Now Zach leaned forwards. “It sure looks like you have all a man could ever need. But tell me: how do the girls feel about this setup? Are they happy too?”
“Yes!” January and September chimed in chorus.
To Zach, it sounded too emphatic, too strained, like a response that had been rehearsed many times over.
York laughed and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “See?”
Zach felt Cable stir beside him and turned to see him take a slice of bacon and throw it towards Bruno, who until now had been cowering behind January’s endlessly long legs. The dog lunged forwards to snatch the morsel, the unexpected movement knocking his mistress clean off her feet.
“Ow… fuck!” January swore as she hit the wooden floor with a loud thump.
Suddenly, September was holding a handgun in Cable’s face, her eyes blazing with anger.
Cable looked at her, unperturbed. “You know what?” he said, speaking to Zach without taking his eyes off the girl with the gun.
“What?” Zach said, keeping both hands flat on the tabletop.
“Not much room in a bikini. I’d like to know where she keeps that gun.” The tension in the room was enormous.
January got back to her feet, pulled a pistol from the top of her boot, and pointed it at Cable.
“Ah… mystery solved,” he said.
York burst into laughter. He threw his head back and slapped the table with his palm. “You crack me up,” he said, almost crying, as he pointed his finger at Cable and tried to control himself. “Girls, put the guns away. These men are our guests.”
Reluctantly, the two women lowered their weapons and stepped back from the table, staring at Cable with those weird, piercing eyes. Zach knew why his friend had thrown the bacon at the dog. The reaction had told them more about York and his women in a matter of seconds than they could ever have learned in a lengthy conversation. In his own unique way, Cable had cut through York’s bullshit, and now the SEALs knew exactly what they were up against.
“Please forgive the ladies,” York said. “But we don’t have guests here often. They get a little nervous.”
“No problem,” Zach said. “We’re sorry if we upset the dog. Now, tell me about Mission Paradise.”
York nodded, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, and stood up. “Let’s walk.” He headed for the door.
Zach and Cable got up from the table and were about to follow him out into the yard when York stopped, as if he had just remembered something, and walked across to September.
The SEALs watched with rising disdain as York thrust his hand at the woman and groped her. Then it was January’s turn, and she stood passive and unmoving as York did the same to her. Finally, York led the SEALs outside.
The morning had turned into a glorious, sunny day, the clear sky stretched above them a sheer, pale blue. York led them in a stroll around the farm, hands in his pockets, apparently relaxed but obviously keen to show the SEALs that he had absolutely nothing to hide.
“I was in New York on 9/11.” York led the men around the back of a huge barn, where three women wearing hard hats with heavy tool belts strapped around their slim waists were in the process of repairing a hole in the roof. They stopped to watch. “I didn’t see the planes crash into the buildings, but I heard the explosions and the screams, and I felt the ground shake.” He took his hand from his jeans pocket and showed them a small lump of metal. “I took this from a woman who had been standing beside me. It’s a rivet from the first tower. The impact of the crash must have thrown it over a mile. I had to dig it out of the back of her head. That day changed me forever.”
Zach and Cable exchanged an alarmed glance.
“The carnage I saw convinced me that society, as a concept, has failed.” York seemed completely unaware of the unsettling effect his horrific story had as he nonchalantly explained further. “It was my epiphany. A sign, if you will. I felt like I had been chosen.” His face had taken on a faraway, almost wistful expression, as if he were remembering a fond episode from his childhood. “That’s when I had the vision of Mission Paradise. A place where I could be safe, where all the things I loved would also be safe. Without interference. Without disobedience. My own domain. It took a while. But I think you’ll agree it’s working out quite well. One more girl, and we’ll be complete. An even dozen. Then our real work can begin.”
Zach coughed uneasily. York’s candid revelation, conveyed like a harmless anecdote, was all he needed to understand that the man was stark raving mad. He didn’t even want to think about the ominous “real work.” He and Cable needed to find Rissa and get her the hell away from The Farm. He broke the awkward silence. “Mr. Jones, we’d like to speak with Rissa now.” His patience had run out, and his voice was firm and hard. “Where is she?”
“You’re looking at her.” York pointed to one of the workers up on the roof. “April!” he called. “April, get your ass down here!” The woman looked down at the three men below. York waved, and she immediately stopped what she was doing and began climbing down the ladder. She joined them on the ground, and Zach watched, dismayed as she fell to her knees in front of York.
“No, no,” York said, smiling like a kindly benefactor and helping her to her feet. “These men would like to speak to you. Answer their questions and tell them the truth. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Rissa eyed Zach and Cable with a considerable amount of suspicion.
Zach half expected York to grope her, and he was ready to punch the guy in the face if he did. Instead, York simply wandered off, completely unconcerned about leaving the three to talk.
But it was no good. No matter how hard they tried to convince Rissa that she had to leave with them, Zach and Cable constantly hit upon stubborn resistance.
“I’m happy here. I’m in love with York, and he with me. I have no intention of going anywhere,” Rissa said adamantly.
“Are you certain?” Zach asked softly. “We’re worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I’m with the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.” She smiled.
The former SEALs exchanged a look, silently agreeing that they’d have to try another tactic to bring Rissa to safety.
Cable wanted to snatch her away. Throw her over his shoulder and just run. But he knew it was too risky. They had already seen two of the girls with guns; there was no telling how many of the others were also armed — possibly all of them.
With a final, adamant shake of her head, Rissa turned and walked away, climbing back up the ladder to continue her work on the roof. Frustrated, Zach and Cable left The Farm and walked slowly back down the dirt track towards Slice. January watched them go, and Zach could feel her fierce stare burning into the back of his head until they were well out of sight.
“Rissa has the eyes also,” Cable said as they approached the ZSI van.
Zach stopped and looked back towards The Farm, shading his eyes from the sun with the flat of his hand. Finally, he turned and looked at Cable and Slice. “Gentlemen, we need a Plan B.”
Chapter Ten
“We need a woman on the inside.” Cable returned from the bar and placed three bottles of beer on the table.
“Or we could just go in and get Rissa out. We’ve done that kind of operation a hundred times before. It’ll be a piece of cake.” Slice was full of fire. He had listened intently to Cable’s description of the morning’s events at The Farm, and when Lark phoned and informed the team about the dead girl in Nebraska, he’d wanted to act immediately.
“It’s not that simple, Slice. All those women with guns… Too much could go wrong.” Zach, as always, was the calming voice of reason.
“Tranquilizer darts. I could take them out from a hundred yards,” Slice countered and took a long slug of the ice-cold beer.
“What? All of them? Too risky.” Zach shook his head, and the three men went quiet, thinking.
The bar was deserted, being out in the middle of nowhere, or as far as you could go and still be i
n Los Angeles County. It most likely catered to the locals who made their homes in the mountainous area. Cable had filled the jukebox with spare coins, and an entire series of country songs played quietly in the corner. The one waitress was doubling as barkeep, and she sat cross-legged on a stool behind the bar, polishing her long, red fingernails.
“Why don’t we tell her about Nick?” Slice tried again. “Cable could show her the letter.”
“No.” Zach’s response was adamant. “That’s not the way she should find out her brother is dead. And besides, Nick wouldn’t want that. We have to convince her to come out of there of her own free will.”
Slice shrugged and stared down into his beer bottle.
“We need a woman on the inside,” Cable repeated. “How about we buy Slice a black wig and a bikini?”
“Fuck off, Cable,” Slice said and took a sip of beer.
Zach laughed. “Yes, Cable. That would be the easiest solution. Since we don’t have a woman to send in.”
“Yes, we do,” Cable said flatly as he tapped his foot to the music.
Zach looked the big man in the eyes. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Cable replied.
“What? What?” Slice asked, feeling like he had missed something.
“She’s smart enough, pretty enough. She could do it.” Cable’s eyes began to shine as he warmed to his own wacky idea.
“Who?” Slice almost shouted. The woman behind the bar looked up, yawned, and continued working on her nails.
Zach looked at Cable. “You tell him or shall I?” His voice was tainted with doubt.
“Lark!” Cable said.
Slice almost choked on his beer. “But she’s not trained for that kind of thing,” he said when he got his breath back.
“It wouldn’t take long,” Cable said. “One night, maybe two. We’d be close by the entire time.”
Zach shook his head and looked out the window. It was dark outside, and he could see headlights speeding up and down the freeway in the distance. He suddenly thought of Avalon; he had promised to call but had completely forgotten. He shrugged; he’d make it up to her. He returned his gaze to the table. “I don’t like it, Cable. York is a nutcase, and he has some kind of hold over these women. And what’s with the eyes? Something is foul on The Farm.”
Slice laughed, but quickly shut up again when he realized Zach wasn’t making a joke.
“Powerful magic,” Cable said, and his face became serious. “Perhaps their souls are trapped inside their eyeballs. I don’t like it much. Lark would need protection, a spell. This I can do.”
“You want to put Lark under a spell?” Zach asked, not sure he’d understood what Cable meant.
“Sure. But I’d need her blood.”
“Lark would freak out,” Slice said, rejoining the conversation.
“I disagree,” said Cable. “She talks to trees. She is very spiritual.”
Again, the three men went silent. Zach wasn’t convinced. Lark was his responsibility. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her. But he wanted Rissa away from that place as soon as possible, and there weren’t many options on the table. Zach hated having to send someone he cared about into a dangerous situation. He’d rather go himself, but in this case, that was out of the question.
The barkeep came over to the table and asked if they wanted more beer. She seemed fascinated with Cable, standing too close to his great bulk, and Zach laughed when he caught her looking down, checking out his tight pants. Cable was unaware of her close scrutiny as he smiled and ordered another round of beer.
“Anything else I can get you, Cochise?” she drawled, and Cable felt her hot breath on his face. She smelled of bourbon.
“Not right now,” he said, but his voice held the faint hint of a promise.
She turned and walked back to the bar, and all three watched her ass as she went.
“Cochise?” Cable said, turning back to his buddies with a grin. “Damn, I love it when they talk dirty.”
“Can we focus for a moment?” Zach said, slightly irritated. He still wasn’t happy with the Lark plan, and he couldn’t get the picture of a bikini-clad corpse fished out of a Nebraska lake ten years ago out of his head. True, that one report meant nothing on its own; it could have been an accident. But it added an element of risk to the operation and meant that Zach had to make sure he had all the angles covered. If Lark did agree to the plan — and he’d make it clear that she was under no obligation — her safety had to be paramount. “Tell me about the magic spell,” Zach said, only half believing he had actually spoken the words.
“I take blood from her thumb, mix it with eagle poop, and then rub it on her breasts.”
Zach and Slice stared at the big man, speechless.
When Zach had fully digested the information, he said, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope,” Cable said evenly. “I’ve done it before, one time, long ago. Worked fine then. Work fine now.”
Slice looked at Zach disbelievingly. “You believe this crap, Boss?”
Zach shrugged. “Cable has never lied to me before. If he says it’s good, then it’s good.”
“Holy crap,” Slice said, taking a huge swallow of beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who’s gonna tell her?”
“That’ll be my job,” Zach said. “But before I give the go on this, we need a protection plan and a cover story. If Lark just shows up there without an explanation, York will be suspicious.” He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. Let’s get back to the office. We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”
“There is one thing in our favor, Boss,” Cable said, finishing off his beer.
Zach raised an eyebrow, listening.
“He’s so eager to find one more girl that he’s bound to be sloppy.”
It was true, Zach thought. York’s urgent need to move on to what he called “the real work” could make him careless. It might mean Lark could get in more easily. But that also meant that whatever York had planned would begin all the more quickly. They’d have to be ready to move fast.
“Let’s go.” He stood.
Slice did the same.
Cable didn’t move. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.” He looked over his shoulder at the woman behind the bar. She smiled and waved. “Cochise has unfinished business here.”
Zach shook his head, but said with resignation, “Don’t stay out too late, big boy. We have a heavy day tomorrow.”
Slice drove in silence while Zach took his cell phone out and called Lark. “Sorry to wake you, but tell me, do you look good in a bikini?”
Beside him, Slice groaned.
Chapter Eleven
Avalon was restless. She came home from work, took a bath, made herself a salad, and then sat down in front of the TV for another boring night. She flicked through the channels, found a re-run of Casablanca, and cuddled up on the couch with a box of tissues, ready for a good cry. She missed Zach. He had promised to call that afternoon and hadn’t, but that was okay; he was probably too busy with that Rissa thing. She watched Humphrey Bogart trying to get over his broken heart by getting drunk and smiled. Would he never learn?
She was reminded of her first boyfriend back in college: Johnny Tanner. He’d been so handsome, had a great car, rich parents… none of Avalon’s friends had understood why she split up with him, and at the time, she hadn’t been able to explain. She had known that something was missing, but she hadn’t known what until she met Zach. Zach filled her; emotionally and physically, he was everything she needed.
On a whim, she jumped up from the couch and ran to the bedroom. She hiked up the hem of her t-shirt — one of Zach’s old shirts, which she loved to sleep in — and had another look at her ass in the mirror. Still no bruises, and if they hadn’t come up by now, they never would. She rubbed the flat of her hand over her rump and gave herself an experimental slap. Nothing. And giving oneself a spanking was not satisfying. She couldn’t kiss her own tears away, a
nd telling herself she was amazing wasn’t the same as hearing it from Zach. Avalon wondered how soon she could get him to spank her again.
She would have to give him plenty of reasons, and lately she had; she’d found herself losing her temper over the slightest thing. She chewed out her colleagues at work for no particular reason, and every time she drove, she hardly ever had her hand off the horn, constantly blaring at other drivers. She’d also gotten into the habit of flicking the finger at the slightest provocation. It really wasn’t like her at all.
She made a detour to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and some fat, luscious grapes and returned to the TV in time to see Bogart telling Bergman they would always have Paris. Avalon opened the wine, poured half a glass, and nibbled at the grapes, groaning as the sticky juice ran down her chin. On the TV, Sam broke into song. “You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss…”
The phone rang, and Avalon stretched over the arm of the couch to pick it up, hoping it would be Zach. It wasn’t.
The thick, strong voice of her father came through the line. “Hi, babydoll.”
“Hi, Daddy. How’s it going?” She found the remote and turned the TV down.
“Oh, the usual — win some, lose some. How’s my favorite daughter?”
“Your only daughter is fine. What’s on your mind?” Avalon popped another grape in her mouth.
“What’s this? I need a reason to call my own flesh and blood?”
She could almost see him: eyebrows raised, hands held out, feigning indignation at the question. “No, you don’t need a reason. But you invariably have one. I know you too well.”
“Don’t tell me that. You know it sends my blood pressure through the roof. But listen, I wanted to ask how therapy was going.”
Avalon bolted upright on the couch. “Holy crap, Daddy! How’d you know about that?”
“Babydoll, I know people who know people who know stuff. Now tell me, should I be worried?”
Despite her anger at being found out, she could hear the concern in his voice, and she found it sweet. “No.” She tried to laugh it off, but it came out strangled. “Just bad dreams, that’s all. I needed to talk to someone about it. It’s really no big thing. I’m not crazy or anything.”
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