by Debra Webb
But the man was still his father, no matter that he had made their lives harder with his drinking. He’d had a good heart, if no self-discipline. Besides, would Court have the determination he had today if his father had been different? He pushed away that line of thinking. Both his father and mother were long gone, there was no point in rehashing anyone’s mistakes…not even his own. Though he had provided well for his mother until her death, as did his three older brothers, Court hadn’t visited her as often as he should have. Despite the fact that she had moved to Livingston after the last of her sons left the ranch, it still bothered him to come back. He had carefully avoided Sabrina and the Double K on those occasions, but then his mother had died and Sabrina had entered his life, however briefly, once more.
She hadn’t forgiven him for taking that one night and then walking away. Court supposed he couldn’t blame her, but he had a life in D.C. and nothing Montana had to offer, not even Sabrina, was going to hold him back. The assignment had to be top priority. An unexpected hollowness accompanied the motto he lived by. Court tunneled his fingers through his hair. Damn, he missed his hat. Though he rarely wore the blasted thing in the city, it hadn’t taken him long to fall back into the habit of wearing it regularly.
No hat, no light and no weapon, discounting the pocketknife he’d been allowed to keep. He’d been dumped out here with basically nothing to protect himself but his wits. But then, that was the point, wasn’t it? Neely wanted two things. To ensure Court’s worthiness as a soldier, and to test his readiness to die for the cause. If he lacked one or both he would either die out here in the darkness at Ferguson’s hand or he would run like hell and never come back.
But Court would do neither. By dawn, he planned to move up a little higher on Neely’s food chain. A whisper of fabric against foliage captured his full attention. Ferguson was close. Court had left him a clear-enough trail without being too obvious. He could just imagine the smug expression on the man’s face. He likely thought he was moving in for the kill. Court smiled. Well, he had a surprise coming to him.
As Court sat silently waiting, the darkness grayed slowly into predawn light. All the while Ferguson moved in the direction Court had planned. Three steps forward, two back. He circled twice before he realized that he was not going anywhere, only around and around. The snap of a twig to his immediate right alerted Court to the man’s frustration level and nearness. Men like Ferguson made few tactical errors. It would likely take him a couple more minutes to realize he’d been had, but Court had no intention of allowing that epiphany to dawn before his strike.
Confusion obviously reigning, muddling his thinking, Ferguson backed one step closer to Court’s well-camouflaged position.
One last step.
Now!
Court’s arm went around the man’s shoulder, the sharp blade of the knife to his throat. “Well, well, Ferguson, you took your sweet time finding me.”
The man immediately dropped his weapon and held up his hands in surrender. “Glad to see you survived the challenge, brother,” he said tightly, fear and uncertainty coloring his tone.
“Sure, brother,” Court retorted. “So, I guess this means no one has to die this morning.” Court leaned closer, speaking directly into his ear now. “Unless you’d prefer it differently?” The sun suddenly cleared the horizon, reaching down through the trees in warm streaks of gold obliterating the gray.
“You,” he croaked. “You wouldn’t dare. You’ve disarmed me.”
Court laughed a humorless sound. “Sure I would.” He sighed wearily. “But I won’t as long as you pull that radio from your belt and let them know that we’re on our way back together.” He wasn’t about to risk Ferguson attempting one last opportunity to take him out before they reached the rendezvous point.
Ferguson grabbed the radio and depressed the talk button. “We’re coming in,” he growled.
Raymond’s expectant voice crackled from the tiny speaker. “You and Court?” he asked for clarification.
“Yes,” Ferguson said reluctantly. “We’re both coming in.”
CHAPTER FOUR
COURT STARED AT the half-empty bottle of beer on the table before him. He had plenty to do without Austin calling this damned urgent meeting. The afternoon had passed in a blur of activity, mostly associated with familiarizing himself with how Neely’s lieutenants operated. Ferguson was still pissed as hell at him, but, the way Court looked at it, the fool was lucky to be alive. A man with fewer morals might have slit Ferguson’s throat just to take that smug expression off his face. Ferguson was one of those guys who asked for trouble wherever he went, usually without uttering a word.
But Court wasn’t looking for trouble. He wanted to keep as low a profile as possible within the lieutenants’ ranks until he got the information he needed. If Neely was working with the Black Order, the Bureau needed to know, as did Daniel Austin and his men. But whether he was or not, Neely had to go down. No man with his kind of ideals should ever garner this much power. He was too dangerous. Instantly a vision of the stark white room with its round black conference table for twelve flickered through his thoughts. The man was clearly a few cards shy of a full deck.
Outside the lieutenants, Court doubted if the people who followed Neely really understood what he was about. He could thunder with righteousness in his tone and dazzle with lightning in his words, swaying those who were seeking something better. Though he was using the resources around him quite efficiently, too much money was involved for it to come from only local sources. That ammo room and communications center were proof positive. Neely had himself some powerful backers. The kind of support the everyday average member of the militia couldn’t possibly comprehend.
Court considered Raymond Green and wondered if the man fully understood what he was helping Neely accomplish with his enthusiasm and knowledge of the locals. Though Raymond was a good soldier, well trained and ready to die for the cause, he was not well educated. And if Court had him pegged right, he wasn’t savvy about politics or worldwise in any real respect. He’d found a place that he fit in and likely got the glory he’d yearned for his entire life, and he’d burrowed in for the long haul. Going above and beyond the call of duty.
Too bad he’d nested in a den of snakes. Raymond had led the cheers this morning when Court and Ferguson walked down from that mountain. The embrace Raymond had given him in greeting had been heartfelt. Court appreciated the man’s friendship, but wasn’t sure what, if anything, he could do to help him out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. Men like Raymond were often the ones who were sacrificed the most when guys like Neely went down for their crimes.
Sabrina pushed into Court’s head. Where would she be when the proverbial crap hit the fan? He scrubbed a hand over his face and took a long draw from his beer. She needed his protection as well. Her and her rowdy brother. The kid’s exuberance at Court’s return to the compound this morning was nothing short of exhilarated. He’d latched onto Court for the rest of the morning’s festivities. Then Neely had ordered Court to get some rest. But sleep hadn’t come easily, despite the night’s adventure.
Every detail of the incredible setup Court had seen in the hidden tunnel replayed over and over in his weary mind. Raymond’s words about Neely having way bigger plans echoed even now. With this morning’s challenge behind him, Court would be included in Neely’s long-term plans. Court had no idea how often they had their strategy meetings, but he felt certain that Neely would keep his men up to speed on a regular basis. Court hoped that he would soon know the charismatic leader’s ultimate goal and exactly who was helping him achieve it.
Daniel Austin paused at Court’s table, his own long-neck bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. “You Court Brody?” he asked with a nonchalance that would fool anybody watching.
“Depends on who’s asking.” Court sipped his beer, his own demeanor just as relaxed.
“Well, if you’re Brody, I heard you were interested in a job working with horses,” Austin o
ffered for the ears of those sitting nearest to Court’s table who might have taken note of his appearance.
Court gazed up at him from beneath the brim of his hat. “Maybe. If the pay is right.”
Austin took a seat directly across from Court and plopped his bottle onto the worn wooden tabletop. “The pay’s fair if you’ve got the right experience for the job. What kind of history have you got working with animals? Just so you know, I don’t need anyone unless he’s prepared to work hard for his pay.”
Court leaned forward and lowered his voice so that anyone still interested in listening wouldn’t overhear what he was about to say. “I gave you an update on everything I’d learned on the phone. I can’t imagine what you’d deem important enough to risk my cover with a face-to-face meeting like this.”
“I received some intel that has a definite bearing on your assignment,” he returned just as pointedly, though his demeanor remained calm and composed despite Court’s insubordinate attitude.
Court eased back into a reclining position and chugged another deep swallow of his beer. He set the bottle down with a thunk and licked his lips. “Oh, yeah? And what would that be?” Court knew Austin didn’t want him out of his sight for too long. Austin wanted to make damned sure he didn’t get left out of the loop on anything.
A tiny line of annoyance creased Austin’s brow at Court’s consistently uncooperative attitude. “According to my contacts, a local guy by the name of Benson, who just joined the Sons and Daughters, is feeding info to our Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms friends. We think maybe they’re planning a raid in the very near future.”
“The ATF?”
Austin nodded.
More than attentive now, Court bit back a hot curse. He knew the kind of contacts Austin had, and they went all the way to the top. A sting by another agency was all he needed. A raid could set back whatever Neely had planned for weeks, or worse, it could blow the whole operation wide open. “We can’t let that happen. I’m too close to finding out what Neely’s really up to. Can you run interference?”
Austin shrugged, turning the bottle round and round between his fingers. “Maybe, but it could take some time to persuade the right person with enough influence to put the ATF’s plan on hold. You know those guys aren’t going to want to surrender jurisdiction.”
“We don’t have time.”
“No,” Austin agreed. “In an operation like this, time is your enemy. The longer you’re under, the bigger the chance you’ll be made.”
Court ran down the names and faces of the guys he’d met. Benson. Oh, yeah, he remembered him. A short guy with dark hair, about twenty-five or so. He’d been recruited a couple of days before Court, but it was doubtful that he had any worthwhile information just yet. Benson was just another flunky in Neely’s growing army. But he would hear rumors, see signs of activity that contradicted the obvious, and that might be enough to warrant a raid.
“I’ll have to give him up,” Court said with resignation.
Austin nodded. “That was my thought. It would look too suspicious if he simply suddenly disappeared.”
“When was his last meeting with his contact?”
“According to my source, they’re supposed to meet here any minute now. That’s why I wanted to meet here.”
“Good.” Court glanced around the dimly lit tavern. He’d met Raymond here. In the years since Court had left, the Watering Hole had obviously become a favored spot of the militia members and most anything else that crawled out from under a rock. He settled his gaze back on Austin’s. “And if Neely insists on killing him?”
“I trust you won’t allow that to happen,” Austin returned, his words a direct order. “Bring him to me and I’ll take care of him.”
“I’m glad you have so much faith in my ability to sway Neely’s command decisions.” Court pushed his empty bottle away. “Remember, I’m the new kid on the block.”
Austin stood. “I have complete faith in you.” He started to turn away but hesitated. “Is the situation with Sabrina Korbett going to be a problem?”
Court’s head shot up at the question. “That’s none of your business, Austin.” He didn’t like the man’s continued interest in Sabrina or whatever was or wasn’t between the two of them. As long as Court did his job, and he would, his personal life was no concern of Austin’s.
“Don’t make this personal,” Austin warned.
“My work is always personal to me.” Court’s gaze didn’t waver from the one staring down so intently at him. He knew his job, he didn’t need anyone, especially not Austin, telling him how to do it. “I don’t think I’m the man you need,” he added, a little louder for anyone taking notes.
Austin gave him a nod. “I’ll let you know if anything else comes up,” he said quietly, then turned and walked away.
Court ordered another beer, one he didn’t plan to drink, and waited for Benson to show. He hoped like hell he could do what had to be done without getting the man killed.
But the assignment was always top priority.
EXHAUSTED FROM THE DAY’S activities, Sabrina had just gotten Ryan down for the night when her front door burst open. It was Charlie.
“Is something wrong?” Immensely thankful that he was home, she surveyed his lanky body for injury. She couldn’t imagine his showing up willingly otherwise. She wilted with relief when she found no indication of his being hurt. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.
Ignoring her completely, Charlie stormed up the stairs to his bedroom. Sabrina followed. He fumbled in his closet until he found an old gym bag and tossed it on his bed. Continuing to ignore her, he pulled first one drawer open, then another, taking out what he wanted and tossing the items into the open bag. Her heart pounded faster. He was packing.
“What are you doing?” Fear surged through her. Packing was not good. That could only mean he was leaving, and with no intentions of coming back.
“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped back. “I can do whatever I want to.”
“Charlie, you can’t do this.” Sabrina tried to pull him around to face her, but he jerked from her touch. Hurt pricked her heart, making her want to cry no matter that she needed desperately to be strong. “The militia is dangerous. I’ve seen enough to know that what they’re doing isn’t right. I don’t want you there.”
“I don’t care what you want.” Fury blazed in his dark eyes. “I can’t stand it here anymore. You don’t care about me. All you care about is Ryan.” He said her son’s name with such hatred that her heart sank at the sound.
Sabrina swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “That’s not true, Charlie, and you know it.”
He stuffed a couple more things in his bag. “I have friends in the militia. People who care about me.” He thumped his skinny chest for emphasis, and his chin trembled. “Like Ferg and Court.”
A new kind of fear seized her. “You don’t know Court,” she argued. “He’s caused trouble for me before.”
Charlie glared at her insolently. “I don’t believe you. I want to be like Court. He’s not like you, all stupid and bossy. If there was trouble it had to be your fault.”
Sabrina winced at the sharp stabs of pain his words caused, but she knew he didn’t really mean them. He was a kid, a teenager. He didn’t understand about life yet. He couldn’t know the things she had learned, that came only with age.
“I know you don’t mean that, Charlie,” she countered. “I know you love me.”
“I don’t!” he cried savagely, tears brimming in his eyes now. “I hate you.”
Drawing in a deep breath against the tightness in her chest, Sabrina surveyed the room her little brother had spent every night of his life in until the last one. He no longer cared about the Nintendo game and skateboard she had worked so hard to buy him. The telescope and insect collections were forgotten, as well. The boy-man struggle raged within him and Joshua Neely seemed to be the only one who could channel his fierce emotions.
“I
could call the sheriff. You’re still a minor under my care and keeping, and I can prevent you from going to the compound,” she offered slowly, hesitation weighing her words. This was a last resort. She knew without a doubt how he would react to that sort of control.
His glare grew more hate-filled. “Go ahead, but I’ll find a way to run away. I won’t listen to you anymore!”
Ryan cried out, interrupting what she would have said next. Sabrina’s stomach twisted into a thousand knots of uncertainty. Her son needed her, but she couldn’t just let her brother walk away. “Charlie, you—” Another cry echoed up the stairs from her bedroom. “I have to go down and get Ryan.” She started toward the door.
“Go ahead! Run to Ryan,” Charlie called to her back. “He’s all you care about, anyway.”
Sabrina turned to face her brother. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He brushed impatiently at them. “I love you, Charlie. You know I do.”
He dismissed her words with a wave of his hand and returned to his task of packing.
Sabrina hurried down the stairs and to Ryan’s crib. Whispering softly to him, she lifted him into her arms and rushed back to Charlie. He was already down the stairs and striding toward the front door, gym bag in hand. She had to stop him somehow.
“Please don’t go back, Charlie,” she pleaded. He hesitated, one hand on the doorknob. “We need you. We love you.”
“I ain’t coming back,” he said, his voice quaking.
Sabrina closed her eyes against that harsh reality. Ryan snuggled against her and sighed his own agitation. “Wait,” she shouted when Charlie would have opened the door.
He turned back to her, belligerence radiating from him, fueled by his impatience. “What?”