by Connie Mann
“I’ve not heard mention of either Atwood owning a boat, so maybe we’ll get lucky and they’re fishing off the dock.”
When they pulled up at the boat ramp, Hunter hitched his chin and grinned. “Looks like we got lucky.” He grabbed the ball cap, and they approached the two men leaning over the dock railing, poles in the water.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Hunter said. “How’s the fishing?”
John Henry kept his eyes on the water, pretending he didn’t hear them. Aaron, however, glanced their way. “No keepers so far, but that’s why they call it fishing, not catching, right?”
After polite chuckles, Hunter said, “I have a couple questions for you, Aaron.”
“All right. How can I assist FWC today?”
Interesting, Josh thought, that all of a sudden, the son of a survivalist gets chatty with law enforcement.
Hunter held the ball cap out to Aaron. “Is this yours?”
Aaron leaned forward but didn’t touch it. John Henry had obviously cautioned him about giving his fingerprints to the government. “I suppose it could be. Course it could belong to any number of people, what with the feed store giving them out like candy.”
“Let me ask it another way. Do you own one of the many hats the feed store gave out, Mr. Atwood?” Hunter pressed.
“I used to. But I don’t recall seeing it for a while.” He shrugged again.
“Did you hear about the camper that burned down in the forest the other night?” Hunter asked.
Aaron clicked his tongue. “I did. Sad story that. At least with the rain we’ve had, the fire didn’t spread too far.”
Was this guy for real? “You also heard someone died as a result of that fire, correct?”
Josh saw John Henry clench his jaw and couldn’t tell if the other man was angry or suppressing emotion. “They’ve identified the victim as Delilah Paige. Also known as your sister, Delilah Atwood.”
John Henry’s grip on the pole tightened.
Aaron’s expression turned sad. “I’d heard that, yes, but I—we—were hoping it wasn’t true.”
“You knew she was back in town?”
Aaron looked away, nodded. “Just heard that recently.” He paused. “Any idea what caused the fire?”
“The fire marshal is still conducting his investigation,” Hunter said.
“Did you set it?” Josh demanded. Hunter sent him a quelling look, but he ignored it.
Aaron’s incredulous smile made Josh itch to punch him. He clenched his fists to keep from doing it.
“I had no idea that was my sister’s camper, and even if I had, what possible reason would I have for setting fire to it?” Aaron shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense. I don’t know what kind of fishing expedition you gentlemen are on, but you’re in the wrong pond.”
“We found the ball cap near the camper.”
“And that means I set the fire?” He laughed. “If that’s all you have to go on, this conversation is over.”
Josh stepped in and grabbed Aaron by the shirtfront. He pulled him up onto his toes and hissed, “If I find out you were behind this, there will not be a hole deep enough for you to hide in.”
“This is police harassment,” Aaron said to Hunter, calm as you please.
Hunter moved next to Josh. “Let him go.”
Josh’s grip tightened, fingers itching to slap the smug expression off Aaron’s face. With one final glare, he slowly set the other man back on his feet.
Aaron rolled his shoulders, then picked up his pole and reeled in his line, completely ignoring them, just as John Henry had been doing since they arrived.
Once back in the truck, Hunter speared him with a look. “Keep your feelings out of this, Hollywood, or you’re going to screw it up.”
“You think Aaron set the fire?”
“I don’t know. He’s pretty sure of himself. I can see him getting someone else to do his dirty work for him, though.” His cell phone rang, and he put it on speaker. “What do you have, Pete?”
“I’m at Benson’s house, and there’s no sign of him. According to the housekeeper, she found the boots in the trash and gave them to her sister for her nephew, thinking they were about the right size. Benson hasn’t been here in the past two days, and there’s no evidence he packed a bag before he left. Housekeeper comes twice a week and says she has no way of knowing when he might have left town.”
“Thanks, Pete. Anything else lying around that caught your interest or attention?”
“Negative, but I’ll look around some more, just to make sure. No sign of his body, but I’ll check the perimeter of the property before I leave.”
“We just had a chat with Aaron Atwood. John Henry was there, too, but he had nothing to say.”
“Aaron come clean about the ball cap?”
“Danced around it and was pretty damn smug. Made sure we didn’t get his prints either.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, not with the Atwoods.”
“We’ll keep working all the angles. We stopped by Mama T’s, and she had the same flyer about a militia meet and greet that was emailed to Black.”
“Hollywood, you and Delilah be careful tonight.”
“10-4, Bulldog,” Josh said.
Nothing would happen to Delilah. Not on his watch.
* * *
Delilah glanced in the mirror with equal parts dread and determination. She knew no one would recognize her dressed like this, but deliberately breaching the lion’s den of her former life was going to be risky.
She stepped into the living room, chin up, and Josh gave her a thorough once-over. “Perfect.” He stepped away from the counter and tipped her chin up. “Besides, everyone thinks you’re dead, so no one will be looking for you.” He ran his thumb along her jawline, and his calm steadiness settled her. He reached in his pocket and pulled out two plain gold bands. “Before I forget, we’re supposed to wear these.” Without ceremony, he slid the smaller one on her ring finger and the other on his own.
He looked up, and she swallowed hard as they studied each other. What if they weren’t pretending? Apparently, the significance of the gesture wasn’t lost on him, either, for his green eyes lost their teasing glint, and Delilah caught a flash of what might have been longing before it disappeared.
He lowered his head, and she thought he was going to kiss her. As his warm breath touched her face, Delilah tilted her face toward his.
At the last second, he pulled back. Green eyes burning with some unnamed emotion, he slowly brushed his lips over her knuckles, sending a little thrill through her.
He stepped back and winked. “Let me change, and we’ll go conquer the world, Xena.”
The fact that he saw her as a warrior gave her confidence a boost, as did knowing he’d have her back tonight. Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. She went into the bedroom and tucked her knife in the pocket of her long skirt. She stashed her gun in her backpack, too, just in case.
Stay strong, Mary. We’re coming to find you.
Chapter 23
Delilah’s eyes widened when Josh emerged from the bathroom. Instead of his usual FWC baseball cap, he wore a battered cowboy hat and sported a brown, close-cropped beard. He’d added a pair of thick glasses that completely changed his face. Her eyes traveled down his body, and she realized he was wearing some sort of padding under his loose-fitting shirt. Instead of the clearly delineated muscles she’d spent far too much time drooling over, now he looked middle-aged and lumpy.
He grinned at her appraisal and said, “Jim Brown here, and this is the little woman, Donna.”
“Little woman, huh?” she teased. But that was the mindset they were walking into. “Why Brown?”
“Because it’s so ordinary, people won’t remember it. They’ll say, ‘What was their name? Something like Smith or Jones or something.�
� It helps our cover.”
“What are you wearing under that shirt?”
A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” With a laugh, he pulled up the edge of the fabric. “It’s a modified Kevlar vest. The padding is thick enough to help protect me but not so stiff that it doesn’t look like part of my body.”
Delilah shook her head. “I can’t believe how different you look.”
“Right back at you, Donna, dear.” He winked and held the door open so she could precede him. “ Let’s do this.”
On the way to the meeting site, Josh went over their cover story again. “Jim and Donna Brown, just down from Ohio, have been married a little over a year. We met, ironically enough, at a militia meeting, because your family was part of it. We don’t like the direction this country is going and worry about our freedoms being taken away, so we decided to embrace the survivalist lifestyle, live in our camper, learn to protect ourselves, and be ready for anything.”
“What was my maiden name?” Delilah asked.
He grinned. “Let’s keep it simple, Donna Jones.”
She nodded and glanced out the window, her mind replaying the long list of things that could go wrong tonight.
As though he could read her mind, he said, “We’re going to be fine. People see what they expect to see. Stick with our script, pretend you’re really shy, and follow my lead.”
The dread persisted, but when they pulled up to Stevens Point, she shoved it aside. She’d been playing a role most of her life. This wasn’t any different. She was an expert at being invisible.
There were far more pickup trucks in the clearing than she had expected. Josh parked at the end of a row so they could make a quick getaway if necessary. He reached into the bed of the truck and grabbed two camp chairs and slung them over his shoulder before he took her hand and they headed toward the campfire. It was almost dark, so faces were hard to distinguish. Which kept them concealed but made it harder to recognize others.
As they approached, a tall, thin, middle-aged man with red hair and beard separated himself from a knot of men. “Evening. You folks new here?”
Josh sent the man a warm smile, wrapped an arm around Delilah’s waist, and tucked her against his side. “Yes, sir. Me and the missus just came down from Ohio. Looking forward to getting to know some folks here.”
The man extended his hand. “Eli Foster. Welcome. I’m one of the organizers. Let me introduce you around.”
Mary mentioned a guy named Eli, Delilah thought.
With a hand on Josh’s shoulder, Eli steered him toward a group of men, leaving Delilah standing alone. Before she could figure out whether to follow, an older woman with a graying ponytail approached. “Don’t worry. Eli won’t take him far. I’m Sue, his sister. What’s your name?” After Delilah gave it, Sue said, “Let me introduce you to some of the womenfolk.”
Delilah found herself surrounded by fifteen women, all of them wearing the same old-fashioned garb, all looking at her curiously. She smiled shyly.
Sue wrapped an arm around her waist. “This here is Donna. She and her man are new.”
The women said hello, most of them warm and friendly, but a few looked at her askance. Since she remembered wondering whether a newcomer was friend or foe at gatherings like this during her childhood, Delilah didn’t hold it against them. She widened her smile and said, “Thank you. We’re glad to be here. I’m looking forward to getting to know you ladies.”
Sue invited her to sit beside her, their circle of chairs separate from the main campfire where the men were holding court. Several women came over, and Delilah scrambled to remember everything Mama had taught her about herbs and gardening and favorite recipes.
The conversation flowed around her, easy and light, and when she felt Josh’s eyes on her, Delilah glanced toward the men’s circle. He smiled and winked, and Delilah ducked her head, blushing like the newlywed she was supposed to be. Good-natured teasing came from several of the ladies.
“Oh, honey,” Sue said. “Enjoy those looks while you can.” She looked around the circle. “Once the babies start coming, those looks get fewer and farther between.”
The other women chuckled, and the conversation continued, but Delilah found her eyes drawn back to Josh again and again. Every time, she found him looking right back at her. With every glance, every secret smile, the line between the part she was playing and reality blurred a little bit more.
* * *
Josh let the men’s conversations flow around him as he pretended to sip a beer.
“Does anyone know who this Black guy was? He wasn’t part of us, was he?” a rail-thin man asked. Josh tried to see his face, but it was hidden by the ball cap pulled low over his forehead.
“Paper said he wasn’t from around here,” a heavy-set bald man offered.
“I heard he had one of the flyers about tonight.”
Josh went on alert at that, especially when he recognized County Commissioner Rory Fitzpatrick’s voice. He kept his body language loose and casual. That piece of information hadn’t been in the paper. So how did Fitzpatrick know about it?
“Maybe he was looking to join up,” thin guy said.
“Tallahassee is a long way to come for meetings,” bald guy argued.
Aaron Atwood suddenly appeared and exchanged greetings with the men. Josh kept his face in the shadows.
“I want a word with you,” Fitzpatrick said quietly, and the two men stepped away from the group. Josh slowly walked past on his way to get another beer so he could hear their conversation. “What the hell happened out there, Atwood? Black was found near your family’s old campsite. And I can’t get hold of Benson.”
“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”
Fitzpatrick clenched his fists. “Don’t you go acting all innocent, Atwood. I want to know what happened, and I want to know where Benson is.”
Aaron didn’t raise his voice. Actually, none of it seemed to affect him in the least. “I don’t know, as I wasn’t there when Black was killed. You want to know more, find Benson. I’d be interested in his story, too.” With that, Aaron walked back over to the group, and Josh casually rejoined them as well. Interesting that Fitzpatrick didn’t know where Benson was, either.
A few minutes later, another man joined them, and tension suddenly crackled in the air. Men eased away from Aaron as the newcomer entered the circle, and the two men faced each other. The other man stuck out his hand. “Glad you could make it tonight, Atwood. Always good to see you. Is John Henry here, too?”
Aaron ignored the outstretched hand and stepped closer, hands on his hips. “What were you thinking, sending out flyers and starting a Facebook page, for cripes’ sake? Do you want every fish cop in the state trying to shut us down?”
“We aren’t doing anything wrong, just gathering with like-minded individuals. Nothing wrong with people knowing we’re a welcoming group.”
“We fly under the radar. We don’t put up neon signs announcing our presence.”
“This is the way of the future. Time to use social media to our advantage. I say we make our presence known.” He scanned the men around him, nodding to those who murmured agreement.
Aaron simply stood, arms folded, vibrating with fury.
John Henry appeared next to his son, put a hand on his arm in some sort of signal, and extended a hand to the other man. “Good to see you tonight.”
The other man returned the handshake before he turned to the group. “Gentlemen, please excuse us a moment. John Henry and I need to discuss his daughter’s wedding.”
Josh followed them as far as he could without being completely obvious, but he still couldn’t hear what they were saying. Damn.
* * *
Delilah kept waiting for an official meeting to start, but none did. As the night got darker, Sue led her over t
o a dessert table, and she spotted Aaron pulling beer from a cooler. Nerves hummed under her skin, but she relaxed a bit when she realized Josh was watching him closely. She didn’t see Mama or Mary, but she turned her chair so she could keep an eye on both circles.
When the first notes of a fiddle echoed through the night, it was met with hoots and hollers and loud applause. “Grab your chair,” Sue instructed as the women joined the men’s circle. The fiddle was joined by a banjo, a harmonica, and even a washtub.
Voices joined in, and soon the traditional songs of her childhood drifted through the forest. Delilah’s throat closed up as memories assailed her, of her father laughing and smiling at Mama as he swung her around the dance floor. Delilah found herself missing that man in ways she never had before.
She swallowed hard and set her chair just beyond the makeshift dance floor, eyes averted. She tapped her toe in time to the music, clapping as the dancers swung and spun, the ladies’ dresses belling out. After a rousing rendition of “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree,” the band swung into “Tennessee Waltz.”
“May I have this dance, Mrs. Brown?” Josh asked, bending down beside her.
Delilah saw the invitation in his green eyes as he held out a hand. She slowly put hers into it, finding it harder and harder to keep her emotional distance. Once they reached the dance floor, he turned her toward him and pulled her close, one hand at the small of her back, the other folding her hand in his much larger one. He started moving in time to the music, and with every step, he shifted her closer.
Delilah looked over his shoulder and almost tripped over her own feet. As though her memories had conjured him, she spotted her father at the edge of the crowd, clapping in time to the music. Past and present collided, and she stumbled again, desperate suddenly to stay out of his line of sight.
“Relax, Delilah,” he whispered in her ear. “This won’t work if you look like you’re trying to escape.”
If it wasn’t all so convoluted, she’d have laughed. She did want to escape. The situation, not him. But she had a part to play tonight, so she took a deep breath and relaxed in his embrace, her head on his shoulder. His arm tightened around her, and she let everything go except the feel of him holding her, the music flowing around them, the smell of the campfire and the crackling flames.