by Rose Beecham
Debbie had always seen the tender side of Lone, but she’d also been aware of a constant tension in her. She understood that Lone’s moodiness probably came from stress and anxiety related to her experiences in combat. She’d grown so accustomed to the way things were, she didn’t realize how many allowances and compromises she made, and how often she felt hurt and excluded. Until now.
Like magic, something had lifted the weight of the past from Lone. The hair-trigger anger had gone and she was calm and happy. Debbie had to believe the change in their relationship was the key factor in this transformation. Lone had finally let her in, and now that she didn’t keep so much hidden the strain between them had disappeared. They were connected as never before.
Planting a contented kiss on Lone’s lips, Debbie said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Debbie doll. Very much. Do you believe me?”
“With all my heart.”
Lone kissed her deeply. “There’s something I want to share with you.”
“You can tell me anything.”
“I know.” Lone’s expression was full of trust and devotion. “You have no idea what it means to hear you say that.”
Debbie melted. “Is this the surprise? That you really love me?”
“No, there’s a little more to it than that.” Lone held a photograph in front of her. She ran her fingers in a loop across the image. “All this land is ours. I’ve put your name on the title.”
Debbie gasped. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“You’re my partner. Everything I have is yours.”
The place was beautiful. A partially built cabin stood on a rise overlooking a sapphire blue lake. There was also a luxury trailer home parked nearby.
“It’s amazing,” Debbie said. She wondered if there was a supermarket nearby. The property looked to be in the middle of nowhere, with no other houses in sight.
Lone stroked her hair and kissed her softly on the forehead. “I know you’re worried about moving, so I have a plan.” She unfolded a sheet of paper, a printed-out e-ticket. “We’re flying up there today.”
“But we just drove here.”
“Baby, this is the house I lived in with Madeline. I want to take you to a place that’s only ours, yours and mine. I promise you, if you don’t like it up there, that’s fine. We’ll stay in Colorado.”
“Really? You really mean that?”
Debbie was assailed with guilt. She knew Lone wanted to move permanently, and having seen the glorified shack in Pariah, she wasn’t surprised. The fabulous setup in Canada was infinitely more appealing. Debbie studied the picture again. The least she could do was make the trip up there and keep an open mind. Even if they didn’t move there, it would probably be a lovely place to take a vacation.
“I should have packed warmer clothes,” she said. “If I’d known—”
Lone looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I just decided on the spur of the moment.”
“Whoa. You made a spur-of-the-moment decision?” Debbie giggled.
“I know.” Lone laughed with her. “I guess we better get used to it. With everything so…different between us now, I kind of lost my mind. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Debbie felt close to tears. She’d been so afraid everything would slip away that she’d behaved like a coward in their relationship. Her fear of being alone in the world had almost created the very reality she dreaded. She was so clingy Lone had to find space and had excluded her. Now that she was acting like a real partner, things had changed. Debbie promised herself she wasn’t going to let baggage from the past rule her again.
“So, what do you think?” There was a hint of nervousness in Lone’s voice, proof that she wasn’t taking Debbie’s agreement for granted.
“I’d love to go,” Debbie said wholeheartedly. “Thank you for inviting me.”
*
Harrison Hawke deactivated his elaborate alarm system and led Jude into a secure room at the back of the house. The space had been expanded recently and was fitted out as a weapons room.
Jude scanned the shelves and storage racks, amazed by the huge cache of special forces weaponry. An array of MP5 submachine guns occupied a lockable cabinet. Numerous M4 carbines were ranked along one wall, with various optics and accessories like M203 grenade launchers. Arranged next to these were Heckler & Koch G3s, AK-47s, and a sniper rifle collection that included a heavy-duty Barrett M107 .50-caliber, several SR25s, and a short-range G3 SG1. Jude noticed specialized tear-gas rounds next to a bunch of Remington 870 pump-action shotguns.
“Wow, I’ve never seen one of these.” She picked up an XM8 assault rifle, a lightweight modular weapon barely out of the experimental phase.
“It was a gift from my friends in Buenos Ares,” Hawke said. “Don’t be deceived because it looks like a toy.”
Jude picked up a handgun. Beretta M9s were standard issue for Hawke’s men, and in addition to these, he kept a range of other sidearms including the SIG Sauer P226 and the Kimber Custom. Magazines and boxes of ammunition were stored along the top shelves above various mortars, fuses, primers, detonator cords, standard and flash-bang grenades. She assumed Hawke stored his explosive compounds somewhere other then the house he slept in.
“How many men do you have here?” she asked.
“Twenty present today.”
“And the ASS?”
“No more than six.” Hawke opened a security door that led to a concrete entry hall. Beyond this lay an armored exterior exit. He opened this, inviting, “Fräulein.”
A Hakenkreuz Commando unit stood to stiff attention in the dusty yard. One of them saluted and snapped forward. Jude could feel the sneaky appraisal from the ranks but sensed a more respectful reception than usual, perhaps in response to her attire. In deference to Hawke, she’d chosen black pants and top and a black ballcap, and she wasn’t carrying her usual Glock. Instead she wore her favorite six-gun on a low-slung belt, a neat line of .38 ammo gleaming from the cartridge loops.
The Model 19 was a gleaming nickel-plated tribute to days gone by. It had been her father’s revolver, passed to her when she graduated from the FBI Academy. Jude loved its the elegant lines and custom wood grips. The Smith & Wesson also had wonderful balance and a smooth, classic action. Shooting from the hip wasn’t exactly a guarantee of accuracy, but she could blow a few tin cans off a fence, playing gunfighter. This being the twenty-first century, her shootout chic was spoiled by sunglasses, hiking boots, and a cell phone, but Jude could still daydream.
“We’ll need a reconnaissance team and a tactical assault group,” Hawke commanded the troops, rudely interrupting her nostalgic contemplation of Old West traditions.
While the neo-Nazis busied themselves preparing for their version of a showdown, Jude strolled around the compound perimeter, stopping occasionally to practice her draw. She would be glad when today’s unfolding drama was over and she could clear another objective from the clutter of her mind. Returning the 19 to its holster, she glanced back at Hawke, who was demonstrating the MP5.
Whatever happened at Lone Burro, Jude hoped she would be firmly cemented in Hawke’s trust and affection and could extract the information her masters sought. They would want her to keep stringing him along, but the day was approaching when he would expect bedroom perks. Jude was only willing to take the “personal sacrifice” ethos so far. If making a graceful exit meant leaving the Bureau, she would.
Sheriff Pratt would offer her a real job if she asked, and life would be a lot less complicated. She could buy herself a little house on a few acres, get a horse, adopt one of the shelter mutts Bobby Lee’s mom was always hinting about, and find a real girlfriend. She wasn’t getting any younger. It was time to stop obsessing over Mercy and accept that some things weren’t meant to be.
Jude blinked as a needle of intense light pierced her peripheral vision. In the same split second a sharp, distinctive whiz carved the air a few feet ahead of her and a bullet car
eened into the yellow earth.
She hit the deck, yelling, “Get down!”
A couple more shots ricocheted off a storage shed about twenty feet away. Jesus. Had Aidan Hill summoned the big boys to take Hawke out so no one could stand in the way of the ASS attack? If so, she was taking career advancement way too seriously.
Jude stared around. She was hopelessly exposed on flat terrain with no place to duck for cover. The men at the rear of the compound were taking positions. Most had stampeded into the house. There was no sign of Hawke. So much for gallantry.
Cursing beneath her breath, she belly-crawled toward the shed. The way things were going, it was probably the explosives repository. Several more bullets skittered around her. Jude spotted one of them and scraped it into her hand. It was a .243. FBI snipers typically fired .308 Winchester rounds.
She made it behind the shed and hunkered there, trying to get a sense of the situation. The shots only seemed to be coming from one area. Jude got to her feet and brushed herself off. She drew her pistol, although there didn’t seem to be much point. She couldn’t see who was shooting at her. Wiping dust off the barrel, she thought about calling the sheriff for assistance, but her presence on the compound would take some explaining.
She peered around the corner of the shed. At that moment, she heard someone running and Hawke fell in next to her carrying a Kevlar vest.
“Thank God you’re alright.” He was pale. “Here, put this on, Fräulein.”
“Do you have some binoculars?” she asked.
“Inside the house. We can’t stay here. This shed has a gasoline storage tank in it.”
“Wonderful.”
“My men are ready to cover us.”
He flicked a hand around and Jude realized he knew how to defend his compound. Shooters were in position in most of the rooms inside the house. None made easy targets.
“You first,” he said. “I’ll cover you from behind.”
Jude nodded. “Ready when you are.”
Seconds later she was running toward the front of the house in a deafening storm of gunfire. It occurred to her that if Hawke wanted to take her out, this was his opportunity. The fact that she made it in the door alive spoke highly of her undercover skills. Evidently he trusted her.
Catching her breath, she holstered the 19 and said, “Who in hell is attacking us?”
One of the men checking assembling weapons and ammunition in Hawke’s living room answered, “The ASS, Fräulein.”
Hawke waved his cell phone. “Another text message from those traitors. They’re demanding we submit to their leadership.”
“Or they’re going to shoot everyone?” Jude was incredulous.
“They want this compound,” Hawke said. “Preemptive strike”
A young Hakenkreuzer scurried in. “There’s a Hummer approaching, Herr Oberst.”
Hawke continued to study his phone. “They want a meeting.”
“And the negotiations begin with gunfire?”
Hawke paused to gaze up at the Führer portrait, probably wondering, What would Hitler do? He made his decision and announced, “I’ll speak to them, but a leader doesn’t allow compromises that harm the movement.”
He sent a text message, summoned a handful of men, and moved to the door. To Jude, he said, “Stay in the house, Fräulein.”
With that he stepped outside and a couple of the men opened the gates. A Hummer swept into the compound and disgorged the ASS leadership. Jude felt deeply uneasy as she watched the discussion from a viewing shaft in the front windows. The Hakenkreuzer standing next to her had his M4 trained on the men.
“We’re meant to be fighting for the same thing,” he said grimly. “But these chickenshits don’t know the meaning of loyalty.”
Their voices were raised and every man had his hands on his sidearm. Jude checked her watch. By now Hill was probably staking out Lone Burro. It was time to let her know that the situation was fluid.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind when a shot rang out and the scene in front of her devolved into chaos. Hawke was down. Men ran in all directions, trading gunfire. The Hakenkreuzers in the house started yelling and shooting. A man tried to drag Hawke to cover, but he was hit.
Jude thought, Christ, Arbiter’s going to fucking kill me.
Resigned to the inevitable, she grabbed an MP5 submachine gun, shouldered it, and charged out the front door. Firing continuously, she ran to Hawke, hooked her free hand in the shoulder of his vest, and dragged him back toward the house. The distinctive thwack-thwack-thwack of the MP5 resounded in her ears along with volleys from Hawke’s men. A couple of Hakenkreuzers emerged from the doorway and hauled their leader the final few feet inside. She backed up after them, spraying the Hummer with fire.
As the front door slammed closed, she dropped to her knees next to Hawke, took his pulse, and ripped away his vest.
“We’re calling 911,” she said to gasps of consternation. “Second thought, the ambulance won’t find this place.”
Hawke said weakly, “You have my absolute devotion and—”
“Not now, Harrison,” she interrupted, throwing her car keys to one of the faithful. “Bring my Dakota around to the back door. The rest of you, provide cover until I get Mr. Hawke out of here. Then it’s time for all of you to vanish. I’m calling the feds.”
*
“Well, this is just lovely.” Aidan Hill marched back and forth in the hospital waiting area. “I have four bodies. No ricin. And the Telluride Film Festival will probably sue us.”
“On the bright side, you look really hot in your SWAT gear,” Jude said.
“What were you doing out there?” Hill regarded her with narrow-eyed suspicion.
“I told you. MCSO liaison.”
“Dressed for the gunfight at the OK Corral?” Hill threw up her hands. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“You’ll find the ricin,” Jude said wearily. “I think it’s in a storage pod at one of their houses.”
“Something else you overheard?”
“Yes.”
Hill dragged her hand dramatically through her hair. “Something smells bad.”
“What’s the problem?” Jude asked. “You’ve arrested all the ASS who weren’t dead. The Bureau didn’t kill anyone. The film festival is safe from terror. You can go public with an announcement about foiling the plot. Everyone gets what they want.”
“This situation went completely out of control,” Hill said.
“The glass half empty,” Jude mumbled.
“I expected more of you.”
“Well, we both know what a disappointment that can be,” Jude said.
Hill stomped around some more, and Jude considered the idea of sleeping with her again. Maybe there was enough anger to make for passion.
“Don’t even think about it.” Hill glowered at her.
“I can’t help myself. You have a very attractive ass.”
“God, I wish I could arrest you.”
Jude turned on the charm. “That might be fun.”
“Do you think this is some kind of joke?”
“If you must know—”
“Don’t try me. I’m not a patient woman.” Hill fell silent as a doctor approached.
He said, “I’m Dr. Samuel Bettelheim.”
A coughing fit overcame Hill. Bright red, she apologized.
Jude managed an expression of polite interest. She did not ask So, how’s your neo-Nazi patient doing?
“Mr. Hawke is in stable condition,” the doctor informed them. “He’s asking for Ms. Devine.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I’ll ask one of the nurses to show me in.” With a sweet smile at Hill, Jude said, “I guess you’ll be packing up and heading home soon.”
Still brooding, Hill promised, “This is not over. I’m looking into your story, Devine.”
“Whatever. I have to go now.” Jude took the agent by both hands, jerked her forward, and kissed her on the mouth. “Take care of yourself.”
As she walked away, Hill came after her.
“Jude?” She hesitated. “Whatever you’re doing out here, be careful.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jude forced open her eyes. At first nothing came into focus. Her disorganized senses relayed pain. A pounding, leaden headache, sharp bolts of agony when her neck moved an inch. Plastic restraints bit into her wrists. As she tried to elbow herself into a sitting position, a hand was planted solidly on her chest.
“Not so fast.”
Jude groaned as her head reconnected with the floor. She stared up at Sandy Lane’s face. Her mouth hurt when she spoke. “I thought you were in Utah.”
“We were until I checked Debbie’s cell phone. Text messages, for God’s sake.”
Jude watched her load a hypodermic. “Sandy, we need to talk.”
“We will, once I shoot you full of babble juice.”
“You don’t need that shit,” Jude said. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
Sandy laughed. “Okay, surprise me.”
“I’m FBI undercover.”
“I said surprise me. I made you the first time we met.” She set the syringe aside and sat down in the sole armchair in her one-room cabin. Her brilliant blue eyes bored into Jude. “What’s your assignment?”
“White supremacists and other domestic terror cells.” Jude shuffled around until she reached the table. Using the leg for support, she pulled herself upright. Everything ached. Her jaw. Her shoulders. Her gut.
Sandy had been waiting for her. They’d fought hand to hand for a half hour or more before she was knocked out. Jude still had no idea how that had happened. She’d arrived late in Rico, held up by the aftermath of yesterday’s incident. The Montrose sheriff wanted a meeting since Hawke’s compound was in his jurisdiction. True to her word, Hill had made Jude a special focus. She would be answering stupid questions from paper pushers for the next six months. Arbiter had told her to sit tight and wait for the heat to die down.
It was dusk when she reached Pariah, negotiating her way between booby traps and dead-end hiking trails. She’d gained access to the house without too much difficulty. The reason was obvious as soon as she dropped down from the window.
