table stacked with pizza boxesand at least six remotes.
Megan stood in the hall to survey what she could seefrom this spot and waited for a minute before she stepped furtherin. No dog. That didn’t rule out a cat. If he did have a pet, shedidn’t imagine it was faring too well in this mess.
The home’s occupant, FBI Special Agent DanielZimmerman, was a Special Agent in Charge in Baltimore. Whichbasically meant he was a department head, or a manager. Zimmermanhad stolen a sonic weapon from a research facility that had beeninvolved in weapons testing a few days ago.
He was now on the run with a weapon that could topplebuildings, killing everyone inside.
Megan trailed through rooms, ignoring the urge tohold her nose. The snap securing the holstered weapon on her hipwas undone. She was going to leave it that way until she was backin her car and away from here.
Fear snaked up her spine, leaving a trail as it went.She shivered but kept walking. Bedroom. Bathroom. Thankfully theman hadn’t felt the need to rent a house bigger than this tinydump. He apparently preferred to sleep on a bare mattress andsqueezed the toothpaste from the middle. Which made her wonder—wasthat because he’d recently gotten divorced, or was it the reasonfor it? Maybe she should pay the woman a visit and ask.
She’d think Zimmerman had moved in recently, exceptthat the divorce had gone through six months ago, the lease hadbeen signed months before that, and all the boxes were covered in athick layer of dust.
Didn’t care. Had better things to do. Only slepthere, showered here, and occasionally ate in the kitchen.
Didn’t have kids. Was reportedly a workaholic.Definitely the kind of boss that expected everyone who worked underhim to be available 24/7, because that was the way he worked. Notmany of his coworkers had good things to say about him.
But was he the blackmailer they’d been lookingfor?
Some of her team back at Double Down were convincedof it. Megan wasn’t going to jump on that train without irrefutableproof. That just wasn’t the way she worked.
Not now at least.
Once, a long time ago now, she’d been enthusiasticlike that. Take-charge. Get the job done without fail no matter theconsequences. Life had taken care of that. And for the past twoyears, since the darkest time in her life, she’d been a whole lotmore cautious.
She trusted her boss at Double Down. Steve Prestonran the private security agency with a professionalism she’d neverseen before. She’d certainly put him to the test before she tookthe job. He’d even joked at one point that it felt like she’d beeninterviewing him.
Which was precisely what had beenhappening.
Megan didn’t trust. Not now, and certainly not whenlives were on the line. She could take care of herself. She workedwith the Double Down team because it gave her legitimacy andbackup. But finding one FBI agent on the run? Megan didn’t needhelp with that. She only needed a few days to look into his life soshe could figure out where he would strike first.
Then she would take him down.
A dark figure moved outside, beyond the dining roomat the rear of the house and out the window. Open blinds. Meganlowered the flaps of the box she’d been peeking inside—towels andother linens, musty from disuse.
She pulled her weapon free of its holster andbacktracked to the hallway where she peered around the frame of thekitchen door. The figure didn’t stop at the back door. He twistedthe handle. Jiggled it. She waited.
A few seconds later the lock in the handlerotated.
He stepped inside.
She knew it was a man from his build, those wideshoulders. The confidence in his intention said he didn’t think hewas going to get caught. Then he paused, pulled a phone from thefront pocket of his jeans and looked at the screen. It illuminatedhis features.
Not Zimmerman.
This man was younger, his face hardened by life andthe world. Not a man she’d want to meet on a dark street. And alsonot one she needed to tangle with right now. She had what she’dcome here for—a sense of Zimmerman’s state of mind. Whatever thisguy was here to do, he wasn’t likely to strike gold among theboxed-up remains of Zimmerman’s married life.
The man sent a text then slid his phone back in thepocket.
Megan needed the right moment to slip back out thefront door, so she waited for him to move into another room so shecould get out.
But he came in her direction.
She pressed her back against the wall and held herbreath as he moved past her to the front door. Then she slippedinto the kitchen, sidestepped behind the door, and peered throughthe gap. Not much light came in the front windows, but it wasenough to see him open the door.
“It
