Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce) (11 page)

Two weeks after the Wilks family took him in, he was shipped off to another mental institute. Post-traumatic stress syndrome, the psychiatrists diagnosed over and over again. No one fostered him again. No one adopted him. Roanna never showed. For years he’d believed he was all alone. At night he’d cried for his sister.

The side door of the building banged open. Roanna emerged, followed by the man who’d accompanied her to the farm. They were laughing, their body language easy with each other. If he rolled down the window and called her name, she would turn, look at him.
See
him.

Not yet.

At eighteen, the system had released him into the world. He’d overcome the PTSD and had learned to hide weakness. He’d discovered the internet. Discovered who he really was.

Daniel Karsni had been a blank—no face, no voice, just a black nothingness for him until he found his father’s teachings on YouTube. His sacred mother, Danielle, had been listed on the
Siege at Wrightsville
Wikipedia page under those killed. Years of digging, reading survivor accounts, and talking to anyone he could find who had been there that day—even former FBI and ATF agents—Adam had pieced together what his memory had lost.

He knew a lot about Roanna Punto’s life but not what she was really like. He knew about her career with the FBI, the recent run-in with Petero Valquis. If the SCVC taskforce hadn’t killed the bastard, Adam might have.

She saved my life. I owe her.

And now, finally, she was here.
I knew she would come.

When Melanie had told him Roanna was at the farm for Open Door services, he’d frozen.
The FBI. They’d finally come for him.

That was his first thought. He’d been scared, then excited.
My sister is here!
The one who knew more about him—the original him, before the doctors and psychologists brainwashed him—than any other person on earth. She’d shared the same mother, had lived with his father.

She saved my life.

He had to talk to her.

But she was FBI.

At the farm, that thought stopped him. He couldn’t endanger his followers, his flock. They depended on him. Needed him to show them The Way. During the service, however, he couldn’t stop sneaking peaks at her. Jacob had set up the cameras and Adam had watched from the chapel. Roanna was beautiful. Strong. Proud. Just the way he’d always imagined.

He’d waited so long for her return. Waited and planned for it.

What if she doesn’t like me?

Across the parking lot, the man with Roanna held open the car door for her. She climbed into the driver’s seat. Who was this man? Her lover?

Adam grabbed his binoculars and zeroed in on the two of them. He’d been too preoccupied with Roanna during the service to pay attention to her companion.

Thomas Lane
, the intake form had said. In a defiant scrawl, Thomas had written that he suffered from extreme guilt over his past. A mistake he’d made that had nearly cost someone their life. Did it have to do with his job? The form said he was searching for a new job…a new way of life.

Dangerous.

Adam had been dangerous once too. Dangerous people didn’t scare him. Could Thomas be redeemed? Or were Thomas and Roanna playing a game?

F-B-I.
How could she betray her family and go to work for the enemy?

The answer to that question would only come from her.

What if she hates me?

The convertible she drove roared to life, but she didn’t put it in drive. Her body had lost the prior ease and now she sat stiff, adjusting the rearview mirror to see behind her.

Apprehension flashed through him.
She knows I’m here.

Adam set down the binoculars. Smiled. Of course she felt his presence. True believers always did. He and Roanna were connected—through blood and through the sacred power of The Truth.

Roanna was a Lamb of God, and He had brought her back to the family. Adam’s patience had been rewarded. He and God had big plans for Roanna. Like the others who had come to Adam, she was an instrument. She existed for Adam’s higher purpose.

FBI or lost sister, Adam intended to welcome her home.

Ronni’s skin prickled with awareness. Someone was watching her.

She put the car in park, fiddled with the mirror. She’d seen the flash of light bouncing off metal or maybe glass inside the car across the street. Someone was in the driver’s seat. They weren’t moving, but she could feel them there, waiting, watching.

Thomas noticed her sudden quietness, sensed the tension in her body. “What is it?”

“Not sure,” she lied. Who else would be out here at this time of night? Of course, this was California and an open-all-night gun range. Stranger things… “Thought I saw something.”

Thomas stayed casual. He didn’t look over his shoulder or act differently, just eased a hand under his jacket and unsnapped the shoulder holster there. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Someone’s watching us.”
Watching me
. “Black sedan across the street, north side.”

His eyes cut to her. “The Caddie?”

He knew it was a Cadillac without looking? “Are you psychic or did you inventory the cars when we came out?”

“It started following us a mile west of the farm.”

Ronni swallowed. Thomas was right.
Stewing about Adam
. She’d missed a goddamn tail, she was so worked up over seeing her brother. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged. “No threat. It stayed back, didn’t cause any problems.”

No threat?
Was he really that cocky or just that damned good? “Boy Scout, hell. You think you’re Superman, don’t you? If you don’t slap on your cape and save the day, you’re a loser, right?”

He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. The glow from the overhead parking lot lights touched his cheekbones, making them stand out. He grinned, his white teeth mocking the shadows around them. “Superman’s got nothing on me, my honey-dipped jalapeno.”

“Call me that again—or sweet momma or any of those other names—and I’ll take pleasure in shooting you.”

He laughed, deep and throaty, and that familiar shiver went down her spine. He motioned with his head at the car. “It’s probably one of Sandoval’s men keeping tabs on me after the bust last night. My UC identity is still intact, but my girlfriend bailed me out this morning. I’m sure someone in the organization is checking on me. Watching my moves to see where I go and what I do. They’re looking for the mole inside their organization.”

“So you go to a cult with me and then to the gun range?”

No hesitation. “Yep.”

Ronni dug in her purse for her candy apple lipstick and made a production of putting some on in the rearview mirror. The car was parked in shadows, but she knew—
knew
—there was a man in that car. “You’re sure it’s not someone from iChurch?”

“Could be.” Without warning, he stepped out of the car. “I’ll go find out.”

“What? Wait!” His long legs were already eating up the space between them and the street. “Thomas!”

She shut off the engine and climbed out her side, ready to go after him. The car on the street pulled out, doing a U-turn and taking off down the road.

2CTA
—that’s all she got off the plate. Dust and grime covered the last few digits. Thomas calmly walked into the street and watched the car drive away, probably memorizing the plate as well.

He turned, raised his hands in an
oh, well
gesture, and went to the spot where the car had sat. Ronni quickly followed.

“No cigarette butts or gum wrappers,” he said without preamble. Leaning down, he ran a finger through a dark spot on the street, rubbed his finger and thumb together, and sniffed the ends. “But he’s leaking oil.”

“Did you get the last three digits on the plates?”

“Nope. Got enough with the make, year, and model of the car to narrow it down, but my guess is it’s stolen.”

“Sandoval’s minions don’t drive Caddies?”

“None I’ve seen. They prefer flashier stuff. What about Adam’s minions?”

She sighed. Had it been a church follower? She’d never get any sleep tonight. “Guess we better find out.”

Chapter Thirteen

The license plate number came back as owned by one Calvin Carrera. A guy who’d been dead for six months.

“Identity theft.” Thomas stared at the computer, looking through multiple screens filled with Carrera’s information. “Whoever’s using that car also maxed out three credit cards opened with Calvin’s social security number.”

The two of them had returned to Thomas’s apartment, where Ronni had started the coffee pot and Thomas had entered the partial plate into the California DMV database.

Ronni now had her feet propped up on his coffee table, a cup in her hands. She looked strung out. “Sandoval?”

“Possibly, but I never heard about or saw any identity theft operation while I was undercover with his organization. Drugs and guns. That was it. How about Adam?”

She stared at the cup, not seeing it. “Not in any of the files I have on him.”

Thomas set the laptop on the table and sunk deep in his recliner. “Could have been the Yank’s Militia. The kid I nabbed yesterday in the airport was stealing phones. Maybe they sent someone to hunt me down and give me a warning.” He shook his head. “Lotta work for them over a few phones.”

“And wouldn’t a warning involve more than tailing you?”

“With that militia? A
warning
would involve buckshot in my ass.” He felt as strung out as Ronni looked. “Could you see the driver?”

“Too dark.”

“I saw some reflection from the dashboard light but not enough to identify features.”

They sat in silence, processing.

Ronni sunk deeper into the sofa. Closed her eyes. “Dead end.”

At least for tonight. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep an eye out in case the Cadillac shows up here.”

No answer. Just an even rise and fall of her chest, the coffee cup in her hands tipping as it sat on her stomach. Yep, she was beat. He was too. At the shooting range, she’d let down her guard for a few seconds and he’d seen the old Ronni. She’d given him a dose of his own medicine, manipulating him into not teasing her. What fun was that?

But she’d been holding something back. He wished she’d talk to him. Open up about what happened in Des Moines. Hell, tell him something personal about Wrightsville. About her mom. Anything.

Just talk. Not like an agent on a case. Like a human being who’d lived through a traumatic experience and managed to keep their shit together and move on.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to talk about it. She’d left Des Moines in the past and moved on.

Without me.

Her signals were clear. It was time he accepted them.

With a sigh, he listened and watched her sink deeper into sleep. The lines around her mouth softened. The crease on her forehead disappeared. Her long, tapered fingers on the cup relaxed, and her kinky hair splayed across the back of the cream colored sofa with joyful abandon.

Beautiful. She was one-hundred percent beautiful and sleeping on his couch. Forget the exhaustion weighing down his body. He wanted to touch her silky skin, bury his nose in her neck, and wake her with long, slow kisses.

His blood pumped hard, his cock twitching. Leaning forward, he scrubbed his hands over his face. A cold shower, that’s what he needed.

Instead, he found a blanket, gently removed the cup from Ronni’s hands, and covered her. Then he checked his gun and went into surveillance mode.

In the dream, she huddles against the night noises: blaring sirens, crying babies, the whining of a hundred dental drills.
They’re coming
.

Helicopter blades beat the air, stadium lights glare down on the compound. The booming speakers spew a cacophony of noises that grate and terrify, while an army of tanks, armored vehicles, and officers surround those still inside.

Hungry. So hungry
.

Must get to the bus…Adam…save him.

The school bus is buried underground on the west side. A refuge from Texas tornadoes. Now a refuge from the tanks and teargas.
Get there
.

Crying, crying. If only Adam would stop crying. His chubby body bangs on her hip as she runs, carrying him across the compound. Her lungs fight to find oxygen through the tear gas, her eyes run with tears. Has Adam inhaled it, too? She covered his face with a wet towel. He was probably howling because he couldn’t see.

Save him…

“The siege is over,” a voice chants from the speakers. “Bring your people out!”

Only a few more feet. A…few…more…

A sharp whistling noise. Tiny missiles shooting through the sky, landing on the trapdoor. The missiles break apart, gas sizzling.

No!
Ronni pulls up, nearly loses her balance. Panting, she glances over her shoulder.