Special Assignment: Baby

by Debra Webb

  “Joshua wants to see you in the hole.”

  Court frowned. “The hole?”

  Raymond grinned, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

  The hole was an apt description, Court decided, as he stared into the dimly lit tunnel before him. Raymond had escorted Court into the rear of the training center and down a flight of stairs to the basement, then through a well-stocked storm shelter. Neely was ready for anything, Court decided upon observing the array of stored goods before his eyes. At the far side of the shelter a section of ingenious false storage shelves were pulled away from the wall to reveal a horizontal tunnel that led slightly downward and did a ninety-degree angle to disappear out of sight. Fluorescent lights, spaced too far apart for Court’s liking, provided the dim illumination.

  “This way.” Raymond gestured for Court to precede him. Raymond pulled the well-camouflaged door shut behind them, lessening the already low light.

  Court remained calm, but his senses were on full-scale alert just in case this was some sort of setup. His lawman instincts had never failed him before, he hoped they weren’t about to now. “Well, this is interesting,” he noted aloud for his escort’s benefit.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Raymond assured him. The man’s anticipation was palpable.

  As Court followed Raymond down the few steps and to the left, he absorbed as many details as possible in the poor lighting. The walls were concrete, like a vault. The corridor that lay before them was maybe fifty feet long. Court could just make out two doors on the right, twenty or thirty feet apart. There appeared to be only one door on the left side of the corridor.

  Raymond stopped at the first door they reached, the one on the left. He unlocked and opened it. The heavy steel door made a sound that wasn’t quite a groan but something on that order when it swung inward. The eerie sound triggered an uneasy feeling deep in Court’s gut. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his pulse reacted instantly to a surge of adrenaline.

  “This is the ammo room.”

  Court looked from Raymond to the open door and back. “I thought the ammo room was upstairs.”

  “This is the real ammo room.”

  When Court stepped inside the surprisingly large room he knew exactly what his new best friend meant. Court surveyed the room and let go a low whistle that garnered an I-told-you-so look and a chuckle from Raymond. The only place Court had ever seen a stockpile of weapons and ammo like this was at the bust of a heavy-duty arms dealer.

  “Oh, yeah,” Court agreed, “this is real, all right.” Too damned real.

  “I’m tellin’ you, buddy, Joshua’s got everything we need.” Raymond closed and locked the heavy door once Court was back in the corridor. “And he’s got way bigger plans than this.” He jerked his head toward the ammo-room door. “Way bigger. With the Order’s help he’s gonna show those bastards running this country where the power is, and it ain’t in Helena or D.C., my friend.”

  The Order? Court’s pulse reacted as his senses moved to a new level. Raymond definitely meant the Black Order. Court adopted his most unsuspecting expression. “Damn, buddy, I had no idea we had this much power. This is incredible.”

  Raymond ushered him toward the next door. “I’ll show you ‘incredible.’”

  The first door on the right led to a high-tech communications center that rivaled the one at the Lonesome Pony ranch in state-of-the-art hardware, but this one was considerably larger. So, Court decided, now he knew the reason for the two satellite dishes located behind the building. Upon first inspection it would appear that they were used to support the small communications room in the meeting hall and for video-conferencing of training classes in this building, but that wasn’t the case at all.

  Two technicians monitored the equipment, paying little or no attention to the intrusion. The man was clever, Court had to give him that. Joshua Neely was networking on a level that no one would ever suspect. This wasn’t just some little half-baked setup he had going here…this was the whole enchilada. Joshua Neely had much more going on than anyone, even Court, had first suspected.

  “Now for the grand finale,” Raymond announced as they walked back into the corridor.

  “What’s at the end of the tunnel?” Court asked, halting Raymond’s tour to peer toward the far end of the passage. Now that he was closer, he could see that the corridor took another hard left.

  “That leads to the escape tunnel,” Raymond explained. “If we’re ever in danger of being overrun by the feds, we can escape to safety. It comes out deep in the mountains.”

  Court nodded. “Cool.”

  “Damn right.” Raymond ushered Court to the last door on the right. “Now, the one we’ve been waiting for.”

  Once they stepped inside the final doorway, Court stood, stunned for several seconds. The room was white—walls, ceiling, floor. So white and so brightly lit that it took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust. In stark contrast to the whiteness, a round, gleaming black conference table occupied the center of the room. Nearly a dozen men were seated around it, leaving two empty chairs of the same polished ebony as the table. Joshua Neely’s larger, more thronelike chair sat in the designated place of honor.

  Neely stood. “Welcome, Court.” He indicated those seated around the table with a sweeping motion of his right arm. “These are my leaders, my lieutenants.”

  Court nodded first to Neely, then surveyed those seated. Ferguson and a few of the others he recognized, Potts and Beecham. One of the empty seats was to Neely’s immediate left, the other on Ferguson’s right. The men seated didn’t bother to rise, they merely stared at Court, measuring and considering. Raymond hustled around the table and sat down in the empty chair beside Ferguson, leaving Court standing alone outside the strange dark circle.

  The Knights of the Round Table. The crazy notion came out of nowhere. Court resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the ridiculous thought. He started to speak, but one of the men, Greg Potts, if Court remembered correctly, rose from his chair, cutting off his question. He’d noticed the quiet, soft-spoken man before. As yet, Court hadn’t figured out just what his expertise was. But if he worked this closely with Neely, Potts had something on the ball. Potts walked deliberately to Court and embraced him.

  “Brother,” he said before releasing Court.

  Court blinked, uncertain what was expected of him. “Brother,” he replied hesitantly.

  One by one, each of those seated followed suit. Ferguson was the last to approach Court. The embrace as well as the greeting was forced. This man, Court knew at that instant, would be his most powerful enemy. He’d been getting bad vibes from him since day one.

  When Ferguson would have backed away, Court drew him closer. “Brother,” he murmured fervently.

  Ferguson tensed, fury in his gaze when he drew back. The gauntlet was down now. Court watched Ferguson retreat to his station on Neely’s right. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, Court reminded himself silently. That would keep both of them out of trouble. Court restrained the smile of secret amusement that twitched one corner of his mouth.

  “Brother Brody,” Neely announced, drawing Court’s attention to the one remaining person in the room who had not participated in the little ceremony.

  “Come forward, brother,” Neely instructed.

  With the others watching his every step, Court moved toward Neely. They’d already given him one induction last night. What was this all about? Maybe Neely just enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of it all.

  “Last night we welcomed you to our brotherhood,” Neely began as if reading Court’s mind. “Today, brother—” he placed a hand on Court’s shoulder “—we welcome you into the ranks of our leaders.” He gestured to the vacant chair at his left. “Take your place of honor among those who, like you, possess the special gift. The calling.”

  Court sank into the designated chair, his gaze fixed on Neely’s. Something in that pale blue gaze sent a chill
straight through him.

  “Now, Brother Brody, select your challenger,” Neely directed.

  “Challenger?” Court schooled his expression so as not to show his unease or his surprise. Whatever test Neely had in mind, he would deal with it. Anything to maintain his cover. But it was always an advantage to know what “it” was.

  Neely nodded. “Each new lieutenant must endure the challenge, a simple survival test, in order for us to know that he is pure of heart and thought. You will select the man from among these pure ones before you, and that one will be your challenger.” Neely looked from one attentive face to the other. “At midnight on this night you will be blindfolded and taken deep into the wilderness. Your challenger will be in pursuit at half past the hour. The men in this room are highly trained, as I’m sure you well know. If you survive until dawn, you will remain in this place of honor.”

  Anticipation of the unexpected battle instantly sharpened Court’s senses. He scanned the men around the table. Raymond would probably be his wisest choice. Though Raymond was a good marksman, and a more-than-competent opponent in hand-to-hand combat, Court was well enough acquainted with the man to know his weaknesses.

  “One month has passed since this circle was complete,” Neely continued, no doubt loving the sound of his own voice. “It is time we replaced our fallen warrior. Make your decision and we shall be done with formalities.”

  Court had a pretty good idea that the so-called fallen warrior was the man charged with killing a Livingston businessman last month. Running for political office, the businessman spoke out vehemently against the militia, making himself a target. The shooter had turned the gun on himself when threatened with capture. To prevent interrogation, no doubt, thus protecting Neely. Of course, there was no way to prove whether the man had acted on his own or under orders from his esteemed leader.

  Whatever the case, Court now had the opportunity to slip into the upper echelon. All he had to do was pass Neely’s little test. Court studied those seated around the table a moment longer. If he selected Raymond, Neely would know he had taken the easy way out. This was a test, and Court had to prove his worthiness. Finally, his gaze settled onto the man he would seriously enjoy taking down a notch or two. “Brother Ferguson is my choice,” he announced.

  Ferguson smiled, a gesture rich with malice and anticipation. “It will be my pleasure, Brother Brody.”

  “Excellent choice, Brother Brody,” Neely commented, obviously pleased. “I am certain that you will prove an outstanding lieutenant.”

  SABRINA CLOSED ONE EYE and focused on the target. She pulled the trigger and hit a little to the left of the outermost circle of the bull’s eye. She swore. She could do better than that. Her father had taught her how to handle a rifle when she was only twelve years old. Just as she had taught Charlie. Frustrated, she jerked off the ear protection and swiped the perspiration from her brow.

  She considered the requirement for teachers to participate in basic combat training pretty stupid. She was only here to keep an eye on her brother and to help the children. Leaving her son with Mrs. Cartwright and coming here for this wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. She frowned, tired and irritated. Then again, maybe she did need to know more about how to defend those children as well as her brother. Though she was a pretty good shot, she could be better. And it might just save Charlie’s life. As well as her own.

  Determined to try harder, Sabrina tossed the annoying ear protection to the ground and assumed the firing position once more. She zeroed in on the center of the bull’s eye. Her finger snugged up to the trigger—

  A hand suddenly pushed her left elbow a bit higher. Before she could look up and see who’d adjusted her stance, a strong arm snaked around her middle and pulled her against a hard male body. She gasped, startled. A big foot kicked hers farther apart, forcing her to lean into the wall of muscle now wrapped around her.

  “Your feet need to be shoulder-width apart,” an all-too familiar voice informed her.

  Court.

  Her traitorous body reacted instantly to the feel of him pressed along her backside. Snapping her composure into place, she tried to pull away.

  “What the hell are you doing? Let me go!”

  “Don’t make a scene, Brin,” he murmured against her hair. “You’ll make people suspicious.”

  She stilled. He was right. Though she didn’t fully understand how she knew, she did. “Take your hands off me,” she hissed for his ears only.

  His arm tightened around her, grinding her bottom into his hardening arousal. Sabrina stifled another startled gasp. She wasn’t the only one reacting here. The feel of him uncoiled fingers of warmth in her middle that reached outward, heating her all the way to her skin.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Aim your weapon,” he ordered, his breath warm against her cheek.

  Sabrina obeyed. She could feel his heart pounding as hard as her own. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and simply revel in the clean, masculine scent that folded around her, to sag against the strength of his muscular frame.

  “Keep your elbows up.”

  His voice was rougher, huskier, his body harder. However foolish it was, a pleased smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Determined to prove herself, she took aim and fired, hitting well within the rings of the bull’s eye, if not dead center. Struck with sudden wicked inspiration, she shifted her hips a bit. A groan wrenched from his throat. Desire thrilled through her at the sound.

  Court’s wide palm pressed into her belly, holding her still. “You’re playing with fire, Brin,” he warned, his lips moving against the sensitive skin near her ear. “And you might just get burned.”

  “You’re the one with the hard-on, Brody,” she returned flippantly. “Not me.” She readied her rifle once more, proud of herself for the witty comeback.

  He reached to adjust her arm, purposely brushing her breast, then drew his hand away so slowly that his fingers slid over her nipple, testing the tightly budded peak beneath the thin cotton of her blouse. Her breath stalled in her lungs at the sting of desire that barbed straight to her core.

  “Hmm.” The sound rumbled from his chest. “I’d say we’re about even.”

  A mixture of hurt, anger and frustration exploded inside her. She dropped her weapon to her side and whipped around in his hold, putting herself nose-to-nose with him.

  “Why don’t you just leave me alone, Brody?” She almost jerked back at the feel of his hard arousal pressed against her belly, but she held her ground. The heated blood rushing through her veins roared in her ears, made her body tingle, made her skin burn, made her want to surrender to the power he held over her…still. He felt so strong and steady. But he wasn’t. He would only leave her again. Just like before. And she had to protect Ryan from the kind of pain she had endured. Tears welled in her eyes.

  He studied her for a moment, his gaze burning with the same desire and want that whirled inside her, beneath all the other mixed-up emotions. How could she feel this way about him? How could she want him so? Need him so desperately? She was tired, that’s all. Tired of handling the crushing burdens of her slowly unraveling life alone. But Court was not the answer to her prayers. She knew that if she knew nothing else. He would leave her behind again.

  “Be careful, Brin,” he murmured. “I understand your need to see after your brother, but there’s a lot of danger here, things you can’t possibly know.” He inclined his head, forcing her to keep eye contact. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You need to be extremely cautious in what you say and do.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” She jerked out of his hold, pivoted and sauntered away. She would not overanalyze the sincerity she saw in those gray eyes. So what if she’d thought she’d seen a smidgen of something else there, too? It was probably nothing more than basic human compassion. The kind you have for a stray dog or injured bird. Court didn’t care about her, not really. Whatever his agenda here, it didn’t include her. Sabrina was just a nuisa
nce he couldn’t avoid.

  Well, screw him, she decided. She had to protect her brother and her son. Somehow she would find a way to keep Court Brody at bay. He would not take anything else from her. Someday when Ryan was all grown up, Court would know what she had kept from him. And then they’d be even.

  AS COURT SAT IN the darkness only minutes before dawn, he waited out his prey. The hunter had become the hunted. Court’s lips twitched with amusement. Ferguson just didn’t know it yet. While Court waited, he considered Sabrina and her brother Charlie. He was her reason for hanging around the compound. She wanted to keep her little brother safe. Court could understand that, but this militia group, because of its esteemed leader, was turning out to be a much larger threat than first anticipated. Hanging around the place was definitely not a good idea. But Court couldn’t warn Sabrina or Charlie too sternly without the risk of blowing his cover. He would just have to figure out some way to protect the two of them.

  But protecting Sabrina was not all he wanted to do. He closed his eyes and cursed his lack of perspective when it came to her. He’d spent years trying to erase her presence from his memory, but nothing ever worked for long. It didn’t matter how many relationships he had or how far away from Montana he stayed, she was there…always in his mind. Sabrina was such an integral part of the first nineteen years of his life, that he couldn’t seem to evict her. Hell, truth be told, he couldn’t even say he wanted to keep trying.

  Court’s eyes opened wide with that admission. He listened to the night sounds for anything human. His gaze moved up to the patch of wide Montana sky visible through the treetops. A million stars still glimmered in the heavens like diamonds scattered across a black velvet jeweler’s bag. His heart lurched at the realization that no matter how far he ran or how long he stayed away, this was still home. This land and the hard work of his youth were the things that made him the man he was today. A flash of memory, his father smiling down at him and ruffling his hair, zinged his conscience. He rarely thought of him. Court tried to pretend that the man and his memory meant nothing to him, that his father alone had caused the heartache and lack of material comforts of his childhood.