Page 62 of Hacking the Holidays
Agent Babbs.
With her snide smile and fake daughter.
My pulse kicked up, but I kept my expression neutral.
“Please fill this out,” I said, handing her the clipboard with steady hands that belied the churning in my gut.
Barbie took it with that infuriating smirk, her pen moving across the paper with deliberate slowness. Like she wanted me to watch. To know exactly what she was doing.
When she handed it back, I had to fight to not react.
She’d listed a local Leavenworth address under her contact info. A phone number with the right area code. Everything looked legitimate, like she lived there, actually belonged in this community. But it was what she’d written in the optional section at the bottom that made my stomach drop, the part that mentioned that some community support services might be available, including holiday meal assistance, winter clothing drives, toy donations, food pantry programs, and financial assistance.
Beverly had checked the box to request more info, and beneath it, in careful handwriting that screamed desperation, she’d written:
In dire need of financial assistance after divorcing, losing everything, and relocating to Leavenworth with my daughter. Would be eternally grateful for any help at all. Thank you so much.
I stared at the words, my mind racing.
She’d set the trap for Sam.
A perfect, FBI-sanctioned trap.
Surely, Cassandra would sit on Santa’s lap and tell some heartbreaking story—probably coached word-for-word—about how they’d lost their home, how they had nothing, how Christmas would be empty this year.
Sam, being Sam, would help them.
Of course, he would.
He’d use his Robin Hood connections to funnel money their way, or gifts, or supplies, or whatever. Maybe through one of his “anonymous donors.” Maybe through some clever digital sleight of hand that would leave just enough of a trail for the FBI to follow.
And Agent Babbs would be waiting to catch him in the act.
Case closed. Career made. Sam Monroe is behind bars.
The problem was that I couldn’t warn him.
I couldn’t tell him Beverly wasn’t really Beverly. That her daughter wasn’t really her daughter. That this whole thing was an elaborate sting operation designed to catch him doing exactly what his heart wouldn’t let him refuse.
Exposing an FBI undercover agent’s true identity wasn’t just against protocol—it was career suicide with a very good chance of jail time.
The only thing I could do was let her go through with the plan, then try to persuade Sam to help someone else. Anyone else. Redirect his do-gooder instincts toward a different family, a different crisis.
I knew how difficult that would be. Sam didn’t choose cases based on convenience. He chose them based on need. And if he believed Cassandra needed help, nothing I said as Rose would change his mind.
I escorted Cassandra toward the photo area to meet Santa, the clipboard heavy in my hands as she climbed onto his lap. But as soon as Cassandra shared her made-up story,Babbs ignored my instructions to stay put while Santa took a photo with the girl. She flew right by me like the wind, up to the stage, then cozied up next to Sam, adding to Cassandra’s sob story to seal the deal.
I couldn’t stand by and let this happen.
In a flash of brilliant inspiration, I slid Barbie’s contact form off the clipboard. My fingers moved quickly, folding it in half, then half again, and again, making it smaller and smaller until it was just a tight square of incriminating paper. Then, in one smooth motion, I stuffed it down the front of my elf tunic.
Her information would never reach Sam.
He’d never have the chance to help her.
Never trigger the trap she’d so carefully laid.
Relief flooded through me, electric and intoxicating. This was the move that would finally shift everything in my favor. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was actually in control of this investigation instead of drowning in it.
