“Can I drive?”
His laugh was all guy. “Absolutely. If I’m dead, drunk or otherwise incapacitated.”
“Fine,” she said, marching toward the door with a bit of Scarlett O’Hara flair. “But I get to pick the music.”
Was she making a mistake by going with him? Maybe. Probably. Especially where her heart was concerned. But, she reminded herself, there was one other element in her dreams last night. One she hadn’t mentioned to Jonas when they talked.
When she bumped into the devil, he’d invited her to come with him. “Your father’s been looking for you. You want to meet him, don’t you? He’s just up the road a bit.”
She wasn’t a fool. She didn’t believe him, but now she wondered if just up the road a bit was exactly where she was supposed to be.
“ANOTHER DEAD-END. NO pun intended.”
Jonas looked up from the computer on his lap. They’d stopped for the night in Gainesville. He could easily have made Tampa, but his passenger specifically had asked—no, begged—for a bed. “Jonas, if you don’t want me to spend my entire night driving in my sleep, you have to stop soon. I need to eat and move around a little bit. And I want to check my email.”
She’d already decided, out loud, that she wouldn’t mention the name Thomas Goodson to her sister until she had more information.
“Nothing? No Thomas Goodson?” he asked Remy, who was sitting on the bed next to his.
They’d discussed the necessity for two rooms and she’d agreed that the added cost was silly. “We’re adults. We’re not teenagers, anymore,” she said. “Just give me clean sheets and free Wi-Fi.”
She turned her laptop so he could see. The only word clearly visible was Obituary. He swallowed. “You found him?”
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I found a Thomas Goodson. There are thousands.” She returned the screen her way. “This one is the right age, thereabouts, and he was a minister. But the obit doesn’t say anything about him ever being an itinerant preacher or living in Louisiana.”
“How long ago did he die?”
“Ten years ago.”
“Hmm. So, you’re still not going to call Jessie?”
Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”
He closed his computer and turned on his side to face her, his elbow cocked to support his head. “Call her. She’s going to be pissed if you don’t.”
“Since when do you care how Jessie feels about anything?”
“She did me a very nice favor by putting me in touch with Leonard Franey. I owe her one.”
She let out a deep sigh. “I hate it when you’re right.” She pushed her laptop to the drab striped bedspread and reached for her phone. “I didn’t want to get her hopes up. Plus, it would have been really great to tell her I’d found him. After all these years… Wow, right?”
He rose and grabbed his windbreaker. “I’m gonna buy us some water to have in the car tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few.”
A lame excuse but he didn’t want to eavesdrop on her conversation, plus he needed the break. She’d been great. Cheerful, optimistic, even funny when she’d relate some outrageous story about her wild and wacky family.
Having her with him all day had saved him from going out of his head with worry. She’d kept his mind off all the worst-case scenarios that kept popping into his head. He didn’t know how she did it. Especially after his mother delivered her cryptic, potentially earth-shattering revelation that morning.
He had to get away from Remy for a few minutes because he needed to come to grips with the truth. He still loved Remy Bouchard. Always had. Admitting his feelings didn’t change the fact that he could never act on those feelings. He couldn’t fall down on his knees and beg her forgiveness for everything he and, apparently, his mother had done. He could only keep his distance and continue to exploit Remy’s gift, her goodness.
“Shit,” he swore, walking straight into the cool, evening breeze. He was the lowest of the low. Even offering to pay her had been a lame attempt to disguise the fact that he was using her. But what choice did he have? He had to find Birdie. Remy was part of this now. He couldn’t turn around, take her home and say goodbye. Not yet.
He bought a six-pack of water at the convenience store. While waiting to pay, his gaze fell on the condom display behind the counter. Temptation was an ugly, powerful force. He looked over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the devil grinning smugly. But, no, he was the only customer.
“Gimme a package of those, too,” he said, nodding behind the clerk.
He cursed his weakness all the way to the room. He almost threw away the vibrantly hued box. Finally, he convinced himself that he had the willpower to resist the temptation Remy presented simply by being herself, but on the impossibly remote chance he lost his mind and his self-control, then wasn’t it better to be prepared?
The compromise made perfect sense—until he opened the door of their motel room and he saw her.
Crying.
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
He set the bag near the closet and hurried across the room, shedding his jacket. “Remy? What’s wrong? Tell me. Is it Jessie? Did Mr. Franey call?”
She made a feathery motion with her fingers as if trying to blow away her tears, but her bottom lip continued to quiver—the same way Birdie’s did when she was trying not to cry. “It’s nothing. I’m f-fine. Well, I was until I heard Jessie’s voice. Then I sort of fell apart.”
He sat and put one arm around her. “I’m sorry. How did she take the news?”
She let her head fall against his shoulder. “She laughed, actually. She said it made perfect sense. A used-car salesman versus a preacher, they both were trying to sell you something.”
He let out a soft huff. “Well, that’s one way of looking at what happened.”
She grabbed a tissue from a box beside the bed and blew her nose, then she looked at him and asked, “Will you do me a favor?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Sleep with me.”
His arm dropped like an anchor. “What?”
She pointed from his bed to hers. “Nothing sexual. I just feel very alone at the moment. If Jessie were here, I’d crawl in bed with her. But she isn’t here. And…and she has someone and I don’t.”
He could tell the tears were beginning to build again. He understood. Probably better than she could possibly imagine. He hugged her again. In support. “Sure. No problem.” He looked at the plastic bag in the corner. “Nothing sexual.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“THANKS FOR COMING, Jonas. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Remy. Have a seat.”
Jonas held out one of the matching brown leather chairs for Remy then sat beside her. The two chairs faced the largest desk Jonas had ever seen. The top could have been used as a landing strip…if you could find the bottom of it through the massive stacks of papers. In stark opposition, the man behind the desk was compact—five-six, at best, bald and austerely dressed completely in black.
“Thank you for taking this case. Have your investigators found anything, Mr. Franey?”
“Call me Leonard. And, yes, Jonas, we’ve got a plethora of facts for you. I’ve had my secretary copy you on everything. She’ll hand you a flash drive on your way out. I’d like you both to look over the information after you leave here. Sometimes a victim’s loved ones can catch small points that lead to big breaks.”
Victim? Jonas looked at Remy, whose eyes had gone wide with alarm.
“So, Jonas, now that you’re here, I’d like you to tell me everything you know about the GoodFriends. How and when did you learn that your ex-wife had joined the group?”
“Cheryl hooked up with them while I was out of the country. Apparently the leader of the group—I believe he calls himself Brother Thom—was interviewed on local TV. Cheryl told one of our friends she thought he was the sexiest preacher she’d ever seen.”
Leonard nodded. “I watched the video clip included in the background information
you sent me. You did a very thorough job, by the way. If you’re ever in the market for a job…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Jonas was pleased by the praise. “You called my ex-wife a victim. If she joined this group willingly—and she made it clear to our friends that this was her intent—how does that make her anything but self-serving and maybe naive?”
Leonard sat forward, his hands clasped in front of him on a pile of papers. “While you and I can clearly see that this sort of religious group is a sham, there are many people who are seduced by a charismatic leader or minister who convinces them to do things that would immediately raise a red flag to the average person. Being gullible shouldn’t make you easy prey, but it often does.”
Jonas relaxed slightly. “Okay. I’ll buy that. I was afraid you meant a physical sort of violation. Bondage, rape, abuse.”
Leonard picked up a piece of paper and said, “I’m not ruling out anything at the moment.”
“Pardon?” Remy asked. “What do you mean?”
“A friend of mine in the FBI faxed me this. It’s a copy of an interview he had last summer with a woman who claimed she barely escaped from the GoodFriends with her life. We haven’t had a chance to verify any of her charges. The police dropped the whole thing because, like your ex-wife, the woman has a history of mental instability.”
Jonas reached for the folder Leonard handed him. He quickly scanned the transcript. The woman was deemed “hysterical” by the interviewer. She also came across as traumatized and desperately afraid of Brother Thom.
“Isolating people is a good way to establish control over them,” Franey said. “On their website, the GoodFriends promote a separatist lifestyle called InFaith living for the most faithful followers. Some of the photos from a couple years back show quite a gypsy caravan. For some reason, the group’s numbers have severely declined.”
Jonas closed the folder, intending to read it thoroughly later. “I’ve been checking the site daily and have yet to see any updates. There’s still a donation button, and I sent them five bucks when I first got back. The charge has never shown up on my credit card.”
Leonard shuffled through the pieces of paper on his desk, finally pulling one sheet free of the others. “My staff has been following the money trail, and, unfortunately, it’s as if the well has dried up. Whatever was working for the GoodFriends in the past, isn’t happening at all now. The church appears to be broke.”
“Do you have any idea where they are?” Remy asked.
The P.I. turned to a very large, very sleek and modern-looking computer. A wave of his hand seemed to bring the thing to life. By stretching close to Remy, Jonas could see an image that might have come from a satellite. “He’s dumped his regular cell phone. Since you documented a recent call from your daughter, we assume he’s using the prepaid sort, although we have no record of him purchasing one. In fact, his credit cards are all maxed out and frozen. My contact at the IRS says they’ve seen nothing from either the pastor or the church in two years.”
He glanced at Remy. “So, the answer to your question is a slightly qualified no. People who have found success in a certain area tend to return to that area when they’re in trouble. I would bet you anything he’s still in the South.”
Jonas thought so, too. “Unfortunately, the group has held revival meetings in every state from Louisiana to Florida, and as far north as Tennessee.”
Leonard looked at him. “That’s where the new toys come in. Facial recognition software, for one. And, don’t kid yourself, Big Brother is watching. Brother Thom might be keeping a low profile for now, but he’ll have to surface some time. Every big tent evangelist I’ve ever met has a bit of the stage performer in him. These guys get off on the adulation. I promise you, Brother Thom’s ego isn’t going to let him stay in the backwoods and boonies forever. He will resurface. And soon. I feel it.”
Jonas was heartened by the man’s confidence. He looked at Remy and smiled. She smiled back but not quite as enthusiastically as he would have imagined.
“Do you have some kind of contract or agreement I need to sign so you can get paid for your services?”
Jonas asked.
“Normally, yes. But I’ve taken this job pro bono as a favor to a friend.”
“A friend? Who?”
Leonard didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Remy and studied her a few seconds. “You look very familiar, Remy. Have you appeared on Shane’s television show?”
“You mean, Shane Reynard? The producer of Sentinel Passtime?” she asked. She didn’t know Shane well, but Jessie had worked with him when she did stunts for the show that was loosely based on Cade’s hometown of Sentinel Pass. “No. I take care of old people. My twin sister, Jessie, has done some work on the show. She’s also a free runner with Team Shockwave.”
Leonard snapped his fingers. “Jess deLeon. Of course. One of my favorites. I heard she was injured.”
The two chatted a few minutes longer before Jonas cleared his throat. “Is there anything else I should be doing right now to find my daughter? Can you put me to work or point me in the right direction? I’m going a bit crazy here.”
Leonard rubbed his chin pensively before answering. “I haven’t seen anything to indicate your daughter is in any immediate danger. Long-term, of course, the brainwashing and cult mentality could have a detrimental effect. And given your ex-wife’s mental-health issues, you have a right to be concerned, but I’d say for the moment, why not let me do my job?”
Jonas looked at Remy, who gave him a nod of agreement.
“I’ve sent one of my associates to talk to the woman who says she escaped from the group. She’s staying with family in Tallahassee and works a swing shift. He probably won’t have anything for me until tomorrow, but I promise to call the minute I hear something. Where are you staying?”
“A resort on St. Pete’s Beach,” Remy said.
“Good choice. I know how stressful waiting can be, but, truthfully, everything that can be done at the moment is being handled. I promise you that. And we will find your daughter.” He looked less stern and more fatherly when he stood and reached across the desk to shake Jonas’s hand. “Birdie is going to need you at your best when she comes home. There’s no way of knowing how traumatic this has been. Luckily, she’s very young and her mother has been with her, but the most effective use of your time may be to take a walk on the beach, have a glass of wine and get some rest. Let Florida work its magic and let me do my job. Okay?”
Jonas shook the man’s hand. He felt hopeful for the first time in much too long, but he honestly didn’t know if he could relax until Birdie was in his arms. Still, the man did make a valid point. Jonas wasn’t going to be any good if he fell apart the minute she was back.
Remy got up, too, but when she shook Leonard’s hand, she said, “This is probably going to sound a little woo-woo, but in my dream last night I saw a big brown-and-silver motor home parked near a bunch of run-down buildings. Nobody was around and I didn’t see Birdie, but I felt…creeped out. Like people were watching me from behind the rusted, sagging window screens.”
The hair on Jonas’s arms stood up. “You didn’t tell me you had a dream.”
She looked embarrassed. “It could be nothing. Like I said, I didn’t see Birdie. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
Leonard leaned back abruptly and pawed through one of the piles on his desk withdrawing an eight-by-ten piece of paper. “Did the motor home look like this?”
“Yes. I remember the wavy emblem on the side. I wondered if it was supposed to represent heaven.”
“I had a granny who had the sight. Others might scoff at dreams, but not me,” Leonard said. “Anytime you see something, Remy—big or small—you let me know.”
“I will. Take care. I hope you find her soon.” She glanced at Jonas as if she might add something else, but walked toward the door, instead.
“Thank you, Leonard. I’ll have my phone on me at all times. Call me if you hear
anything.”
They exited the office, which occupied an entire corner of an upscale strip mall. It was nearly noon, but Jonas’s stomach was a ball of knots. The thought of food did nothing for him. “How about we check into the hotel and take a walk on the beach? Maybe grab a bite later.”
“Good idea.”
Despite the focus on relaxing, the fear of not knowing where his daughter was, combined with the stress of worrying that he wasn’t doing more, had produced a blinding pain in his head.
When they reached the car, he made an impulsive decision and handed her the keys. “Would you mind driving? My head is killing me.”
“Seriously?”
Now that he’d admitted the problem out loud, the signs he knew all too well started multiplying. “Stress migraine. I have some pills the army doc gave me. Can you pop the trunk?”
His hand was shaking by the time he tapped two horse tablets into his palm. He took them then gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of water. Room temperature, since they’d left the plastic bag on the floor of the backseat instead of putting it in the cooler in the trunk.
The bag.
He looked at Remy but she was busy pulling a pair of oversize sunglasses out of her purse. She had to have seen his other purchase. A foolish, idiotic buy. He’d apologize to her for sending the wrong message as soon as his head stopped pounding.
He lowered himself into the car and put on his seat belt.
“I’ll be fine by the time we get to the hotel,” he said, watching her adjust the power seat and mirrors to her satisfaction. She also turned off the AC and opened the windows while she programmed the hotel’s address into his built-in navigational system. She’d mastered the unit he’d never even used until this trip.
Typical, he thought. Everybody always underestimates the blonde. He closed his eyes and willed himself to let go and relax. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the motor home she claimed to have seen.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your dream?”
“It wasn’t exactly a dream. I slept like the dead last night,” she said, her tone wistful. He understood completely. He’d felt the same.
A Father's Quest Page 12