Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce)

by Evans, Misty

  He stared at her. Just stared, straight-on, not even blinking. Oh, yeah, definite alpha male.

  Finally, he dropped his gaze, rubbed a thumb on his coffee cup. She could almost see the mental gears in his head shifting. “So what do you want me to do? Act like a loser? Some guy with a mental problem? Because, honestly, it’ll be hard for me to pull off anything outside of a nutcase who drank the Kool-Aid.”

  Jim Jones. A cult leader who’d led his followers to kill themselves by drinking poisoned Kool-Aid. So sad. “Contrary to popular belief, most cult recruits are not mentally impaired, clinically depressed, nor do they have low IQs. They come from all age groups, all personality types, and all walks of life. What they do have in common is stress. Loss of a loved one, loss of a job, divorce, dysfunctional family, you name it. Like Adam said on that video, he can save you if you’re worried or alone. He wants the outsiders and the problem kids. He has the answer to all your problems…all we have to do is decide what your problem is, Boy Scout.”

  “Will you stop calling me that?”

  She was definitely getting under his skin. It felt good, shaking him up. “Besides your anal retentive tendencies, can you come up with anything?”

  “That’s easy.” Thomas glanced out the window. His jaw worked for a minute. “Guilt.”

  Ronni stiffened. “We’ve been over this. You’re not responsible for what happened to me.”

  His gaze snapped back to hers, intense and grave. “Yes, I am.”

  Shuffling the papers into a neat stack, she shook her head, and reached for her briefcase. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Why didn’t you return my calls? Why didn’t you answer my text messages?” One finger tapped the tabletop. “Because you held me responsible. Maybe it’s illogical, but that’s how you felt. You couldn’t talk to me, couldn’t absolve me, because you wondered why I didn’t stop Valquis before he put that knife in your back. And you’re right. It was my fault. I was on duty. I should have had your…” He stopped before he said “back”. A heartbeat of embarrassed silence passed. “Before he hurt you.”

  Her chest constricted. Her pulse jumped erratically. Shut. It. Down.

  Thomas grunted softly. “Hell, even now, you can’t look me straight in the eye for longer than a minute.”

  She forced her eyes to meet his. “That’s not fair.”

  His lips were a grim line. “But it’s the truth, isn’t it, Punto?”

  Back to last names. Dammit.

  Some of it was true. Her emotions were intricately tangled up when it came to him. “Our relationship is complicated, but part of that is because you’re hanging onto your guilt. There were two other agents at Celina’s apartment that night. None of us were prepared for Valquis’s appearance. Stop blaming yourself.”

  He didn’t waver. “Guilt. That’s my problem. Take it or leave it. I feel guilty for nearly getting a fellow agent killed.”

  Too much tension eating away at her nerves. “Fine.”

  She needed space. Jumping up from the table, she paced to the sink, back, headed for the sink again. Finally, she settled, focusing on her plan to stop the emotions churning in her gut. She could work with this. She had to work with this. “We need to alter your appearance.”

  He made a what-the-hell gesture. “I’ve already showered and shaved.”

  “Adam will know I’m an FBI agent, but I’ll be a disgruntled one and ripe for the picking. Earlier, I talked with Agent Dyer, and had him set up a backstop identity for you as Thomas Lane, a former analyst—nothing threatening—and a fellow disgruntled Bureau agent. We need to cut your hair and find you some glasses so you look the part. You need to exude intelligence, not brawn. Think you can handle it?”

  “Does Harry catch snitches?”

  Frustration erupted inside her, but at least they weren’t talking about the past. “Can you go longer than thirty minutes without referencing a movie?”

  “Just getting my geek on.”

  He couldn’t be a geek if he tried. She hung her head, massaged her temples. “This isn’t going to work.”

  Rising, he spread his arms. “Why not?”

  She waved a hand at him. “Look at you. You exude attitude, and…and…”

  He grinned. “Alpha male?”

  “You seem to think that’s a compliment.”

  “Isn’t it?” The grin widened. He came to stand next to her, leaning against the counter, his hip brushing hers. “Relax. I’ve got this. I can do angst-ridden intellectual. I’ve done it before.”

  Oh, this she had to know about. “When?”

  “Long time ago. A gig with the DoD. Believe it or not, they wanted me for my brains, not my brawn, although the brawn came in handy a couple of times.”

  There was a lot of brawn in all the right places. “I assume that story is classified?”

  “You assume right, but I mean it when I say I can play whatever role necessary to back you up on this operation. I’m coming off an op that required I be all brawn and no brain, so I have to shift gears, but I will do it.”

  Ronni nodded, staring at the floor and trying to ignore her pounding pulse. He was too close again, too…male. Alpha male.

  Guilt. I feel guilty for almost getting a fellow agent killed and I can’t get over it. He wasn’t the only one dealing with guilt, but hers was intertwined with her attraction to him.

  And now she was about to face the old guilt over Adam. She’d saved her brother’s life and created a monster in the process. She had cataloged most of his followers living at the farm. Every one of their faces burned into her brain.

  If I had let him die…

  Thomas interrupted her thoughts. “How old were you?” At her questioning look, he added, “When your mother joined the cult?”

  She swallowed, played with a lock of her hair. Stopped. Such a juvenile thing to do. “Seven. The siege happened when I was nine. It was less than two years, but I was totally indoctrinated. Took nearly ten to deprogram me.”

  “Deprogram?” His arm touched hers as he shifted his weight. “Must have been rough. Especially without your mother.”

  A nightmare. “I managed.”

  Pushing away, she grabbed Celina’s shoes. In her haste that morning, she’d remembered a change of clothes, but forgot to bring comfortable shoes. Avoiding Thomas’s eyes, she sat again, pulling on the blasted heels. Her toes screamed in agony.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Time for your makeover.” She shut down the tablet and slid it into her briefcase. “Then we have to shop for some…” She inventoried his clothes. His T-shirt was too tight, showing off his muscled arms and flat stomach. His jeans hung loose on his waist. Bare feet poked out from under the ragged hems. “Appropriate clothing.”

  He looked down. “What’s wrong with this?”

  Just everything. “It’s too…” Sexy. Provocative. “Analysts wear collared shirts and khakis. A Type A guy like you should know that.”

  He mimicked shooting himself in the head with an index finger. “Boring.”

  Very, but somehow she knew he’d look as good in office attire as he did in street casual.

  “Just so we’re clear, I don’t do polos.” He went to the back door and slipped on a pair of flip-flops. “Maybe a button-down, but I get to choose which kind.”

  Lord help her. It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Eight

  “How short do you want it, hon?” The hair stylist at the Cut & Go smacked her gum as she wrapped a cape around Thomas’s neck.

  Ronni stood behind him, arms crossed. “Short,” she said.

  “Not too short,” he countered.

  She eyed his ponytail, gave it a tug. “Shave it off. Bald, like Bruce Willis.”

  “What?”

  Ronni’s phone rang. The stylist lifted a pierced brow as she ran her hand through his thick locks. “Really? All of it?”

  “All of it.” Ronni turned on her heel, answering her phone and walking off toward a qu
iet corner of the busy salon.

  Thomas met the woman’s eyes in the mirror. “Come near me with a set of clippers and I’ll…”

  “Relax.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I only take orders from you.”

  He sighed. “Good. What I need is Brad Pitt hair from A River Runs Through It. Short, clean-cut, nothing fancy.”

  “You got it.” She released his hair from the band. “Your girlfriend’s a little intense.”

  “Fabulous But Irritating is not my girlfriend, but yes, she’s very intense.”

  The stylist gave him a confused look, then went to work on his hair, chatting and flirting and putting him at ease as inches of his hair fell to the floor. It had taken months to grow it that long.

  In the mirror he saw Ronni thumb the off button on her phone, seemingly lost in thought. Her head came up, met his eyes in the mirror, and he thought, oh shit. Something was up.

  But she turned to look at two women at a back table, one getting her nails done by the other. She titled her head slightly, listening. The phone came back up and she moseyed over to the table, acting like she was carrying on a conversation.

  Thomas knew better. She was eavesdropping. Why?

  Ronni had been insistent on using this salon. Claimed it was just a feeling, but from what he’d seen of his partner, she didn’t do gut feelings any more than he profiled people.

  A minute later, she closed the phone, asked the nail tech where the restroom was. At the woman’s directions, Ronni disappeared down the hall.

  Five minutes later, his hair was FBI short, and he had the phone number for Anita—the stylist—in his back pocket. She wasn’t his type, but he didn’t want to offend her by saying so.

  Ronni was still MIA. He paid and slipped down the hall acting like he, too, needed to use the restroom.

  She stood near the back door, reading flyers on a bulletin board next to the restrooms. Before he could say a word, she smiled. “I knew it. They’re recruiting here.”

  “Who?”

  “iChurch.”

  “At a hair salon?”

  She glanced at him, did a double-take. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “You clean up nice.” Her fingers whisked back a lock of hair from his forehead. “I’d almost forgotten how much of a Boy Scout you actually look like.”

  “Hardy-har-har.” He liked her playing with his hair. He wanted to fist hers in his hands and…not here. Not ever. Tilting his chin at the bulletin board, he scanned the flyers and business cards. “What’s going on?”

  Her focus returned to the flyer she’d been reading. “I overheard the nail technician telling her client about tonight’s open door session. The client wants to leave her abusive boyfriend. The nail gal told her iChurch offers counseling and there was a flyer about them here.”

  “How do you know it’s them?”

  She tapped a small picture in the bottom corner. “Adam.”

  Thomas squinted and sure enough, there was a picture of Adam “counseling” another person in a homey scene. “Interesting tactic. Still seems like a weird place to recruit.”

  “See these?” She pointed to different flyers mentioning financial services, marriage counseling, and spiritual guidance for those ‘lost in today’s troubled economic times’. The phone numbers were the same. “What better way to get their hooks into vulnerable people than by changing the pitch to fit their needs? At a salon like this, the stylists and techs hear all kinds of women’s tales of woe. Marital problems, maxed-out charge cards, you name it. Easy pickings. Plus, from my research, the owner and Adam—”

  An office door behind them opened and a woman straight out of Mad Men stepped into the hall. Porcelain skin, red lips, hair swept up in a bun. No 1950s-style suit, but still in a dress. Pink with a belt and wide skirt. Seemingly deep in thought, she pulled up short when she turned from locking the office door and saw them. Her eyes bounced between Thomas and Ronni, her sharp gaze lingering an extra second on each of their hairstyles.

  She looked at Thomas’s as if she approved. She looked at Ronni’s as if she wanted to get her hands on the mass of kinks. “May I help you?”

  Ronni didn’t miss a beat, tapped one of the flyers. “Do you know anything about this group?”

  “iChurch? It’s a fantastic resource for people. Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “You’ve used their services?”

  A sly smile parted the red lips. “Many times. I’m a good friend of the founder.”

  Ronni moved her finger to the picture of Adam. “This guy?”

  The woman had a large tote bag on one shoulder. She hefted it a bit higher, nodded. “He saved my life.”

  “How so?” Thomas asked. “If it’s not too personal.”

  She waved him off. “It’s very personal, but I’m a living testament to the good work iChurch does. I was broke. The salon was a bust—it had been my mother’s for years, and she let things go downhill. When I took over, it was overwhelming. I was desperate, bankrupt, believing I’d have to sell it to pay off my debts. Adam helped me get back on my feet. He believed in me, and together we revamped everything from the layout of the salon down to the finances. Once I had cash flow again, I developed a marketing campaign and hired new staff. A year later, all my debts are paid off, and we’re profitable. He really knows his stuff.”

  Her gaze rose to Ronni’s hair again. “You know, I could put some extensions in your hair, calm it down a bit if you’d like.”

  Thomas felt Ronni tense, saw her eyes narrow imperceptibly. He put a hand on her back, gave her a pat that said play along. “My friend here is going through a rough time with her job situation. Not financially, but…”

  “Emotionally?” the woman volunteered. She gave Ronni a heartfelt look. “Been there, honey. This isn’t just a job for me…it’s my everything. I felt like I was letting down my mother when I couldn’t keep it afloat. Adam saved me.”

  Thomas poked Ronni behind her back. She stuttered. “I, uh…yes. Emotionally. I’m at a crossroads and don’t know which way to go.”

  “You should come to the farm tonight. There’s a meeting for anyone interested in talking to Adam and his counselors. I’ll be there. We could talk. Sometimes talking about a problem does the trick.”

  “That sounds…great.”

  “I’m Melanie, by the way.” She rifled through the bag, drew out a business card. “The address of the farm is on here. Come about seven. I’ll hold seats for you and your friend.”

  Ronni accepted the card and the woman headed for the door. “See you tonight. And if you change your mind about the extensions, let me know.”

  She left in a swirl of pink. Ronni pocketed the card. “Pretty forthcoming about her financial woes.”

  “Think it’s true?”

  “According to my research, yes. The salon was having problems a few years ago. Adam showed up and turned things around for Melanie. He has a knack with people and numbers.”

  “That’s why you wanted to come here. You knew Melly was tied in with him.”

  “Her spiel was definitely polished.”

  Thomas raised his fists and gave a mock cheer. “Go Team Adam.”

  “Yes, well.” Ronni eyed his clothes. “Right now, Team Thomas needs to finish his makeover.”

  Two doors down from the salon was a clothing store. Inside, Thomas picked out a couple of shirts. Ronni shot them all down. “Too sportsy. Too surfer boy. Too geeky.”

  “Geek is what we’re going for.”

  “Geek as in intelligent and Type A, not I live in my mother’s basement and wear tinfoil hats.”

  He looked at the Beavis and Butt-head characters on the front. He’d only picked it out to irritate her. “Really? You got that from a cartoon shirt?”

  She rolled her eyes and sorted through a rack of button downs with a famous skateboarder’s name on the label. Drawing out an extra-large, she held up the blue plaid to his shoulders. “Moderately conservative with the button
s and collar, but not geeky. It says you’re cautious and sort of middle-of-the-road. Nonthreatening.”

  He’d never been middle-of-the-road anything. “What are you going to wear?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. Why?”

  “The vibe you’re giving off right now is hardly nonthreatening.” Chaotic, yes. Wounded and trying hard to cover it up. “Bet we could get you one of those powder puff dresses like your new friend Mel was wearing.”

  “Pale pink isn’t my color.”

  Hot pink sure was. “Isn’t that the point? Becoming someone we’re not?”

  Ronni turned to a nearby mirror, fingered her hair. “For you, yes. For me? No. I need to go in exactly the way I am.”

  Chapter Nine

  Four hours later

  Heaven’s Gate Farm

  Thomas took a seat in a folding chair next to Ronni and surreptitiously inventoried those in attendance. Small crowd.

  Ten people in the chapel—seven women, three men—getting coffee and mulling around in the converted horse barn. Not exactly easy to stay out of the limelight with so few in attendance, but that wasn’t the plan. They wanted to be seen. Wanted to be invited into iChurch.

  Too bad Ronni had de-poofed her hair. Those gorgeous, wild corkscrews would have definitely caught Adam’s eye. Of course, she already had an in. As the person who’d saved his life, didn’t he owe her at least a few minutes of his time?

  Going in as a disgruntled FBI agent, however, was damn risky. Thomas didn’t believe it would work. Adam might be a narcissist who thought he was divine, but he was also smart and cunning. Would Ronni be able to convince him her disenchanted agent shtick was real?

  A young man with a bedroll and backpack entered, a collie-mix at his feet. A few staff members manned the coffee and cookies table and none chased the kid or dog out. Thomas felt the familiar kick in his stomach to protect the kid. He needed a meal and a safe place to sleep. A shower and a decent job. Food for the dog.