Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce)

by Evans, Misty

Focus. He wasn’t there to save the world. Tonight, that was Ronni’s job. He was tagging along to watch her backside and assist if anything went sideways.

  “It’s like a freakin’ AA meeting in here,” he muttered, just to make conversation.

  Ronni sat silent and still next to him. He could sense her nerves were taut, her mind totally focused on the evening ahead. When she didn’t answer with a snarky comeback, Thomas rose, went to the table, and retrieved a couple of cookies and two cups of coffee. He nodded at the kid, asked about the dog, which was indeed a Collie-Shepard mix, and returned to his seat.

  He handed a coffee to Ronni. Two women were sitting down in front of them, talking softly. One looked like she’d been crying for days.

  His partner eyed the cup with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

  “Blending in. And I need some sustenance after a full day with you.”

  Reluctantly, she accepted the cup, but didn’t rise to the goading. He offered a cookie, but she shook her head. “How can you eat right now?”

  He could always eat. “Is that against the rules of engagement?”

  She set the coffee on the floor under her chair. “Not recommended.”

  “You think they sprinkle mojo powder in the cookie dough to weaken my mind?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Thomas eyeballed the cookie. Looked like a normal store-bought one.

  Down the hatch.

  The door at the front of the room opened. A man stepped inside, followed by another. Both were dressed casually in khakis and button-downs. Sleeves rolled to their elbows and reserved smiles on their faces. A couple of good ol’ George W types.

  Neither of the men was Adam.

  A third man emerged and stuck to the side wall, leaning back against it. Military short hair, intense eyes that sized up everyone in the room, a tattoo on his lower left arm. Jacob Warren, Adam’s right-hand man. Thomas automatically scanned the man’s outline. No tell-tale bulges under his clothes…he appeared unarmed.

  Of course, iChurch wanted to be seen as peaceful. Wouldn’t do to have a member walking around with a weapon.

  “Friends,” the first George W lookalike said, spreading his arms. “Thank you for visiting our home tonight. Heaven’s Gate and iChurch are delighted to have you. Counselors are available. Help yourself to the food and drinks, or if you just need a quiet place to contemplate your life and meditate on why God brought you here, you can do that too. Let me make one thing clear, iChurch is nondenominational. We welcome all who are diligent in heart, regardless of age, ethnicity, economic status, or religious preference. All those who seek truth are our friends, and we open our arms, and our home, to you.”

  Several women entered, carrying white packets. One of them was Melanie. She gave Ronni and Thomas a small wave.

  The man continued to speak while his companions passed out the packets and pens. Inside were brochures. Financial Woes Solved in Three Easy Steps. How to Know When Your Marriage Can’t Be Saved. A few religious tracts. A personal intake form to help those in charge “match you up with the right counselor!” Smiley face.

  God help us.

  It was all so smooth, so innocent. A cult disguised as Match.com. Just some Good Samaritans helping you out while they gained intel on you, your finances, your family or lack thereof. While appearing to be useful to you, they were, in essence, trying to figure out if you could be useful to them.

  And those who weren’t? Bye, bye. Sayonara. Don’t let the iChurch gate hit you in the ass on your way out.

  As people accepted pens and went to work on the forms, Thomas fingered his and gave Ronni a look. Do we fill this shit out?

  She handed him a pen.

  Thomas Lane. He printed his fake name, the one Dyer had backstopped, and wrote a couple of bullshit sentences about his guilt and his search for a new job. Even though they’d agreed on his cover story as an FBI analyst, he didn’t fill in that blank. Might be interesting to see if Adam, or one of his followers, did their homework.

  Glancing at Ronni’s form, he noticed hers was mostly blank as well. She’d filled in her name and in the comments section, wrote, “I need to speak with Adam.”

  Short and to the point. Good strategy.

  She stood, took the form to Melly. The woman greeted her with a hug, then read the form. Ronni said something to her and Melanie’s brows crunched in what looked like confusion. A moment later, she disappeared out the door and Ronni returned to her seat.

  The others in attendance were being paired off with iChurch members. Ronni glanced at Jacob and her lips tightened. Thomas followed her line of sight and saw Jacob was watching them.

  Ronni shifted, breaking eye contact and pretending to straighten her shirt. “Might as well get this show on the road. I explained to Melanie that I’m a Wrightsville survivor and Adam will want to see me.”

  “Okay, then.” Thomas watched as the kid with the dog was escorted out of the room by the guy who’d given the welcome speech. Did that mean he was accepted or getting the boot? “Guess we wait, then.”

  They waited. And waited.

  A few of the other visitors were also escorted out the door at the front of the room. Those left slowly trickled out the back after their counseling sessions. Two hours later, the man who’d given the welcome speech returned, without the kid, and thanked those left for coming. Thomas, Ronni, and one other woman were the only ones still there.

  The coffee urn and cookie plate disappeared. Ronni stood and looked around. “Wait,” she said to the welcoming committee. “I need to talk to Adam.”

  The man paused at the front of the room, hand on the doorknob. “I’m afraid Adam isn’t here.” He smiled and nodded at both of them, motioning at his male cohort folding up the chairs in the front row. “Lance, will you please see our guests out?”

  What? Thomas started forward. “Now, look here…”

  He felt a hand on his forearm, reining him in. “Thank you, but we’ll show ourselves out,” Ronni said, iron in her voice.

  She grabbed Thomas’s hand, picked up her purse, and jerked him toward the back door.

  Outside, the night air was cool on his face. He didn’t say a word until they were in the car, back on the highway. Ronni stared straight ahead, silent. But the fact she gripped the steering wheel at ten and two and was doing ninety told him all he needed to know.

  The top was down and the wind cut through his hair as he stared at the desert flying by on both sides. “Well, that was a waste of time.”

  Over the sound of the rushing wind, Ronni’s phone rang from inside her purse. “See who it is,” she said.

  He dug past her wallet and a bunch of other stuff until he found the smartphone. Caller ID read “private number”.

  “Must be your boyfriend,” he said, holding the phone up so she could see it.

  Her lips parted in a smile. “Not my boyfriend.” Taking the phone, she thumbed the ignore button. “Adam.”

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  “He wants to play games? He can leave a message.”

  Chapter Ten

  Adam didn’t leave a message.

  Ronni paced the room where she’d met with Dupé and the SCVC taskforce the previous day. Thomas had texted Cooper to meet them there, and even though it was late, the Terminator was on his way.

  Murphy strikes again. Had it been someone else calling from a private line and not Adam?

  No. She knew it was him.

  How did he get my number?

  Thomas was down the hall, locating a pop machine. The coffee at the meeting hadn’t done the trick—he needed a Mountain Dew.

  Ronni needed a replay.

  No one with a private number called her on her FBI-issued phone except her old boss back in Des Moines and Victor Dupé. Either man would have left a message. It was possible the call was random—a wrong number—but her gut said no. Adam was testing her. Rejecting her at the meeting, only to turn around and make their first engagement
on his terms by calling her.

  So like Daniel.

  But she hadn’t answered, foiling his plan.

  Wrong move. Should have answered.

  Thomas strutted in, a pop in one hand and a bag of pretzels in the other. The man never stopped eating and drinking. “You don’t know it was him,” he said, seeming to read her chaotic mind. “Stop beating yourself up. Dyer’s tracing the call. Might have been a spammer.”

  Ronni stopped in front of the window. The night was dark, clouds rolling in. In the parking lot, two cars—hers and another—sat under solar-powered LED lights. “It was him.”

  “Why’d he ignore you at the meeting?”

  “I surprised him. Those who believe they’re divine set the rules and control every situation in their favor. Surprises aren’t allowed.”

  Thomas sat on the table, munched on a pretzel. “But you saved his life and he hasn’t seen you in twenty years. You’d think he’d at least be curious.”

  “He was only three at the time of the siege and probably doesn’t remember me. Plus, he may have been told a different story about his survival during his deprogramming.”

  “Whoever deprogrammed him did a shitty job.”

  No kidding. “Power, control, manipulation. The keys to being a cult leader. By ignoring me at the meeting and then calling me afterwards, he was establishing his dominance.”

  A rude snicker. “Will he call back?”

  “I don’t know.” A car pulled in next to hers. “Cooper’s here.”

  “Good. Maybe he’s got something from Dyer.”

  A minute later, Cooper strode in, flinging a sheet of paper on the table. “How did Adam get your number?”

  Ronni glanced at the paper, saw a call log and a handwritten note from Dyer stating the call had indeed originated from the farm. Her number and the call were highlighted in yellow. How did Adam get her private phone number? “I didn’t give to him. All I filled in on my info sheet was my name and a message saying I needed to see Adam.”

  “I thought maybe you gave your number to Melly when you talked to her,” Thomas said.

  “Melly?” Cooper braced his hands on a chair back and leaned in. He didn’t look happy.

  “Melanie Rooters.” Ronni fished the woman’s business card from her purse. “She claims Adam saved her hair and nail salon from bankruptcy. Records show they’re co-owners.”

  Cooper took the card. “I’ll have Dyer check into it. Meanwhile, do we still have a chance at getting you in?”

  The question of the hour. “He’ll call back.”

  “You’re sure?”

  No. “He’s cautious but curiosity will get the best of him. He’ll want to see me, relive old times, and find out why the hell I’m trying to get in contact with him after all these years.”

  She sounded more confident than she felt, but the art of bluffing had become second nature during therapy. How do you feel? Fine. How is work? Fine. Are you sleeping? Like a baby.

  Lies, lies, lies.

  “All right.” Cooper glanced at his watch. “Let’s all go home and get some rest. We’ll regroup in the morning.”

  She was too keyed up to rest. Thomas seemed to understand. “You go on home. I owe Ronni a drink. I’ll make sure she gets to your place safe and sound.”

  Cooper’s focus went from Thomas to her and back. He started to say something, called back whatever was on his tongue. “Keep your guard up. We don’t know what this guy is capable of.”

  I do, she wanted to say. Adam was handsome, charming, and socially savvy. And if he was like most cult leaders, he was also abusive, cruel, and untrustworthy. But all she needed was proof he was engaged in criminal activities—the kind of activities that would put him in jail for life.

  “You got it, boss.” Thomas hopped up from his chair and he and Cooper exchanged some kind of crazy handshake-back pat thing. Cooper left, and Thomas snagged his Dew. “Let’s roll.”

  “You don’t owe me a drink.”

  “I got something better in mind.”

  Sounded dangerous. “Like what?”

  He cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “Come with me and find out.”

  Wary, Ronni nevertheless felt that tingle at the base of her spine. A second after he disappeared out the door, she grabbed her bag and followed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You shoot like a girl.” Thomas stood behind her shoulder, eyeing her target.

  The indoor gun range was deserted and kind of creepy. They both wore ear protection and mics so they could talk to each other without yelling. Thomas had said it would do her good to blow off some steam. Ronni suspected he wanted to check her accuracy with a gun.

  It was a new partner thing. She’d done the same to Celina back in Des Moines.

  She also suspected from the amused look on Thomas’s face, he wanted to find something to give her grief about.

  Big surprise.

  “You need your eyes examined.” She nailed the male target in front of her three times in the head and laid a cluster of four shots into the fake guy’s heart. Her reaction time was slower than it used to be, but her aim was accurate.

  Thomas stepped into the next booth over and fired at his target. Bam, bam, bam, bam. Double tap to the head, two to the heart. His accuracy was as good as hers. His firing time, faster.

  He has bigger hands. Stronger hands. Of course he can fire faster. His gun recoils quicker.

  But it wasn’t that. Her fingers trembled as she reloaded.

  “I’m telling you.” His voice sounded tinny from the headphones. “You shoot like my little sister. Slow and deliberate. You think too much.”

  She’d never shot anyone. Hoped she’d never be forced to. But she took the monthly training like all agents and passed every test. “Thinking is part of not shooting the wrong person.”

  “You scared?”

  “Of shooting the wrong person? Absolutely.”

  “Of shooting anyone.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a trained FBI agent. It’s part of my job.”

  Thomas stuck his head around the partition, removed his headphones. “Then shoot like you mean it. You think about it, hesitate for even a second too long in the field, you’ll end up dead.”

  He was going to school her now in shooting? Incensed, Ronni chambered a round and pointed the Glock at a fresh target. Shoot like you mean it.

  Her finger felt slippery on the trigger, breath locked in her chest. Taking aim, she shut down the voices in her head. Hers. Thomas’s. Everyone’s.

  Shooting used to be easy. She could tune out the noise in her head. It relaxed her. Now, it was different. She had to focus too hard on the target. Force the white noise in her head to fade into the background.

  Deep breath in. Let it out halfway. Hold…

  Bam, bam, bam.

  Quick, efficient, and right where she intended. Satisfied with the results, she smiled, laid down the Glock, and took off the ear protection.

  Thomas stepped behind her right shoulder, whistled low under his breath and frowned. “What do you call that?”

  Ronni flicked the switch to pull in the paper target. As it drew closer, she inspected her handiwork…three holes blown into the fake guy’s groin.

  Snapping the target off its clips, she handed it to him. “I call that shooting like a girl.”

  His lips quirked.

  “Any other tests you want to put me through?”

  The quirk drooped. “Tests?”

  “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You think I’ll break under pressure. Leave you hanging or get you killed?”

  He dropped his chin, rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. So sexy. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Unbelievable.”

  “What?”

  “Do you ever lighten up? Let yourself have a little fun?”

  I used to. “This is fun?”

  He saw her confusion. “I brought you here because you were stewing over Adam’s rejection.” His intense blue eyes stared u
nblinking. One hundred percent sincere. “You’re a basket of anxiety.”

  Didn’t she know it. “And that shooting like a girl and hesitate in the field and you’re dead lecture?”

  He grinned again. That grin made her feel alive. “Took your mind off Adam, didn’t it?”

  Bastard. “I wasn’t stewing.”

  “The hell you weren’t.”

  She returned her gun to its holster, pushed past him, and grabbed her jacket off a nearby chair. Fun. She’d actually been having fun for the past few minutes, but now… “I’m calling it a night.”

  “Aren’t you going to clean your gun?”

  “Not now.”

  “It’s after midnight.” The tone in his voice suggested midnight was a time for wildness. Recklessness. Fun like she hadn’t had in a good while. “Long drive to Carlsbad.”

  She understood the words, understood the meaning floating behind them. She shoved her arms in her jacket, ignoring the adrenaline tripping her heart into a faster rhythm. “You’re the one who kept me out this late.”

  “Exactly. I thought you’d enjoy this excursion and you didn’t. Crash at my place. I’ll make it up to you.”

  His place. Tonight. Temptation. She glanced over her shoulder, and damn, there were those eyes. All that sincerity. Her legs felt a little weak. She licked her lips.

  And then she saw something more in those blue depths…something that snuffed out her libido as fast as his charm had ignited it.

  Guilt.

  Dammit. Could he not leave the past where it belonged? She was trying so hard not to remember that night in Des Moines every time she looked at him.

  Taking the first step…that was the hardest part. She needed to trust him. He needed to release his guilt. Letting down her defenses wasn’t easy. Having fun—the kind he was promising in that smile—was a big first step.

  What to do? Play his game. “I might consider it if you agree to stop teasing, harassing, and yanking my chain.”

  In Des Moines, he’d been dangerous to get close to. Still was. “That’s asking a lot.”

  His teasing and harassment had grown on her. She didn’t really want him to stop. It would be too easy to let the lust between them flare to life. “Forget it then.”