by Cari Hunter
“Keep your heads down.” His response was automatic. “If this guy is dangerous and he’s suspended from work, he has a whole lot of time on his hands.”
“Yeah.” That was something she had already considered.
“We are watching them,” he said. He didn’t need to be any more specific; she knew he meant the remaining members of the Deakin family and those from the Church of the Aryan Resistance who had so far escaped criminal charges. His reassurances would have been more effective, though, had he not already told them the outcome of the FBI’s surveillance review meeting three months previously. With no sign of a credible threat, the budget for the surveillance had been reduced in spite of his arguments, leaving it little more than a monthly exercise in checking the criminal records of everyone on the watch list and ensuring they were all still living where they should be.
She rested her head against the receiver for a moment and then forced cheerfulness into her voice.
“Listen, thanks, Mike. It helps just to chat, y’know.”
“No problem, honey. I’ll check in with you in a week or so. I’m gonna make a start on the paperwork, okay? Tell Alex I said hi.”
“I will.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
She didn’t want to hang up, but reluctance to put the onus on him made her end the call. The phone gave a tinny beep as she returned it to its charging unit, and she saw Tilly’s ears prick up.
“Shh, girl, everything’s fine.”
Tilly lay back down, taking her at her word. The absolute trust made Sarah smile sadly; she wished she could be so easily convinced.
*
Lying as still as she could, Sarah listened to Alex mutter unintelligibly in her sleep. A touch on her arm and a few whispered words were all it took to soothe her, and she turned over without waking. Sarah watched the drapes sway in a breeze that didn’t reach the bed and wondered whether this was what people meant when they said they were too tired to sleep. She was too hot, too restless, and no matter how hard she tried not to move, something unreachable would itch as soon as she thought about it. The stark red display of the alarm clock told her that over twenty-four hours had passed since she last slept.
Unable to lie motionless any longer, she inched herself out of bed and wandered into the living room. Three sets of glinting eyes tracked her progress, but none of the animals seemed inclined to leave the sofa. She envied their drowsy, untroubled state. With nowhere comfortable left to sit, she poured herself a glass of water, added ice, and took it out onto the back porch.
She had grown to love the darkness that night in the middle of the forest brought. Above her, there was nothing but a waning moon and the tiny pinpricks of millions of stars. She wrapped a thin blanket around her shoulders, curled up on the bench, and let the coldness of the glass in her hand numb her fingers. Her eyes were growing heavy and her head was beginning to nod when something suddenly flew down from the eaves, its rapid wingbeats so close that she felt them stir her hair. She jumped, making water slosh from the glass. Even when the creature flitted past again and she realized it was a bat, her hand still trembled.
“Jesus,” she whispered. She pulled the blanket closer, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Jesus Christ.”
She looked out across the yard, toward the point where the trees thickened and crowded around the edge of the land she and Alex had cultivated. Leaves and undergrowth rustled as creatures stirred, but she couldn’t see what was moving out there, and the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears quickly obliterated any further noise. Fear made her clumsy; she banged her thigh on the arm of the bench as she stood and turned to go back inside. She shut the porch door behind her, turned the light on in the kitchen, and systematically slid every one of the locks into place. It should have been enough to make her feel safe, but doubt still nagged at the back of her mind. She walked through the living room and stood in front of a painting she and Alex had bought at a market stall in Lhasa. It was a gorgeous, stylized riot of color; they had spent so long trying to arrange for it to be couriered to Ash and Tess in England for safekeeping that they almost missed their train departing. Sarah reached up and removed it from its hook, exposing the safe behind it.
For the first time in months, she entered the four-digit code into the keypad. The lock disengaged with a smooth click and the weight of the safe door swung it open slightly. There were two cases inside, both black and solid with grip handles and individual locks. She slid out the upper case, set it on the table, and unlocked it. The Glock 17 nestled snugly in its molded foam interior, along with two full magazines. She eased the gun from the case and spent several minutes familiarizing herself with its weight and features. Technically, both of the guns belonged to Alex, but soon after they moved to Maine, she had arranged tuition for Sarah at a local shooting range, lessons to which Sarah had agreed with considerable reluctance. Despite the history that she and Alex shared, she was still uneasy having the weapons in the house.
The metal was warm and heavy in her hands, and a memory abruptly assailed her: a sharp recoil that had knocked her onto the floor, the stink of burning and blood, and the sound of a man screaming his hatred at her. She pushed the Glock back into its case and sealed the lock with fumbling fingers. It would make sense to leave the gun out of the safe, to position it somewhere strategic, someplace it would be quick to access, but she couldn’t yet bring herself to acknowledge that that might be necessary. Not until they heard something from Castillo.
She lifted the case back into the safe and reset the combination. Her vision spun drunkenly as she turned around, and she felt cold enough to make her teeth chatter. Touching the edges of the furniture for guidance, she made her way back into the bedroom and eased herself between the sheets. Compared to her own skin, Alex’s fairly blazed with heat, and she snuggled as close as she dared. As if sensing her need, Alex pushed into the curve of her body. Sarah kissed Alex’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
*
Leah had always dreaded this day. At night, praying to a God she was no longer sure even existed, she had begged him to stop this day from ever arriving. Now, the joy on Caleb’s face and the triumph blazing in his eyes served only to confirm her fears: nothing out there was listening to her prayers.
She spilled hot coffee onto her fingers as he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her closer to him. The computer was on, its screen filled with an image of a young woman. Leah bit down on the cut in her lip as she recognized the woman’s face.
“Found the little bitches,” he said.
The woman in the photograph didn’t look like a bitch; she looked happy and proud. The article was from the online edition of a small-town newspaper, and it identified her as Sarah Hayes, a first responder who had helped a local couple to deliver their baby. She had cut and dyed her hair and changed her surname, but she was undoubtedly the same woman whose picture was a permanent fixture on the computer desktop.
“Two for the price of one,” Caleb said, clicking the mouse. The browser loaded a second report from the same newspaper. There was no accompanying photograph this time, just a headline that read: “Local cop injured in warehouse raid.” He tapped his finger on the screen, smearing greasy sweat across the name in the article.
“What are the fucking odds of that?”
He seemed to be expecting Leah to answer, so she smiled and kissed him, tasting blood as his tongue explored her swollen lip.
“Get the gear ready,” he said, spitting her blood onto the floor. “Either they’re fucking idiots, or they haven’t seen this newspaper yet. And I don’t think they’re idiots.”
She nodded mutely, her eyes still skimming the newspaper article. The injured police officer had been named as Alex Hayes.
*
The shower kicked in with its usual sputter and clang. Standing outside the small stall, waiting for the water to run clear and heat up, Alex counted slowly to twenty. She let out her breath as she reached her target. If Sarah had been awake, she
would have been in the bathroom by now, probably brandishing a roll of Saran Wrap to keep Alex’s stitches dry, while simultaneously admonishing her for getting out of bed on her own. All Alex wanted to do was get clean and then eat something more substantial than toast.
She wrapped her arm in a plastic bag and ducked beneath the spray. The warm water made the swollen skin on her face burn at first, but the discomfort eased within a few seconds and she gave a sigh of unalloyed pleasure. She washed herself as thoroughly as she could manage one-handed, but for the most part just allowed the water to sluice away the sweat and dried blood that had been making her skin foul and itchy. When she finally turned the water off and the steam began to clear, her one good eye picked out a small form sitting motionless on the side of the bath. She opened the shower door a crack.
“Before I come out, exactly how much trouble am I in?”
She thought she heard Sarah smother a giggle but couldn’t be sure.
“More than you could possibly imagine, missy.”
“Well then, I’m staying in.”
Sarah came to the shower door and offered her a towel. “Come and get dry, you silly sod.”
Alex turned to let Sarah wrap the towel around her. “You looked so peaceful,” she said, figuring that a good defense was as effective as any offense.
Sarah was still frowning at her, however. “And you could have fainted, or had a dizzy spell and clocked your head again.”
The argument was far too logical to refute. Alex nodded sheepishly, conceding defeat without a fight. She couldn’t help but smile at the Saran Wrap propped against the bathtub, though.
“That would have done a better job than your bag,” Sarah said.
The knot Alex had tied in the plastic bag had worked loose once the water had slickened it, and she could feel how wet the dressing beneath it was.
“Will you be okay getting dressed?” Sarah asked.
Alex nodded.
“And will you let me change that soggy bandage once you’re done?”
Another nod, and Alex pulled the towel tighter around herself. “You mad at me?”
With a sigh, Sarah sat on the closed toilet seat and used the towel to tug Alex toward her. She wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist and kissed her bare midriff. “I’m not mad at you,” she murmured, “but you’ve got to let me fuss over you when you’re not well.”
Alex stroked Sarah’s hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. “You can fuss over me any time.”
“In which case, will you stop getting yourself clobbered?”
“I will definitely try.”
Sarah smiled up at her. “Sweetheart, that’s all I ask.”
*
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Alex recounted the events of the warehouse raid. This time, however, Bill Quinn was the one asking the questions, and she had skipped her pain meds in order to answer them in full. Scott Emerson had apparently accepted full responsibility for what had happened, asking Quinn to offer an apology on his behalf until he could see Alex in person. Unaware of any potential ulterior motive, Quinn had told her he was willing to chalk up the incident to lack of experience and log it as a training need. Alex was disinclined to argue with that; if Emerson were reinstated, at least she would have a better idea of his whereabouts.
She cradled her sore arm as Quinn finally clicked off the small tape recorder. Her head ached and all she wanted to do was sit out in the sunshine with Sarah.
Quinn drained his coffee cup and pushed his chair away from the table.
“I spoke to the doc at Cary,” he said. “He thinks you’ll be good as new in a few days.”
“The sutures can come out next week,” she said, collecting the empty mugs together and setting them in the sink. “You got some paper I can push around till I’m cleared for active duty?”
“Got better than that. There’s a two-day course running over in Crystal: forensics and interview techniques. Starts the day after tomorrow, and I already signed you up.”
Alex shook her head; Crystal was a three-hour drive away, which would have to mean the course was residential.
“Every force was obliged to send an officer, and you’re it.” He held up a hand to stop her from arguing. “It’s fully catered in a hotel,” he added in a tone that implied she should be grateful for the opportunity.
There wasn’t anything she could say. How could she explain that she needed to be here with Sarah, when Quinn knew absolutely nothing of what was going on?
“I have to get back over to Ruby,” he said. “The evidence logging has been a fucking circus. I’ll speak to you in the morning, see how you’re doing.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t need to if you’re that busy.”
“I’ll speak to you in the morning,” he repeated firmly, heading for the door.
She nodded her acquiescence. As soon as Quinn had started his car, she went back into the kitchen and sat at the table. She pushed the local newspaper aside to make space for her to rest her head on her arms.
“Everything okay?” Sarah came in and took the other seat. She had been working in the yard and her hand was gritty with compost when she laid it on Alex’s arm.
“I think Quinn will end Emerson’s suspension in the next day or so,” Alex mumbled against her sleeve.
“Right,” Sarah said slowly, obviously considering the pros and cons. “Would make it easier for you to keep an eye on him.”
“Well, that was my theory.” Alex sat up straight. “But Quinn’s sending me on a two-day residential course starting in Crystal on Thursday. Apparently, he won’t take no for an answer.” She looked at Sarah, trying to gauge her reaction, but her expression gave nothing away.
“We can’t tell him about Emerson,” Sarah said at last. “If we’re wrong, everything we have here will be ruined, and we probably are wrong. I mean, what are the chances he’d have recognized us? Or waited so long to do anything about it?”
“I know.” It was all Alex had been thinking about since waking up that morning. It made so little sense that she had almost phoned Castillo to apologize for wasting his time.
“It’s only two days, Alex.” Sarah sounded brighter, more confident. “And Lyssa will be round for one of them. I’ll be fine.”
Alex nodded, not wanting to imply that Sarah was incapable of looking after herself. She of all people knew how far that was from the truth.
“You can sit here and fret,” Sarah said, “or you can come and see what I’ve been doing in the garden.” She held out her hand, waiting patiently until Alex sighed and took it.
Soil crumbled against Alex’s palm, smearing muck across her fingers. She gripped Sarah’s hand regardless, and followed her out into the yard.
Chapter Six
Caleb had spent most of the day on his cell phone or the computer. Dutifully packing duffel bags with clothes and provisions for the trip, Leah had heard snatches of his conversations and the harsh staccato of his fingers on the keyboard. She had seen him do this before: reach out to contacts, pull together support, resources, and research, find a weak link, a way in. She emptied her glass into the sink as the water she had just drunk settled like a rock in her stomach. Not for the first time, she wished he wasn’t as good at this as his father had been. He had inherited his father’s charisma, too, which meant he had his own followers now, and there was always a weak link out there waiting to be exploited.
She left one bag lying open on the kitchen table, knowing that he would want to pack his own weapons. At some point, while waiting for a call to be returned, he had brought various items from the garage and sorted them into a neat pile. A roll of duct tape, rope, cable ties, and a Taser were now sitting beside the fruit bowl and a half-finished lemon drizzle cake.
Leah had already been sick once that morning; now she felt the familiar roiling start up again. For two years, she had listened to him plot and fantasize, each new idea more elaborate than the last. He had tried to explai
n how there was a greater ambition at work, how doing this would resurrect the fervor his father had inspired in his followers and reunite the disparate members of the church beneath a new banner. She had listened and nodded, and nursed the bruises he gave her when he saw any hint of doubt. Despite his justifications and his idealistic rhetoric, she knew that what really fueled him was the simplest of motives: revenge.
The rattle of the screen door as he came in startled her; she hadn’t heard him go out. He placed a large armored box onto the table and entered a combination on the keypad. As he lifted the lid, the fastidiously cleaned weapons gleamed in the late afternoon sun.
“Got us a contact and a place to stay, baby.”
She nodded, certain that she would scream if she opened her mouth. He had already told her that he needed her as part of his cover. While a lone male might raise suspicions or at least get curious people in a small town gossiping, a married couple renting a holiday cottage was unlikely to attract any undue attention.
“Ain’t that worth a kiss?” he asked. With one hand, he tugged at her skirt, leaving her no option but to walk toward him. Instead of kissing her, he put his cheek against her abdomen. “Gonna take my boy on an adventure,” he said to the twelve-week-old fetus whose gender was as yet unknown.
Leah Deakin placed her hands lovingly on her husband’s head. It seemed like the sort of gesture a faithful wife would make. As he pressed his lips to the barely noticeable swell of their first baby, she stared out the window at the yellow, gnarled grass in the yard. This tiny piece of North Carolina was her home. Her family lived less than a mile away, her mom already busy sewing clothes and thinking of names for her first grandchild. Her parents had always given their unquestioning support to Caleb, and to Caleb’s father before him. It would only be afterward, when it was too late to intervene, that her mom might consider the repercussions. Leah didn’t think her father ever would.
