Legacy of Evil

by Sharon Buchbinder

  “Worried about the assignment, that’s all.” He sipped his now cold cup of Joe. “We haven’t heard from Bert. Remote viewing is assisted when it’s accompanied by hard data, like aerial photography. That way I don’t spend all day trying to figure out where to focus my energy, and I can get in and up close to the area of interest.”

  “You should be worried,” she agreed. “There’s a lot riding on this.”

  “Plus, Lucius has a lot of concerns about the quartet of stiffs staying at the hotel.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “The tourists. They seem like a bunch of uptight CPAs, but I have to agree with him, there’s something off.”

  She nodded. “Tallulah took me aside this morning in their private office. Showed me their IDs, and the photos of the books. Gotta say the medical coding and billing books alongside the vintage spy craft manuals made me want to sing ‘One of these things is not like the other.’”

  “Exactly.” His feline partner came bouncing up, a still wriggling rabbit in his mouth. “Aw, for me? You shouldn’t have.” The cat set the live animal at his feet, his paw on the hapless creature’s neck. “Let him go and I’ll get you some sausage. Is that a good trade?” Gaucho lifted his paw, and the stunned rabbit lay in front of them, his eyes bugging. “Good boy. Let’s go in. He’ll recover.”

  Emma blocked his path and put her hand up. “Stop, please, I need to say something.” She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry I kissed you yesterday. It was completely inappropriate and unprofessional. It won’t ever happen again.”

  As if to mirror the chill falling between them, a gust of cool air swept off the river and into his heart. “Sure. Message received. Incident completely forgotten.” He frowned and ground his teeth. “Now, if you don’t mind, I hate cold flapjacks. I’m going to grab a bite to eat and get to work.”

  He whistled for Gaucho and took off for the hotel as if racing his cat, but in reality he had to get away from this woman who had charmed and captivated him and just now, crushed his hopes for any type of involvement outside of work. Actually, she’d just done him a huge favor. Bronco liked his job. If he screwed up an assignment, it was one thing, but if he screwed around with Bert’s sister? He’d probably be a dead man.

  ****

  Surprise and hurt had flashed in Bronco’s eyes just before he shuttered his emotions and switched into the other persona, his cold, professional, ruthless double. As he retreated into the hotel, Emma wished she could recall the words from the air, pull them back into her mouth, and stuff them down her throat. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket, she kicked at a rock and sent it sailing into the grasses.

  Unprofessional? Inappropriate? Absolutely. Unwanted? Never. Whenever she was near Bronco, she wanted the man in a way that frightened her, made her worry she’d forget her vow to herself to bury her heart. She couldn’t restore Jessica’s leg, but she could use her head instead of her heart—and her pheromones—to guide her actions. Shit, this was a lot tougher than she thought it was going to be when she gave herself that pep talk last night. If his icy reaction to her apology was any indicator, she did the right thing. No need to make things any more complicated than they already were.

  “Emma?” Hand on her lower back, Tallulah stood on the porch with Franny prancing at her feet. “Are you eating? Lucius made enough for ten people.”

  “Be right there.”

  Tallulah and Lucius had overcome a century of differences to be together and seemed to be blissfully happy in their marriage. How had they found their true mates in the face of these obstacles? Yes, she’d been there, watched them fight and fall in love and fight to stay in love. But what had made Tallulah toss aside her hesitation to take a leap of faith and go with the man from another era? She sighed. It didn’t matter now. After effectively setting clear cut boundaries in the relationship, cutting off any romantic avenue of approach, Emma would think twice—maybe three and four times—before touching Bronco, much less kissing him again. And based on his response, she thought he’d probably do the same.

  Emma entered the kitchen and found only Tallulah present, sliding eggs out of a frying pan onto a plate already occupied by a short stack and bacon. “Orange juice on the table, along with flatware and napkins. The boys are in the office, working on the computer, jabbering on the phone with Bert. Bronco took his food with him.”

  Between gulps of juice, Emma said, “Hope he doesn’t touch the computer screen—or keyboard.”

  “Lucius ate earlier.” Tallulah placed Emma’s plate down. “My guess is he’s doing the typing—one letter at a time.”

  “For someone who didn’t see computers until a little over a year ago, he’s doing well.”

  “Yes, he is.” Tallulah traced a circle on the table top in the condensation from the juice decanter. “What about you, Emma. How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” she lied. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, maybe because Beautiful Blackfeather is standing next to you, and she’s frowning.”

  “For heaven’s sake. That’s not fair. You know I can’t see her. Are you telling the truth or are you teasing me?”

  “Not kidding. Oh, there she goes. Sign talking and pissed at you. Beautiful says she likes this guy, and you shouldn’t be so fast to get rid of him. You’re not getting any younger.”

  “Tell her I’m not going for two horses and a rifle.”

  “She heard you just fine. Now she’s really angry, talking so fast I can barely keep up. Slow down, please, Beautiful.” Tallulah nodded. “She says you’re smart and beautiful in so many ways, but in the ways of the heart you’re as stubborn as a government mule.”

  “Nice. Now I’m a mule.” Emma shook her head. “Any other advice? Ow!” Emma grabbed her ear. “What was that?”

  “She said to listen to your heart and your dreams.” Blushing furiously, Tallulah shook her head. “No, I’m not telling her that.”

  “Now what?” Emma stared at her friend.

  Covering her bright red face, Tallulah whispered, “She said he earned his horse name.”

  It took a moment for the meaning of the comment to sink in. “Ohmigod! I can’t believe she said that.”

  “She may be dead, but she’s not blind.” Tallulah snorted in laughter.

  Against her better judgement Emma started giggling, too.

  Holding a plate in one hand and a computer print-out in the other, Bronco chose that precise moment to walk into the kitchen. His gaze went from Emma to Tallulah, back to Emma. “Did I miss something?”

  Coughing, Emma grabbed the glass of orange juice and chugged. Not only was her ancestor a powerful medicine woman, but she was trying to be a matchmaker from the other side, too. One glance at Bronco’s cold expression told her that wasn’t happening.

  “No,” she sputtered. “Got a piece of bacon stuck in my throat, that’s all.”

  Tallulah took the dish and fork out of his hands and ran water in the sink.

  “What do you have there?” Emma asked. “Is that from my brother?”

  Eyebrow quirked, he gave her a long stare, then nodded. “It’s an aerial view of the Neo-Nazi compound in northern Montana, four or five hours away from here by car. And it’s worse than I thought.” He placed four pieces of paper down on the table in front of her plate. “This—” he pointed—“is an electric plant. I’m guessing coal. From the steam, it appears to be operational. Those long, low buildings look like warehouses. And over here, those appear to be housing.” He paused. “But the scariest part is this.” He pointed to long white lines across the black and white photo. “These are runways—and there’s a Christmas tree—where planes can park at forty-five degree angles and take off down the runway in fifteen second intervals. At the end here you can just make out a mole hole, the concrete bunker for the officers in command.”

  “Holy crap. It’s the old Hawkhead Air Force base, one of the Strategic Air Command or SAC bomber bases. Shut down after the Cold War in the late sixt
ies, early seventies. I read some shadow corporation bought it at a government auction for back taxes ten years ago. Caused quite a stir in the town next to it, then things seemed to settle down.”

  “Guess whoever bought it was biding his time, building up his army.” He tapped a large building. “I bet this building next to the runway is where they create the parts and assemble the drones. I’m going to do a remote viewing, get a better look at the place so we can start to make a plan to get in there.”

  Coming up behind Bronco, Tallulah cleared her throat. “What about our businessmen? Any luck with their story?”

  He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “The IDs are fake.”

  Tallulah gasped. “What do we do?”

  “Right now, nothing. It’s good you made color copies of the drivers’ licenses. Bert’s running those through a facial recognition program. He’s going to call when he gets a hit.”

  “Honey,” Lucius said as he strolled into the kitchen. “If those people try to harm a hair on your head, they will pay for it.” He pointed at his leg. “Between the medicine stick and Old Betsy, my Colt Six-Shooter, we’ve got you covered. Plus, Bronco’s going to look for them when he gets into his remote viewing routine.”

  Bronco looked at Emma, “Since Lucius is going to be occupied with guarding the house while I’m in my altered state, I need you to take notes while I talk. Think you can handle that?”

  “Yes, of course I can ‘handle that’,” she said testily. “I’m not illiterate.”

  “Just checking, making sure you’re still on board.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks, but this time the source was anger, not attraction. “This is my mission, too, Bronco. Don’t you dare forget.”

  “Message received,” he snapped. “Over and out. Let’s get going. We can use my room—unless you have an objection?”

  “That’s fine,” she ground out between her teeth. “Do you plan to take Gaucho with us?”

  “Not necessary.”

  “Good, because he and Franny are snoozing in a patch of sun over there,” she barked. “They had a lot of sausages. Is that okay? Lucius can look after him while we work.”

  “Good,” he snarled. “If I were any better, there’d be two of me.”

  Lucius put his fingers on his lips, and a dimple grew in his cheek.

  Emma glared at him, “Not a word.”

  “I didn’t say a thing, did I darlin’?” He turned to Tallulah. “But come to think of it, don’t they sound like we did not too long ago?”

  Tallulah poked him in the ribs. “This is not the time.”

  “I’m just sayin’,” he protested and smirked.

  “We have work to attend to in the office. The books won’t keep themselves,” Tallulah said as she dragged her husband out of the room.

  Emma grabbed a notepad and pen from the kitchen counter and pointed to the door. “Lead the way. I’ll be your scribe.”

  Bronco sauntered ahead of her, his altogether too cute butt in his tight jeans and Beautiful’s comments reminding her of what she was missing in her life. Too late now, she’d closed that door good and tight, and he was unlikely to open it from the inside.

  Chapter Nine

  Bronco stomped up the steps and yanked the door open. The king-sized bed that he’d been day-dreaming about ravishing Emma in just a short while ago taunted him. This was a bad idea. Yes, he needed a quiet space and he needed a scribe. But this space and this secretary? Terrible idea. He turned on his heel and glared at Emma. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t kissed him, he wouldn’t be having all these fantasies.

  “I think we should do this elsewhere,” he growled. A floor away, Gaucho barked and gave him a mental jab. Dammit. Even the cat knew he was full of BS.

  Emma shrugged. “It’s your viewing. Tell me where you want to do this? Just so you know, Tallulah has some workmen fixing the furnace and the vents on the first floor today.”

  “That rules out the parlor and the entire first floor.”

  “And the maids are cleaning the other guest rooms,” she added. “At least here you can put out the ‘Privacy’ sign and close the door. I can sit behind you, stay out of your view.”

  Was she completely oblivious to the implications of being alone in a bedroom with him? Was she that good at compartmentalizing her feelings and shutting down her emotions? With that impassive expression, he bet she’d be a good poker player. Fine. Two can play at this game.

  “I use an eye mask and sound-proof head phones to decrease ambient light and noise.”

  “Great! You get set up and I’ll be sitting over here on the side. Let me know when you’re ready.” She busied herself removing the nightstand from the side of the bed and dragging a wingback chair into the same corner. “Ready whenever you are.”

  He stalked over to the nightstand, pulled out a pouch and sat on the edge of the bed. The pillows were wrong. He got off the bed. Rearranged the bedding. Sat back down. Pulled his boots off, laid back, and realized he needed to pee. Well damn. He sat up and shook his head.

  “Everything okay there, Fidgety Fred?”

  “Enough with the cartoon names. I’m a grown man. That’s completely unprofessional.” Smothered laughter followed him when Bronco stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door. He used the toilet, washed his hands and face, and then looked into the mirror. An elderly woman with long black braids wearing a buckskin dress covered with elk teeth glared at him. Beautiful Blackfeather. Her hands moved, and although he didn’t speak Plains Indian sign language, he understood she was not pleased with him. He threw his hands up and walked out the door.

  “If I’m not mistaken, your feisty ancestor is not pleased with me.” He described the apparition in the mirror. “I have no idea what I did, but she looks pissed.”

  “Don’t blame me,” Emma objected. “I can’t see her or hear her. I have no idea what she’s saying. We have a job to do. Can we just get to work, please?”

  “You’re right.” He threw himself onto the bed, opened the pouch and made quick work of putting on the sound-deadening ear covers and black eye mask, placed his hand on his diaphragm, and took deep slow breaths. Counting backward from one-hundred, he allowed his mind to go blank, floating free. When distracting thoughts arrived, he noted them without engaging them, and wiped an imaginary white board with an eraser. After a while, the bed and room fell away, and he was floating, moving to the latitude and longitude of the defunct Air Force base. When he saw the runways, he knew he was in the right location and began to swoop down toward the ground.

  “I have the site,” he intoned. “I see the Christmas tree. The runways are clear, no planes present. I’m doing a fly over. The roofs are red, blue, green, and brown. As I get lower, I see how decayed the housing is. It’s a ghost town. Broken windows, boards off the side of houses. They look like a good stiff wind would knock them over.” He rapidly scouted the residences. “No sign of life in these. I’m going to the center of the base.”

  He took a deep breath and dove down closer.

  “Horse corrals, lots of horses—all different colors. What the hell do they need with a herd that size?” Barns, watering troughs, and hay feeders. He floated back to the horses, and got close enough to see the brand. “The Nazi SS bolt—of course. I should have known.”

  He rose and floated to the next area of activity.

  “Mess hall. Lots of activity there, mostly women in black T-shirts with red, white, and blue shields on the front, swastika in the center.” Long tables filled the huge room. How many people were they planning to feed here? “This place could hold a thousand people, easily.”

  A fair-haired woman waved good-bye and left the food hall. He followed her to a nearby building where children played on swing-sets. His stomach roiled at the thought of what poison these young minds were being fed. Two identical little tykes—they couldn’t have been more than two years old—ran up to the blonde and hugged her knees. One at a time, she swung each of the children into t
he air and kissed their necks as each one threw their head back laughing. After she placed the second one on the ground, they grabbed her hands and skipped away. Grief grabbed his chest in an iron grip, and a lump filled his throat. The woman, so like his dearly departed mother, clearly cared for the boys. Love, not detestation, filled her face. How could this be? The love she showed her children contradicted the actions of the hate group she lived with. Couldn’t she understand that people of other skin colors and religions loved their children, their families, too? How could any woman participate in such a perverse world?

  “Families live here, too, not just soldiers. Women, children.”

  Pick-up trucks idled near a large outbuilding. “There’s some kind of activity. Trucks, mostly old pick-ups, their beds filled with stuff…can’t make out what it is. I need to get closer.” He dropped to the ground and began walking toward one of the vehicles. “Tarps covering the cargo, I can just make out the shape of boxes.” Movement caught his eye. “Forklift coming out, let’s see what’s in this thing. Must be a dozen men, all in camouflage, hanging around. They seem excited. Back-slapping.”

  He floated to the back of the crowd and spotted another officer. Bronco slipped alongside him. “Bald-headed guy in khaki uniform, looks like he might be an officer of some sort? No insignia. Jagged scar on his chin, bronze color skin, high cheekbones, swastika tattoo on the back of his left hand—wait—is that a feather tattooed on the side of his neck?

  “Truck’s sitting low to the ground. Must be a heavy load. Two underlings are untying the ropes keeping the desert camouflage tarp in place. They’re pulling it back, exposing the cargo space. Everybody’s giving a Nazi salute.” He didn’t need to hear them to know they were shouting “Sieg heil!” Using a crowbar, a minion ripped open one of the wooden boxes stamped with a well-known manufacturer’s label, inducing a frenzy of salutes and back-slapping. “Oh, great. AT-4 shoulder mounted rocket launchers. One of the asshats is posing for a selfie. These guys love to brag. Wonder if he has a Facebook page? We can get on that later.”