Alex is getting impatient. “Bree, spare me the details. How does this help?”
“I’m tight with one of the techs on the team,” says Bree. “I talked to him an hour ago. I convinced him to help with our search for Damon and insert a line of code in the system to see if we can track his latest movements or find anyone talking about him. I told the tech I’d take full responsibility.”
“Is that legal?” asks Alex.
“Absolutely not. It violates a couple of domestic intelligence surveillance laws and a few of my NDAs. If somebody finds it, I could be fired. Or called in front of a congressional committee.”
Alex has always admired Bree’s passion and ingenuity. And her willingness to take risks for the right reasons.
“I’m sure you thought long and hard about this,” he says.
“I did,” says Bree. “For about two seconds.”
CHAPTER 53
Sampson
THIS MORNING, I’M RUNNING solo. Feels good for a change. I just hope I can accomplish my mission.
After the raid on Aiden Phillips’s motel room yesterday, Ned Mahoney headed back to DC and Anna Rizzo to her lab in Maryland. A little while later, Mahoney sent me a text with a link to an address outside Richmond, Virginia—and the name of my target for today.
Lisa Phillips, wife of Aiden Phillips.
I follow the GPS south on I-95 to Trent Avenue, located in a pleasant-looking suburban neighborhood. The homes are two-story brick or wooden Colonial-type houses with front porches and nicely trimmed lawns.
“Your destination is on the right,” says the upbeat GPS voice.
Sure enough, there’s a mailbox at the end of the driveway with the namePHILLIPS.
I turn into the driveway and shut off the engine. I get out of the car, walk up the flagstone path, and ring the doorbell.
After a few seconds, the door opens. A girl about Willow’s age is standing there. Plaid skirt, white blouse, and a blazer with a patch that saysNOAH RIVER ACADEMY.
“Boy, you’re tall!” the girl says. Big smile.
I smile back. “So I hear. Is your mom home?”
“Hold on, I’ll get her.” She turns around and calls, “Mom! There’s a tall man at the door!”
A few seconds later, a woman comes to the door. She’s wearing black pants, a white blouse, and a string of pearls around her neck. Blond, late thirties. Pleasant face. Cautious expression.
She rests one hand protectively on her daughter’s shoulder. “Yes?” she asks. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Lisa Phillips?”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
I hold my badge and ID in my right hand and lift it so she can look at them. “My name is John Sampson. I’m a detective with the DC Metro Police. I’m here about your husband, Aiden Phillips.”
I watch the woman’s reaction. She flinches like she’s been stung by a hornet, then leans down and speaks softly to the girl. “Mary, honey, go upstairs now, and tell your brother I’ll be up soon to check on him.”
Mary stands her ground. “Why does the man want to talk about Daddy?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later, hon. I promise.”
The girl frowns but turns and heads up the staircase, stamping a little harder than necessary. Lisa Phillips opens the door a bitwider. She waits for her daughter to disappear upstairs. Then she leans in close to me. I can see the agony on her face.
“Is he dead?” she asks in a low voice.
