Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce)

by Evans, Misty

  Grease covered his arms and the new shirt she’d made him buy for his FBI agent persona was a mess. An interesting dichotomy, this man. One minute he could fit the stereotype of a homeless person and the next he would be Boy Scout wholesome.

  Where would that last kiss have led if we hadn’t been interrupted?

  More important, when could she kiss him again?

  Not any time soon, if they stayed separated. Melanie had told her about the separate men’s and women’s quarters, and since Ronni was staying in the main house with Adam and Thomas was in quarantine, she wouldn’t see him, except apparently at bible studies.

  But if he could revive the tractor and oven…maybe, just maybe, Adam would find him useful enough to let him out of quarantine.

  A few days…that’s all we need to find the guns, uncover Adam’s plan.

  If there was a plan against the government. It had only been a few hours, but Ronni had so far seen nothing to implicate snipers, guns, teargas, or any other evidence.

  Adam touched her elbow. “Shall we?”

  As they broke away, Ronni noticed Jacob following a discreet distance behind them. A bodyguard? Did Adam not trust her yet?

  “Big place,” she said. The coonhound trailed behind them, too, sniffing at various things along the ground. “Sounds like the organic farm is doing well.”

  “It’s been two years since I bought the place from Melanie’s stepfather. He was ready to retire, tired of trying to run the place on his own. Everything was in shambles. The citrus trees were dying. Wildflowers were taking over the pasture. The house needed major repairs.” He smiled. “I saw past all of that, knowing it could be a grand place again. It was my little piece of heaven. My first real home.”

  He led her to field of lavender. Bees buzzed on the blooming flowers that had not yet been cut. Ronni bent down, ran her hand over the leaves of the nearest plant, sniffed. The enticing smell calmed her nerves. “It’s very peaceful.”

  “I put all of my savings into restoring one section at a time. Friends and fellow believers began trickling in, many bringing skills I didn’t possess. Every member of the community works hard. We exist on a slim profit margin, but as you heard, it’s growing.”

  “Do all of them have outside jobs like Melanie?”

  “No.” He walked toward the orchard. The sky was clear and bright blue above the tree tops. “Melanie is an exception.”

  “Why?”

  He stopped under an orange tree and plucked an orange from a low hanging branch. Digging a fingernail into the rind, he peeled it. “Melanie can handle the outside pressures of running her salon and still manage the farm’s organic business. She’s our contact for the produce and gifts we supply to retailers. She has connections that need to be fostered, and many of those connections pass through her hair salon.”

  Potential converts as well.

  Jacob was nowhere to be seen, but she could feel his presence. “Who takes cares of the bees? The honey on my bread this afternoon was delicious.”

  “Mysterious and dangerous little creatures, bees.” Adam handed her a slice of orange and slipped a second into his mouth and chewed. “Very industrious. Sometimes feared. They need special handling, a beekeeper who understands them.”

  Beekeeper, cult leader. Another similarity.

  Adam handed her another slice of orange. The fruit was flavorful and sweet. “One of our members and his wife were backyard beekeepers in Los Angeles before moving to the farm. You met them at the bible study. Lance and Kristine? Their daughter, Paige, sat next to you.”

  Aha. “She’s a beautiful child.” And not my niece. There was some comfort in that. Kristine had been polite but reserved. Lance had been gruff, but Ronni had sensed it was more toward Adam than her.

  “They arrived last year, and their hive has become a crucial part of our success. The bees pollinate the herbs and fruit trees, produce honey, and keep our ecosystem in balance without the use of chemicals or fertilizers.”

  Adam led her out of the orchard and began a tour of the buildings. The first was a single story, rectangular structure that housed the men’s quarters. Single rooms with single beds. A kitchen and a rec room. Everything was simple and conservative, except in the rec room. A giant flat screen dominated one wall. An assortment of computers ran alongside the opposite wall. In the center, a pool table sat, balls racked and ready. Off to the side was a foosball table.

  “Quite the bachelor pad,” Ronni commented.

  “The men get restless,” was Adam’s reply.

  Next they visited the women’s quarters. A repeat of the men’s, except the craftier women had hung curtains on all the windows and added quilts to their beds. Wildflowers and herbs filled vases here and there. The rec room contained a library of fiction and poetry along with a modest TV and sound system. In one corner, several sewing machines were in use, and a hub of work tables sat in the center of the room. One held supplies for basket weaving. Another for paper crafts—Christmas cards were in the works. Yet another contained beaded jewelry in various stages of completion and stacks of braided bracelets.

  While the men were restless, the women were industrious.

  Like the bees.

  One thing kept nagging her. “So who lives in the house with you?”

  “Kristine takes care of the house maintenance and Melanie likes to cook, and they stay at the house. A few other women occasionally help them with certain projects or assist me with various things.”

  Like sex? “No men, huh?”

  “Jacob is in charge of the men’s quarters, but he has full access to the house and has a room of his own. He’s handy with many things, including the electrical and plumbing.”

  “Old house probably has lots of issues like that.”

  “Yes.” He showed her to the door. They left the women’s quarters, inspected a smaller building designed for the organic produce storage and packaging. “We sell food to an organic foods chain here in Southern California,” Adam explained. “And weekly, we have five groups of ten members who attend larger farmer’s markets between here and L.A.”

  Next, they visited a small greenhouse, then at the far corner of the property, Adam pointed out the bee hives. He seemed fascinated with the small insects and talked about the decreases in bee populations due to fertilizers and chemicals. He was a good steward of the land, just like the Bible instructed.

  As they headed toward the back field, he strolled at a leisurely pace. At times, the dog would catch up to them and rub against Adam’s leg looking for a pat. The wind picked up and clouds moved in. “I’m sure you already know a great deal about me and my followers.”

  A good FBI agent always did her homework. “The place is amazing, Adam. I can’t believe all you’ve accomplished in such a short time. I’m so proud of you.”

  It wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “My followers have contributed much. Both donation-wise and through their industrious work habits.” Satisfaction lit his face. “Those who live in the light always find their true path.”

  The perfect opening for her. “That’s why I’m here. To find my true path. The Bureau isn’t it.”

  “Do you need to check in now?”

  “Sorry?”

  “With whoever sent you here?” He glanced over his shoulder. Looking for his bodyguard? “You’ve seen Heaven’s Gate. Attended one of my sermons. You’ve met most of the people who live here. There are no criminal activities going on, which is why I assume your bosses sent you. To check us out. You’re free to call them and report what you’ve found, or have not found in this case.”

  Damn. “I’m here because I want to be. I wanted to see you.” That wasn’t really a rebuttal, but she found it harder and harder to lie to him. You don’t have a choice. “This is not an assignment.”

  He held her eyes for a long moment, then began walking again.

  He doesn’t believe me.

  Soon they stood at the edge of the small pasture. Adam watched the cows, so
Ronni did as well, wondering what was running through his mind. A couple of the cows stared back, swinging their tails in lazy arcs.

  Adam leaned on the wooden rail fence, one foot on the bottom rail, hands clasped as he set his elbows on the top one. “I’ve shared much with you. Now I need you to tell me something. I desire the truth, so please don’t make things up.”

  Busted.

  But she was trained to lie. Trained to separate her emotions and feelings from the operation.

  Only…she’d never been in this kind of situation before. Never had to lie to someone she not only liked, but was linked to by blood.

  She swallowed hard, kept her gaze pinned on a young calf frolicking around his mother’s feet. This place had charmed her. Adam and his group had charmed her. If she wasn’t careful, she’d spill her guts.

  Not going to happen. “What is it you want to know?”

  “Tell me about my father.”

  The request brought her up short. “Wha…what?”

  “Daniel. Tell me about him.”

  His voice had a wistful, almost lost tone. The little boy was back. The boy whose father had been killed before he even got to know him.

  “What was he like?” Adam glanced at her, his face full of anticipation. “In the everyday world. I’ve seen his taped sermons, heard him preach on those videos. But…what was he like when he was eating breakfast or building things at the compound?”

  She stood rigid for a minute, once again feeling the ghosts of the past brush by her as softly as the wind running its fingers through her hair. “Chocolate pancakes…he loved it when my mother made chocolate pancakes, especially for dinner instead of breakfast. Said it was good to shake things up.”

  Adam grinned at her, urged her to go on.

  She didn’t want to go on. The good memories were there, but the bad ones teased at her mind as well. The dark, ugly ones she shoved into the deepest part of her psyche where they couldn’t hurt her any more. Focus on the positive. “He loved music. Loved it. I remember him strumming his guitar and singing to us kids. He laughed and joked around with us whenever…”

  …he wasn’t suffering from depression or figuring out ways to manipulate our mothers.

  “Whenever what?” Adam said.

  Ronni shook her head. The coping mechanisms she’d learned at nine years old had helped her many times. “It was a long time ago.” She turned on her heel and headed toward the house. Anything to break the tension. The tower room jutted above the second floor’s roofline, piercing the sky. “He was a compassionate man, like you. He had his flaws, but he had good traits too.”

  Adam hurried to catch up with her. “Did he love me?”

  She rounded on him. “Of course he did.”

  Adam’s eyes were wide in his face, his features taught. “Why didn’t he send me out with the others? Before the ATF fired on the compound? He had to know the government would attack. That you and I would be in danger.”

  “I don’t know, Adam. I honestly don’t know.”

  “He was willing to sacrifice us. You and me.”

  She’d figured Adam worshipped Daniel. That’s why he’d followed in his footsteps. Now she wasn’t sure. “But, Adam, we lived. We don’t know what Daniel was thinking, but we’re here now, and look at the incredible place you’ve built. All the people you’ve given hope and a new life to.”

  Adam dropped his head, drew close to her. Slowly, he reached for her hand, wound his fingers through hers. “Thank you.”

  Her normal response would be to flinch away from his touch. Instead, she held on to his hand. Brother. “For what?”

  His head came up. “For saving me.”

  She’d barely gotten either of them out alive. In fact, sometimes after she woke from the nightmares, she wondered how she’d managed to fight through the teargas carrying a three year old in her skinny arms.

  Her skin on fire, her eyes stinging. She got to the bus, the teargas hit, and…

  Dammit! Why couldn’t she remember what happened after that? The memory was like a ghost floating in her peripheral vision. If she tried to look straight at it, it disappeared.

  “I’m not sure what happened that day, Adam.” The agents who’d rescued her claimed she’d walked out of the chaos calm and serene, with Adam in tow. “I watched them teargas the bus, heard the sc-sc-screams”—God, she hated it when she stuttered—“of the women and children inside.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. Why couldn’t I have saved them? “Sometimes I wonder if I could have saved them too.”

  Adam took her in his arms, hugged her tight. Her body tensed, unaccustomed to the sensation. But his embrace, his concern over her distress, seemed genuine, his arms comforting. “I know, I know. Such a senseless loss of life. Many are at fault for what happened during the siege, Roanna, but you are not one of them.”

  Forgiveness. It wasn’t his to give and yet the relief knocked her off her feet. Her knees buckled and she sobbed a big, fat, girly sob into his shoulder.

  They stayed that way for several minutes. Her bawling softly, him murmuring words of comfort and rubbing her back. Her sense of propriety came back eventually, and embarrassed, she broke the embrace, wiped her eyes, and gave him a self-conscious smile. “Sorry about that.”

  He offered a white handkerchief, hung an arm around her shoulders, and started them back toward the house. “We have a survivors’ meeting tonight after dinner. I think you’ll find it…healing.”

  Wrightsville survivors. Not all of them, but a few who’d chosen to live together here, a common incident in their past drawing them together once more. “I’d like that.”

  They strolled in comfortable silence. As they neared the backside of the house, they saw a group gathered by the fence. Thomas.

  “Looks like we’re missing the show,” Adam said.

  Great. What had he done now?

  Chapter Twenty

  Two hours after he started, at least half the compound watched Thomas sit in the tractor seat, ready to turn the key.

  He wore grease in his hair and sported quite a bit on the rest of his body. First he’d checked the tractor’s fuel tank. Ralph and Elgin had rolled their eyes at the thought the tractor was simply out of gas, but it paid to start with the obvious. Assured the gas tank was nearly full, Thomas had proceeded to examine other obvious potential issues.

  Right off the bat, he’d noticed a spark plug was loose. The plug connected to the slim, black engine wire and he was able to simply push it back into place.

  Still the tractor wouldn’t start.

  The red solenoid terminal wire had detached. He traced it from the battery to the bolt of the black, rectangular solenoid and reattached it. A few twists with an adjustable wrench and it was good to go.

  By that time, he was dirty enough he decided he might as well change the oil. Couldn’t hurt…and he was putting off cranking the engine. What if it still didn’t start?

  “Got fresh oil?” he asked Elgin.

  “Don’t need no oil change,” the doctor said.

  Buy some time. “When was the last time you changed it?”

  A murmur went through the crowd. Elgin puckered, glanced around. “A few months.”

  Thomas shrugged. “As long as I’m working on it, I can do it for you. Or you can do it next week.”

  Elgin muttered to himself and trudged off to the equipment shed.

  As Thomas positioned a pan under the oil drain, he ran through a mental checklist of engines he’d worked on. Six years had passed since his time in the field, but like riding a bike, a lot came back to him as he worked.

  He unscrewed the drain plug, and while the old oil ran out, he checked the alternator and pistons. For the hell of it, he checked various seals, washers, and bolts.

  Everything was worn, but nothing broken. He took his time with the rest of the oil change, wiped his hands on a rag Wreck-It Ralph provided, and climbed aboard the tractor.

  The worn seat was barely more comfortable than the
chapel pew. All eyes of the crowd focused on him. The air temperature wasn’t cold, but he set the throttle to idle anyway. Turned the plug toggle switch to “on”. Silently counted off twenty seconds in his head. It was a long twenty seconds with everyone silent and watching him.

  On the periphery of the crowd, he caught sight of ringlets. Crazy ringlets blowing in the breeze that had come up while he worked. Ronni and Adam stood apart from the gathered group, Ronni’s face a mixture of anticipation and nerves. Her face was blotchy, and even from this distance, he thought her eyes looked red. Had she been crying?

  A new level of tension knotted his shoulders. What had Adam, the bastard, said to her?

  Ronni smiled at Thomas, and gave him a covert thumbs-up signal. She was okay. At least that’s what she wanted Thomas to believe.

  She nodded once. Do it.

  Gaining Adam’s confidence was one thing. Keeping Ronni’s was another.

  No sense in letting her see his apprehension about the tractor. If this failed, he’d find another way into Adam’s good graces. That would eat up time—time they didn’t necessarily have—but, by God, he’d figure it out.

  Thomas snuffed out the anger burning low in his stomach and winked at her. “Come on, darlin’,” he whispered to the tractor. “Show daddy some love.”

  He cranked the engine, pumping the gas primer. Pump, pump, pump.

  Nothing.

  Pump, pump, pump. Seconds passed. The crowd held its breath.

  Ten seconds stretched to twenty…

  Twenty to twenty-five…

  Shit. He was just about to let go of the starter when varoom, the engine rumbled begrudgingly to life.

  A cheer went up, louder than the tractor’s noise. Women clapped. Men smiled and nodded.

  Thomas grinned and shot a look at Ronni.

  Her face said it all. Relief, joy, and something else. Was she impressed? Hell, yeah.

  Score one for Mann. He’d never impressed a woman by fixing a tractor before, but he’d take the shiny gold star and work it for all it was worth.