by Evans, Misty
She seemed to need the distraction from her kitchen discussion with Lance, so Thomas moved furniture out of her way as she walked the machine back and forth across the rug. Parts of the rug were so threadbare, he wasn’t sure the vacuum was actually picking up much, but at least the motor was running.
Lance appeared in the doorway and took over the moving of furniture. Thomas took that as his cue to disappear.
He ran into Adam on his way out back to clean up his mess and return the silicone to the toolshed. The man was dressed in khakis and a polo, a bible in one hand, and a briefcase in the other. “I’m off to the bank,” he said, heading for the front door. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck,” Thomas called, wondering what the guy was talking to the bank about.
Outside the screen door, Jacob brought up a car for Adam. The Caddie he and Ronni had seen the night outside the shooting range. They drove off down the gravel road, raising dust.
“I talked him into asking for a loan,” Ronni said from behind Thomas.
She stood halfway up the stairs, strands of hair pulled loose from her tight bun. “A short-term loan to purchase a used tractor I saw on one of the organic farms machine sites. Adam let me use his computer this morning to look for the heating element and once I found that, I suggested he let me find him a used tractor. He can get the one I located for a song from another farmer near San Fran, and repay the bank when the holiday profits come in.”
Thomas frowned. She sounded like she thought Adam would still be there at Christmas.
“Recognize the car Jacob was driving?”
“I do. Adam mentioned earlier that people and families often donate cars and other items to him when they join the community.”
“You really think that’s where that car came from?”
“What I think is irrelevant.” Her voice was steady. “I’m only suggesting there could be more than one reason Adam has a car registered to a dead man here at the farm.”
Lance had closed the living room’s pocket doors and he and Kristine’s voices had raised enough, Thomas could hear them. Melly was gone. Adam and his bodyguard were gone. Kristine was distracted. Everyone else was in the work barns, fields, or orchard.
Thomas climbed the stairs and dropped his voice as he stopped one stair down from Ronni, putting his face near hers. “Good time to check his office.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “I stole the key to unlock the door and double checked everything for cameras. None anywhere.”
He sighed in relief. She was still on track. “Good,” he said. “Lead the way.”
Adam’s office was bright with afternoon sun spilling from the floor-to-ceiling windows. There were file cabinets, a big, wooden desk, lots of book shelves. They scanned for bugs and security cameras, came up empty-handed again. Ronni headed for the file cabinets. Thomas took the computer.
From his pocket, he took a small USB drive and plugged it into the computer. He scanned files, saw nothing but sermons, videos, and folders with information for the church’s website and Facebook page. Other folders and files contained spreadsheets relating to the farm crops, machinery, inventory, and a catalog Adam and Melanie were designing with organic product information. There were no hidden or password-protected files.
Thomas copied the files to the USB anyway, and while the computer whirled and downloaded, he checked the desk’s contents. The bottom file drawer on the right was locked. He searched the pencil drawer for the key and came up empty-handed. He ran a hand under the drawer, removed it, and checked under the desk. No key.
The other drawers contained basic office supplies and some files on the farm’s crops. “I got nothing,” he said to Ronni, checking out the windows and listening for any sounds of movement in the house. All clear. “You?”
Her brows were drawn down in concentration, her full lips pursed. “Files on the community members, past taxes, the deed to the property…and not much else.”
“No keys?”
“No, why?”
Thomas pointed to the desk drawer. “Locked.”
Ronni closed the file drawer and walked over to the desk, eyeing the drawer. She removed a hair pin from her bun. “Give me a minute.”
“You pick locks? With a hair pin?”
Her dark eyes met his, skated away. “You fix tractors, I pick locks, and yes, I can pick one with a metal bobby pin.”
He kept one eye on her and one on the computer as he made his way around the room looking for a safe. The obvious hiding places revealed nothing of interest. “Where does he keep the money?”
“What money?” She’d dropped to her knees to gain better access to the lock. Her hips and backside beckoned to him. What he wouldn’t give to bend her over the desk and…
“Thomas?” A section of hair had fallen over her shoulder. She turned her head, saw him staring at her ass, and snapped her fingers, interrupting his lascivious daydream. “What money?”
Dragging his gaze away, he checked outside again for any signs that someone was looking for him or heading toward the house. He could see most of the northeast side of the farm from here. To the west, storm clouds were piling up on top of each other. “Petty cash, cash profits from sales, cash donations to iChurch, cash for the pharmaceuticals and guns he’s buying. There has to be cash here somewhere.”
“Or maybe there isn’t.”
He glanced at her, shook his head. “Ronni, we know he’s dealing in drugs and weapons. There has to be large sums of cash on this farm. Adam’s office is the most likely place.”
The drawer popped open. “Bingo.”
Thomas crossed the floor in two strides to peer over her head into the drawer.
She sat back on her heels. “Damn.”
It wasn’t a safe or a box of cash. The drawer contained a large blue scrapbook. A child’s bible. A stack of newspaper clippings held together with a paperclip.
At first glance, Thomas saw “Wrightsville” and “Siege” headlining the clippings. Ronni moved those out of the way, uncovering a Time magazine cover that screamed “Tragedy in Wrightsville”. Daniel Karsni’s face, pointed toward Heaven, was surrounded by fire.
She read the quote on the front. “‘His name was Death, and Hell followed with him. Revelation 6:8.’”
Her fingers trembled and she set the magazine aside with the clippings. Lifting the small bible, she cracked open the cover. Inside, a child’s handwriting read Roanna.
“I thought it was destroyed in the fire with the rest of my things.” She stroked the worn cover. “Daniel gave it to me when my mom and I arrived at Mount Royal.”
Next she pulled out the scrapbook. Thomas expected to see more press clippings about Daniel, but when Ronni flipped past the blank first page, his mouth went dry.
A picture of her was front and center. She was a girl in the picture, but he’d know those big brown eyes and wild ringlets anywhere. She flipped to the next page and there were more photos…a history of her growing up. School pictures. Her high school graduation. Her induction into the FBI.
Another page had handwritten entries. There were two columns about…Thomas squinted. Open Cases read the heading of one column with a series of names and dates under it. Closed Cases read a second with checkmarks and Xs.
Holy shit. Adam had tracked her FBI cases.
How was that possible?
The realization dawned on Ronni at the same time. “This is confidential information. How did he access it?”
“Could he have hacked into the Bureau’s files?”
“He’s computer savvy with social media, but nothing in his background indicates he has those kinds of skills.”
“It’s either that or someone inside the Bureau gave him the information.”
Ronni’s lips set in a grim line. She glanced up. “A mole inside the FBI?”
Thomas shrugged. Stranger things had happened. “Could he have a follower inside?”
Her face told him she thought it was entirely possible.
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She turned another page and sucked in her breath. Taped to the page was an article from the Des Moines Register about the hunt for Petero Valquis and Emilio Londano. A mention of the injured and murdered agents left in their wake was highlighted. Under it, Adam had written “Roanna?” and next to that, he’d penciled in dates and notes: “serious condition”, “in surgery”, “stable”.
“He kept track of my condition after Valquis knifed me.” Ronni’s voice was low, fragile. “They wouldn’t give out that information to anyone but my supervisor.”
“Or family,” Thomas said. “But Adam would have had to prove he was your brother before the FBI would have let him access your condition since it involved an ongoing case at that time. So we’re back to there’s a possible informant inside the Bureau.”
She closed the book. “He stalked me while I was in the hospital.”
“Looks like it.”
She’d warned Dupé and the taskforce about Adam’s reach via church members. Seemed she’d been right.
A shudder ran through her. “I think I’m officially freaked out.”
“You should be.”
“On the other hand, I have a fairly comprehensive file on him as well. Maybe it’s not all that surprising that he followed my progress through the years. Kept an eye on me.”
“A case file is different. You’re an FBI agent, and he’s under investigation. If he was keeping tabs on you, it was because he deemed you the enemy and he was preparing for your return.”
“I’m his sister. People keep scrapbooks of family members all the time.”
There she went, defending the bastard again. He pointed at the book. “That’s not a normal scrapbook and you know it.”
She bit her bottom lip. “It’s definitely weird.”
Weird? This was fucking nuts. Thomas wanted to wring the guy’s neck and throw him in jail—where he couldn’t hurt Ronni—for a very long time. The guy was a threat, even more so because Ronni couldn’t see it.
Reining in his desire to punch the wall, Thomas took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His nerves were buzzing, adrenaline making him want to grab her and haul ass away from the farm. Take her somewhere safe. Away from this freak show.
But she wasn’t ready to hear that. “Putting that aside for the moment, if he’s got an inside source or a hacker feeding him info, he knows about our undercover op.”
“Shit.” She flipped back to the Open Cases page. “Operation Truth isn’t listed, so maybe he doesn’t. And I know he believes we’re here because we want to be. I’ve made that very clear.”
Downstairs, Lance and Kristine’s discussion had hit the red zone. Their angry voices rose through the heating pipes.
“We can’t take that chance.” Thomas ran a hand over his face. He’d forgotten to shave that morning. “I need to talk to Coop. The op is dead if there’s a mole inside the FBI. That’s why we haven’t found anything. Adam shut down his criminal enterprise before your plane touched down. He moved the guns, the cash, everything, and hid them.”
Ronni shut the scrapbook. “I don’t believe that. I would know if he was—”
A door slammed below. Thomas hurried to the window. “Lance. He’s heading for the barn. We should get out of here.”
Thomas cracked open the office door to keep an eye on the stairs as Ronni replaced the scrapbook, bible, and clippings. He listened for footsteps, but the only sound he heard was Kristine crying below.
If she was upset, she’d head for her bedroom. Could they get down the stairs before she came up them? Thomas checked over his shoulder, saw Ronni relock the desk drawer. He cocked his head at the door on the other side of the room. “What’s through there?” he whispered.
She followed his gaze. “Adam’s bedroom.”
The one place they hadn’t checked.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs. Kristine.
Thomas eased the office door shut, motioned for Ronni to follow him into the other room. The door between the office and bedroom was unlocked. They slipped inside.
The room was small, chaotic. The curtains were drawn over the windows, keeping the double bed and dresser in shadows. A nightstand held a lamp. Thomas flicked it on.
The bedspread was half off the bed, the pillows jumbled. Clothes littered the floor. On top of the nightstand was an assortment of pill bottles. “What do we have here?”
Ronni reached for a couple at the same time he did. Muscle relaxants. Oxycodone. Anti-depressants. Migraine medicine. Lithium.
A regular pharmacy.
They exchanged a look. Down the hall, they heard Kristine enter her bedroom and shut the door. Silent communication passed between them. They’d discuss their findings later that night at the orchard meeting.
Thomas set down the pill bottles, headed for the closet. Ronni dropped to her knees to check under the bed.
On the top shelf of the closet, Thomas found a safe. It was small, the size of a two shoeboxes put together. Not enough to hold a lot of cash, but maybe enough.
The guy’s wardrobe was minimal. His shoes as well.
Back in the room, Ronni had pulled a long, slender case from under the bed. Before she opened it, Thomas knew what it was. Rifle.
He’d seen plenty of rifles in the field. Carried one a few times.
Dropping beside Ronni, he opened the case.
“Shit,” Ronni swore under her breath. She was saying that a lot today. “Colt M4 carbine.”
A popular weapon around the world. American troops used them. Sportsmen and hunters used them. Thomas had to remind himself that one rifle did not prove Adam was stockpiling guns.
A few pill bottles of narcotics and antidepressants didn’t prove he was obtaining illegal prescription drugs from Mexico.
And a scrapbook detailing Ronni’s FBI cases did not prove he was a crazy whacko.
But added all together, the different elements had the warning siren in his head blaring loud and clear. His gut told him it was time to shut down the op and bail. Ronni’s life was in danger.
But his head said he needed to nail this bastard once and for all.
He shut the case, shoved it under the bed. Took Ronni’s hand and drew her behind him to the door. He peeked out, made sure the coast was clear, then kissed Ronni on the lips. “Meet me tonight as scheduled,” he murmured in her ear. “Until then, whatever you do, do not trust your brother.”
She gave one quick nod and they both slipped out the bedroom door. He left her at the top of the staircase and went on the hunt for the evidence he needed.
Chapter Twenty-two
The hours dragged by, old memories aggravating Ronni, and new ones prickling at her heart. Adam was taking a boatload of medications, some of which suggested he was bipolar. None of her research through the years had turned up that little fact.
Maybe it isn’t his. None of the bottles had prescription labels on them. They could have belonged to someone else.
Right. And she was Alice living in Wonderland.
She’d convinced herself after meeting Adam and seeing the farm that there was nothing illegal going on here. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Outside of his religious ideologies, her brother seemed fairly normal. He’d created a safe place for the lost and alone here. He’d welcomed her with open arms, and even though he hadn’t fully trusted her or Thomas when they first arrived, they’d easily won him over.
Too easily?
The scrapbook’s contents surfaced over and over again in her mind. That, out of everything, bothered her the most. Had Adam been stalking her all these years? Keeping tabs on her like Thomas said?
The old paranoia she’d buried raised its head. She stayed in her room, trying to make sense of what she’d uncovered. Late in the afternoon, Adam still hadn’t returned, and Kristine hadn’t made a peep, so Ronni went for a walk. Without Adam by her side, she could focus on watching the others. She stopped in one of the barns, talked to some of the women making lavender soaps. They all spoke freely
and shared lighthearted gossip, but none of it threw a negative light on Adam. None of it suggested there was anything secretive going on at the farm.
Thomas was right. Their undercover op might have been compromised. Adam and his followers might be fooling her. But what if they weren’t? Doubts lingered.
She made her way to the honey house. Lance was nowhere to be seen. She admired the glass jars of honey sitting on the shelves, then moved on.
What if Adam was bipolar? That didn’t make him a criminal. Keeping a rifle under his bed didn’t either. Plenty of farmers kept guns to defend themselves and their livestock against wild animals.
Walking back to the house, she saw Adam and Jacob arrive. Adam wore a frown and didn’t say a word as he passed her and went into the house.
The bank must have said no. Ronni’s heart squeezed a little. She couldn’t help it. He was her little brother. Things had never gone his way. She wished something for once would.
At the three o’clock bible study, he still wasn’t himself. He paced the stage, read scriptures, and told jokes, and yet it was forced. The congregation ate it up, even when he stormed and stomped across the platform, pretending to be Daniel fighting the mighty Goliath. The story was a welcome change from the previous day’s Revelation passages.
Kristine and her daughter, Paige, sat in their usual seats next to Ronni. Paige again watched Ronni with a curious eye. Kristine didn’t bother to correct her. Lance sat with a group of men, his eyes sharp and livid on Adam.
Melanie was absent. Working hard at the salon no doubt. Ronni wondered how she kept up both places. And kept her constant genial attitude. What did she get out of being Adam’s housekeeper, cook, and business manager? Maybe she was just grateful to Adam for saving the salon and her parents’ farm, but Ronni figured Thomas was right. It was unrequited love.
The salon. Money passed through there every day. Was it possible guns and illegal drugs also passed through there?
Ronni looked around for Thomas. She couldn’t see him. Her nerves fired under her skin. Why wasn’t he there?
