by Debra Webb
Two AFT agents had just finished loading the last of the prisoners. Only Fahey remained, his hands secured. Court supposed the ATF wanted to transport him separately from the others. He didn’t blame them. The capture of the infamous Fahey was a major coup.
“I thought you were a dead man, Brody,” Fahey remarked as Court walked past him.
One corner of Court’s mouth lifted in a gesture that felt more like a grimace than a smile. “Guess I’m just lucky.”
“Maybe next time,” Fahey suggested when Court would have walked away.
Court turned back to look at him. “Maybe, but one thing’s certain, you definitely won’t be there to see it.”
Fahey inclined his head, yielding the point and match to Court. “Those men—” Fahey gestured to the militia soldiers being driven away in the two ATF vans “—the biggest part of them had no intention of allowing Neely to kill you.”
“Really, and how did you arrive at that conclusion?” Court watched him closely, looking for any subtle mannerism that might give away his deceit.
“I did what you’re doing now,” Fahey said with a smile. “I watched them. Most of them were shocked by the unveiling of who Neely really was. I had a front-row seat, remember?” he added when Court looked skeptical.
“Maybe,” Court relented.
“No maybes,” Fahey countered as he studied the cuffs on his wrists. “The ones I watched really liked you, considered you one of them. Maybe it’s because just like them, this is your home.”
Court started, just a little, at that remark. “This isn’t home,” he denied, summoning his condo to mind.
Fahey shrugged. “Whatever. I know what I saw.”
“You just keep telling us what you know,” Court told him bluntly, “and maybe they’ll go easy on you.”
After checking on Sabrina and Charlie, Court strode to the communications van to talk to Austin. Something Neely said was nagging at him.
When Austin had finished his cellular call, Court ushered him away from the other men. “Look, there may still be something going down.”
“What do you mean?” Austin’s face was a study in concentration.
“It may be nothing, but right before all hell broke loose around here, Neely said something to me that has me a little worried.”
“Go on.”
“He said something like you can’t stop what’s already set in motion.” Court considered those tense moments again, remembering each word. “No matter what happens here today, this destiny is already set.”
Austin rubbed his chin. “Anything else?”
Frowning, Court shook his head. “No. Just that. But it sounded like a warning or a threat. And we know now that he was definitely working with the Black Order.” Court took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s more than just what he said. Something bothers me about the way he said the words. It was a promise. Almost like he was trying to be prophetic.”
“The forensics team is coming in this afternoon. They’re going to take apart Neely’s office and his command center. If he was hiding anything, they’ll find it. And if Fahey knows anything we’ll get that as well.” Austin clapped Court on the back. “You’ve had a rough day, buddy. Take Sabrina and Charlie home. You can come by the ranch tomorrow around noon and we’ll talk some more. I think Frank and C.J. have a big backyard bash planned to celebrate their one-month anniversary or something foolish like that.”
Marriage. To Court’s surprise he didn’t flinch at the thought. Nor did the typical antirelationship notions flood his brain. Should he consider that a bad sign? No, he should do exactly like Austin told him. He should take Sabrina and Charlie home, get some rest, and try to figure out all these other jumbled-up problems later.
He had a son.
His gaze instantly sought Sabrina. He had a woman who cared deeply for him.
Now all he had to do was decide what to do about it.
Only a few thousand miles stood between them.
Court walked slowly back to where Charlie and Sabrina stood watching the strangely organized frenzy of activity. It was always that way at the scene of a bust, especially when one went a little south and a whole lot east. He and Sabrina had barely escaped with their lives. One small shift either way and they could both be dead now and being loaded into body bags instead of those men on the ground.
Fate had given them another chance. Or maybe it was simply their destiny to be together. Court’s brows furrowed. The word destiny made him think about Neely’s warning. He knew it meant something. He just knew it. He’d have to convince Austin somehow.
“We can leave now,” Court told Sabrina. She looked beyond exhausted. He had to get her home. It was a long drive. Maybe she could get some rest on the way.
“Good.” Sabrina rubbed her eyes. “I’m definitely ready to put this behind me and get home to my son.”
Our son. Court didn’t correct her. He pushed thoughts of Ryan away for the moment. They were both too tired to talk about it. “You ready, Charlie?”
The kid nodded. “Can I drive?”
Court’s mouth kicked up into a one-sided grin. “I don’t think so.” He ruffled the kid’s hair. “Maybe another time. Okay?”
“I just need some practice, that’s all.”
“That’s what I hear.” Court ushered them toward a jeep. He felt reasonably sure that Sabrina would not want to ride in the car again, considering she’d been held prisoner in it.
Charlie climbed into the back. “Man, I’d love to have one of these.”
Court helped Sabrina into her seat, then skirted the hood and swung in behind the wheel. “Maybe I’ll let you drive it before we turn it in to the ATF. They’ll confiscate all these vehicles.”
“Cool!” Charlie fastened his seat belt and lounged back on his seat as if he were in hog heaven.
“Try to get some sleep.” Court reached for his own seat belt. “It’s a long drive.”
“Brody!”
Court looked in the direction of the man who’d shouted his name. One of the ATF guys, followed by Kyle Foster, hurried toward the jeep.
“I’m Special Agent in Charge O’Conner,” the man explained. “I think you already know Agent Kyle Foster.”
Court nodded, his gaze lingering on Foster a moment. Something was very wrong. Court could see it in Foster’s eyes, in the drawn expression on his face. The man was pale, like he felt sick to his stomach. Like he didn’t need to be here.
Hell, did any of them really want to be here?
“What’s up?” Court ventured, uneasiness spreading through him like fire catching in dead grass.
“Can we speak privately?” O’Conner glanced at Sabrina and Charlie, then settled his gaze back on Court’s.
“Sure.” Court reassured Sabrina with a quick smile. “Be right back.” He undid his seat belt and pushed out of the jeep. What the hell was up now?
“Where did Neely put the Demo?” O’Conner looked more than a little rattled at the moment.
Court looked from O’Conner to Foster, then gestured to the jeep Neely and Ferguson had arrived in. “Behind the seat. Ferguson stored it there as soon as he got through showing it off.” A couple of guys, from the bomb squad, Court presumed, were inspecting the jeep in question.
Foster shook his head. “It’s not there. No case, no nothing. Are you sure that’s where he put it?”
Court stilled. “It has to be. I saw him put it there.”
O’Conner shook his head. “It’s simply not there.”
It had to be there. Court would have sworn, hotly and profusely, but for the space of two heartbeats he couldn’t form any words.
“You’re positive about what you saw?” Foster pressed, his voice strained.
“Positive.”
“Okay, men,” O’Conner shouted to his troops. “Search every vehicle again. And then again after that. If you don’t find the case, then set me up a perimeter. I want every square foot of the woods immediately surrounding this clearing searc
hed even if it takes all day and all night.”
“Better put in a call and have the prisoners questioned as soon as they arrive at the holding unit,” Court suggested, his mind reeling with possibilities. How had someone disappeared with that case without being seen? “We need a precise head count.” Twenty-four men, including Court but not counting Neely, had arrived at this location. Fahey and six of his men. That made thirty-two men. The only one missing that Court was aware of was Markham. And Court knew he didn’t take the case.
“We’re looking for thirty bodies and/or men besides me,” Court told O’Conner. “If anyone is unaccounted for, we need to know who it is, fast. A guy named Markham took off right after the shooting started but he was unarmed and empty-handed.”
O’Conner was already calling in the request. They would soon know if anyone had slipped through their fingers. A cold sweat slicked Court’s skin. They had to find those damned explosives. If anyone got his hands on that case…it could be bad. Very, very bad.
“We’ll find it,” Foster offered, as if reading Court’s mind. But Foster didn’t look convinced at all, and he sure as hell didn’t sound that way.
“I hope to God you’re right,” Court said tiredly.
“Counting the body bags, we got twenty-nine,” O’Conner told him when he disconnected.
Court did swear this time. They had a walking time bomb on their hands. “We’ve got a broken-arrow situation. You’d better widen that perimeter, O’Conner. If we lose that stuff—”
“I know.” A line of sweat had formed on the man’s upper lip. “We’re screwed.”
Court forced his respiration to slow in an effort to head off the renewed tension mounting inside him. “You can bet your life somebody will be.”
Austin looked up from the communications van where he was using the radio again. Their gazes locked.
You cannot stop what has already been set in motion. No matter what happens here today, this destiny is already set.
Neely might be dead, but his plans were obviously alive. And carrying enough explosives to do a lot of damage.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
COURT WATCHED THE crimson sunset alone from the front porch steps of the Double K. Mental and physical exhaustion had claimed him hours ago, but he refused to give in and close his eyes. He would not rest until this was over.
He couldn’t.
They had looked for hours without finding the Demo. Court had known they wouldn’t find it. Greg Potts, the only lieutenant unaccounted for, had obviously taken it and fled the scene at the first sign of trouble. Just as he had, no doubt, been instructed. Court remembered Potts from his first visit to the hole. Potts had been the one to come forward and embrace him before anyone else. Brother, he’d said. Austin was running a check on the guy now. Kyle Foster, Montana Confidential’s own bomb specialist and chemistry whiz, was tracking down every high-level scumbag he knew in the business to see if there was any word on the street as to what Neely might have been conspiring to do.
No matter what happens here today, this destiny is already set.
It was a threat, pure and simple. Court felt it all the way to his bones.
And they had nothing. The source who’d dropped the dime on Court and blown his cover was still a complete mystery. No one from the Sons and Daughters of Montana knew anything. None of the other lieutenants would confess to any knowledge whatsoever of the plans for the explosives or Neely’s higher contacts. And Court was pretty sure they didn’t know anything. Raymond had come completely clean and he didn’t have a clue. But the sick feeling in Court’s gut wouldn’t go away. Neely was just the type who would keep his ultimate plans close. Only one or two would be privy. And Ferguson, the low-life SOB, was deader than a doornail.
Just Court’s luck. He’d sent Sabrina and Charlie home this morning, but he’d refused to leave the scene until he’d helped search for hours. Then Daniel Austin had ordered him to go home. Court decided he must have looked like death warmed over, for Austin hadn’t allowed him to drive, he’d insisted that Court ride in one of the helicopters. Your job is finished, Austin had said. Go home and get some rest.
Home? Where the hell was home? Court stood. His body ached in too many places to ignore. He and Ferguson had rolled around for a couple of minutes before Court had knocked him cold. Court had needed to get to Sabrina, to make sure she was safe. After Court had left Ferguson, someone had put a bullet in the man’s head, right between the eyes. To keep him from talking? Probably, Court decided. Potts, most likely. There had been too much confusion. Some of Neely’s own men going after Neely, others going after Fahey and his men, Court trying to calm Markham down, and the feds closing in on the whole cluster. Court swore. He hoped the forensics team found something at the compound that would indicate what Neely might have been up to, but he had a feeling they wouldn’t. Neely was too clever…too wily….
And Court felt more tired than he ever had in his entire life. He surveyed the green pastures before him, then moved down the steps to view the rest of the ranch. His attention paused on the barn he’d helped keep in shape as a kid. As Court was the youngest, the crappiest job had gotten passed down to him—mucking out stalls. Each of his brothers had done it, then passed it on. He’d tried to hate it, told his father that he did. But the truth was Court liked being close to the horses. He loved the animals. He missed working with them when he was in D.C. His friend Elmo Cornelius understood that about Court, leaving him an open invitation to come to the Virginia countryside for the weekend anytime. He could ride to his heart’s desire, even muck out stalls if he wanted to. Court laughed at the memory of Elmo saying those very words to him.
A long, heavy breath sighed from Court as his gaze landed upon the house he’d lived in for most of his life. He blinked, uncertain about the feelings that welled inside him. Before he realized he’d moved, his feet had already taken him half the distance to the springhouse. He crossed the bridge that spanned the trickling stream. When the rains came, it could froth and flow like a river. But now, in the heat of late summer, a trickle was all it managed. The long shadows from the setting sun masked the usually gleaming bed of smooth rocks that had been one of his passions as a boy. He wondered if Charlie ever waded around in that stream looking for just the right rock for his collection.
Court hesitated before stepping up onto the wooden porch. He plowed his fingers through his hair, frowning at the realization that he’d left his hat in Sabrina’s house. She had offered to let him hold Ryan while she took a shower. His body still aching for her, Court had felt torn between joining her in the shower and holding his son. Ryan had won out. Court remembered tossing his hat aside and pulling the kid into his arms. There was simply no way to describe the rush he felt holding his child. It was like nothing else he had ever experienced. He wanted to protect him, to give him anything…everything.
Had his father ever felt that way, even once? Court rubbed the back of his neck. God, he was tired. That was the only time he ever let the past slip into conscious thought. He closed his eyes and allowed the images to fill his head. He could remember a time when his father had seemed to love him. But by the time Court was twelve the drinking was worse. He couldn’t bring friends home for fear of his dad’s behavior. Not that he got rowdy or anything, but he just acted stupid when he’d had too much of the booze. Court rarely drank for that very reason, and then only a beer or two. He would never be like his father.
At least not in that respect. Court trudged across the porch and tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed open the door and automatically reached for the light switch. To his amazement, a dim light blinked on overhead. Why did Sabrina keep the power turned on out here? Hell, for that matter, why didn’t she rent the place? At least it would generate some income.
The thought that Sabrina suffered, financially or otherwise, tore at his heart. She could have asked him for help. Court sagged against the door frame. No, she couldn’t. She’d been afraid to tell him about Ryan. Because C
ourt was a fool. Because he’d used her and left her behind without ever calling or even writing. He’d run hard and fast, hoping to put his past behind him. Wanting to forget how he’d lain in bed at night and wished he were anywhere but here. But he never could completely push this part of his life away.
Sabrina stayed with him. No matter where he was or what he was doing, she was there, in the back of his mind. Always. She owned a big piece of his heart and he hadn’t wanted to admit that. He’d wanted something else, somewhere else. Anywhere but here. He was a selfish bastard.
No wonder Sabrina hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about Ryan.
He’d gotten what he deserved.
And, damn, it felt lousy.
The next question that loomed large in his mind stopped him cold. What the hell was he going to do about it?
FROM THE KITCHEN WINDOW Sabrina watched Court walk into the springhouse. She wondered if he was thinking about the past and how unhappy he’d been there. “Of course, that’s what he’d be doing,” she told herself impatiently.
Turning away from the window, she peeked in the oven to check the casserole she’d hastily thrown together. It wasn’t anything fancy, only chicken and vegetables with a store-bought piecrust, but it would fill their empty bellies. Complaining that he couldn’t wait for anything to cook, Charlie had made himself a bowl of cereal and plopped down in front of the television. Ryan was asleep in his crib. She had called to check on Mrs. Cartwright. Thankfully the sweet but forgetful old lady had charged her telephone and it was back in working order. Sabrina didn’t like the thought of her at home alone without a working telephone.
Sabrina felt immensely better after a long, hot shower. She wasn’t as tired as she would have been had she not slept most of the trip home. The nice ATF agent had insisted she and Charlie should get some sleep. She’d been certain she wouldn’t be able to, but the long journey and gentle rocking of the vehicle had eventually lulled her to sleep despite having a stranger at the wheel. She was pretty sure Charlie had slept as well. Her gaze moved back to the window and the log house that lay beyond the spring. Court hadn’t slept at all. He’d stayed behind and searched for the explosives. And since finally arriving here, he’d been…restless. Other than the time he’d spent with Ryan, Court hadn’t sat still.
