by Paula Graves
“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “Someone shot out a tire.”
“Drive anyway!” McKenna twisted in her seat, trying to see behind them. The road appeared deserted, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw a rush of movement toward her.
The truck came to a hard stop, flinging her against the seat belt and sending the baseball cap covering her curls flying onto the dashboard. Her hair tumbled into her face, blinding her for crucial seconds.
When she shoved her hair out of her eyes again, she was staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Her heart sank as she recognized the shaggy-haired man with cold blue eyes gazing back at her from behind the weapon.
Calvin Hopkins. Current head of the eastern Tennessee branch of the Blue Ridge Infantry. As cold and nasty a son of a bitch as she’d come across in a long, long time.
The man she’d hoped to bring down by going undercover.
“Hey there, Maggie.” He bared his teeth at her in a parody of a smile. “Or should I call you McKenna?”
* * *
THE DINER WAS DESERTED. No sign of Fitz, Calhoun or the women. No sign, in fact, that anyone had been here recently at all. Until the headlights of Darcy’s Land Rover swept over a shard of tire tread near the far end of the shopping-strip parking lot.
He put the Land Rover in Park and got out, bending to examine the tread. It had been pitted by buckshot, he realized. Several bits of shot remained in the rubber tread.
Fear rose like bile in his throat. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to maintain control over his emotions. Panic wouldn’t help anyone.
Panic got people killed.
“Is that buckshot?” Seth Hammond’s tone was uncharacteristically serious. “Son of a—”
Darcy pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sutton Calhoun’s number. He heard a trilling sound coming from somewhere nearby.
Seth crossed to the front of the diner and crouched by one of the bushes that flanked the walkway into the diner. He rose again, now holding the ringing phone, his expression grim. “Sutton’s.”
“Damn it.” Darcy raked his hand through his hair, furious and terrified at the same time. He should have made her reconsider her crazy plan. He should have insisted on being with her.
“Don’t waste time second-guessing yourself, man.” Seth put his hand briefly on Darcy’s shoulder. “We’ve got to figure out where they’ve taken them and get them back.”
If they’re even still alive, Darcy thought, his heart pounding with dread.
Chapter Eighteen
McKenna had no idea where the others were. Whether they were even alive. Frankly, she was surprised Calvin Hopkins hadn’t blown her away on sight. But apparently he wasn’t the one calling the shots.
Darryl Boyle was.
“Whom have you involved besides Darcy?” Boyle leaned against the wall of the cellar where she was being held, his arms folded and his expression placid. He spoke in a slow, measured tone, his Baltimore accent mostly neutralized, coming out only now and then in his vowels. They could have been sitting across from each other at the Knoxville Field Office, calmly discussing the latest case.
Except she was tied to a water pipe, her feet duct-taped together and two loaded shotguns aimed at her, wielded by bushy-bearded, cold-eyed Blue Ridge Infantry members flanking Boyle.
Jutting her chin toward him, she forced herself to smile. “Do your boys here know what you’re really up to?”
“My boys, as you call them, are sovereign citizens and answer only to themselves. Don’t you, boys?”
They both nodded.
“He’s using you,” McKenna said. “He’s goading you into doing what he wants, and then he’s going to make an example of you. Crack down on sovereign citizens like yourselves because he thinks you pose a dangerous threat to the government you hate so much. The government he works for.”
“The boys know you’re the government plant, Rigsby.” Boyle’s smile was placid. Almost friendly.
He was so sure of himself, she realized. So certain he had everything under control.
Except he didn’t. If he really had everything under control, she’d already be dead. There was something he wanted from her, and she had a sick feeling it had everything to do with Nick Darcy.
“Who else is involved besides Darcy?” Boyle repeated. “The Gates, I presume. Considering who you were with when we found you.”
“What did you do to them?” she asked, her heart in her throat. If Fitz, Calhoun and Ivy were dead because of her—
“They’re enjoying the hospitality of our friends in the BRI,” he said with a feral smile that made her skin crawl.
“You can’t kill us all,” she growled. “Too many people know what’s really going on.”
“Just a few, really. Your friend Darcy and the people he has with him at the Econo-Tel Motor Lodge.”
Terror poured through her body like ice water. He knew where Darcy was staked out?
Was Darcy even still alive?
Boyle walked closer, bending to look her in the eye. He had warm brown eyes, the same color as Darcy’s. But behind the manufactured friendliness lurked a cold hatred she’d never noticed before. He spoke in a soft, even kind tone, but it sent a shudder up her spine. “I need you to tell me if you’ve contacted anyone else.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Yes. You will.” He motioned over the man on the right. The bearded man came over quickly, the shotgun still pointing at her chest. “Keller, show our guest what buckshot can do to a knee—”
A banging sound on the door to the cellar caught the attention of all three men. McKenna felt her whole body go hot, cold, then hot again with sheer relief as the man named Keller swung the barrel of his shotgun away from her.
“Trouble’s comin’,” the voice on the other side of the door called. “All hands needed.”
Boyle nodded toward the two men. “Go. I’ll watch her.”
They climbed the stairs and disappeared through the cellar door, leaving McKenna alone with Boyle.
“I guess your friends tracked us down.” He grabbed a metal folding chair leaning against the wall, unfolded it and set it in front of her. He sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “Wonder how they did that.”
“Darcy knows the BRI is behind what happened to me. And he works for The Gates, who seem to have made taking the BRI down a personal project.”
“I have nothing against The Gates or their agents,” Boyle said calmly, “but they’re a small group with limited influence. They may eventually take down the BRI, but other groups will continue rising up in their place. It’s like trying to take down a jumbo jet with a peashooter. Something big needs to catch the attention of the public. Then the public will press Congress—”
“You’re willing to sacrifice thousands of people just to change public sentiment about domestic terrorism? You’re sanctioning the very thing you’re trying to stop!”
“Wars have casualties.”
“It’s a war you’ve started!”
“Not true. Look at Oklahoma City. The Olympics bombing.”
“Isolated acts. It’s not a pattern.”
“You don’t see the pattern because you’ve blinded yourself to the reality.” He leaned forward, his eyes alight with passion. “It’s not just the big bold acts, Rigsby. Do you know how many police officers die at the hands of so-called sovereign citizens like our friends Keller and Shelton out there? Scores every year.”
“In a nation of over three hundred million,” McKenna protested.
“Whom have you involved besides Darcy, Agent Rigsby?”
She pressed her lips together, not answering.
* * *
“THERE ARE TEN men in the compound, but if they get on the horn, they can probably bring in th
irty or forty more,” Alexander Quinn warned Darcy as they surveyed the BRI enclave in the heart of Bridal Veil Woods near the tiny town of Thurlow’s Gap. Four families linked to the Blue Ridge Infantry lived in small, well-fortified cabins in the woods nestled between two mountains in the southernmost part of Ridge County. Those cabins were now barely visible in the faint light of dawn rising over the mountains in the east.
“They probably have already,” Seth warned, nodding toward sudden movement outside the small compound. Several men armed with shotguns and rifles had gathered in front of the houses like a phalanx of palace guards.
“This kind of situation never ends well for anybody,” Seth warned. He was crouched beside Darcy, viewing the scene through a pair of high-powered binoculars. “Waco, Ruby Ridge—”
“There has to be a way to get her out of there,” Darcy said gruffly. “We just have to figure it out.”
“Boyle isn’t their friend.” Cain Dennison spoke for the first time since they’d set up in their surveillance position atop Thurlow Rise, east of the conclave. Next to him, his dark-eyed fiancée was checking the magazine of a compact Kel-Tec PF-9.
Darcy wondered what had become of McKenna’s Glock.
What had become of her...
He made himself focus. She was still alive. He could feel it, like a second heartbeat in his own chest. She was alive and she was looking for a chance to get free.
He had to figure out a way to give her that chance.
“I’m going down there alone,” he said aloud.
The other agents in earshot all turned to look at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“No, you’re not,” Quinn said, his tone dismissive.
“Hear me out. They have Calhoun and his wife. Mark Fitzpatrick. And McKenna. They don’t know who else might be helping her. Except me. They know about me because Darryl Boyle knows about me. The FBI has been looking into her connection with me. I can go down there. We can use that buttonhole camera you brought—”
“They might shoot on sight.”
“They want to know what we know. Boyle needs to have plausible deniability with the FBI. Right now, it’s our word against his. Nobody’s seen him with any BRI members. It’s all speculation. But he knows we brought in some of the Gates agents.”
“What if Rigsby’s already spilled everything she knows?” Sara Lindsey asked.
Darcy shot her a pointed look. “She’d die before she’d give up anything.”
“I hope she doesn’t have to,” Sara responded, a grim look on her pretty face. But the look in her eyes was more sympathetic than Darcy had expected.
“Do it.”
The quiet response from Alexander Quinn drew their attention his way. He was looking toward the enclave below, his eyes narrowed. A moment later, he turned and pinned Darcy with his sharp gaze. “You know the stakes. You’re invested. Do it.”
“Any idea how we’re supposed to get him in there without them shooting him on sight?” Sara asked.
“Wave the white flag?” Seth suggested.
Darcy grimaced. “Surrender?”
“Those men down there are a bunch of thickheaded cowards, but they think of themselves as honorable, patriotic men,” Seth said with quiet urgency. “They’ll hesitate to shoot an unarmed man turning himself in to them.”
“Hesitate,” Sara reiterated. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t shoot, sooner or later.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Darcy said, unclipping the holster from his jeans. He handed the pistol and holster to Quinn. “Can we contact them? Get me in there?”
“I know at least one of them. Randall Farmer. I ran some cons with him over in Barrowville,” Seth said. “I can contact him, see if I can get through to Calvin Hopkins. He’s taken the reins of this cell since Billy Dawson went to jail for that mass-poisoning attempt.”
“Make it happen,” Darcy said.
* * *
DARRYL BOYLE GOT up from the metal folding chair and started pacing slowly in front of McKenna, a faint smile on his face. “I suppose we must assume your friends have found Calvin and his boys.”
“And you,” she said.
“They think I’m one of them.” He smiled more broadly. “That’s what undercover is really about, Rigsby. Selling yourself as one of them. You never could pull off that part.”
Because I’m not a raving lunatic like you, she thought, her stomach twisting. She’d worked with Darryl Boyle for over a year. Took his advice, spent long hours in research and discussions with him, even socialized with him now and then with other field-office agents and personnel.
She hadn’t had a clue that he’d lost his bloody mind.
She had to get out of here. As soon as possible.
Another knock on the cellar door set her nerves rattling again.
“What do you want?” Boyle snapped.
It was Calvin Hopkins himself who walked through the cellar door and down the rough-hewn wooden steps. He slanted a hard look at McKenna before turning to Boyle. “Darcy wants to talk.”
* * *
DARCY FELT EYES on him before he made it ten feet onto Calvin Hopkins’s property, but he tried not to let his twitching nerves show. He had one chance to get this right. One chance to stay alive and get McKenna safely out of here.
He just had to get on the inside somehow. Get to her and make sure she was still alive, then work the angle he and Quinn had discussed while Seth was on the phone with Randall Farmer.
Dew clung to the legs of his jeans as he climbed the grassy hill. A hundred yards up the rise, the line of armed militia members came into view. And though Darcy had known they were there, had prepared himself for the sight of them, his blood still froze when he saw a dozen gun barrels pointed straight at his heart.
“Hands up,” ordered one of the men.
Darcy stopped and raised his hands. “I’m unarmed.”
The man who’d spoken nodded toward Darcy. “Check him out.”
Another man, younger and clean-shaven, handed his rifle to the man next to him and crossed to Darcy. He patted him down, his touch less rough than Darcy had expected. Darcy gave him a considering look as the man backed away, his curiosity piqued. But he didn’t have time to figure out why. The older man, the one clearly in charge, motioned him forward.
He walked slowly toward the gun line, half expecting with each step to walk right into a volley of rifle fire. But the BRI members held their fire.
“I’m Cal,” the older man said, flashing a disarming smile. “You’re Nick, right?”
“Darcy,” he said.
One dark bushy eyebrow rose, but Cal just nodded. “Darcy. I understand you want to talk?”
“I know something you need to know about Darryl Boyle.”
“Boyle?” Cal tried to sound puzzled, but he didn’t pull it off. “Don’t know any Boyle.”
“Yes, you do. You think he’s your secret weapon. But he’s not. He’s not your friend. And he’s not on your side.”
* * *
WHAT THE HELL was Darcy thinking, coming here? And alone, if the snippets of overheard conversation between Boyle and Calvin Hopkins could be believed.
Boyle came back down the stairs slowly, a smile on his face. But McKenna was beginning to read the SSA a little better, now that she had the key to understanding him.
He was obsessive and narcissistic. But he was also in a very vulnerable position where the BRI was concerned. And like any vulnerable man faced with an unexpected wrinkle in his plan, he was showing signs of stress. Sweat beading on his brow. A nervous twitch to his gaze, as if he was afraid to let it settle too long on any given point.
“What are they going to do to Darcy?” she asked.
“Talk. For now.”
And that was what Boyle wa
s afraid of, she realized. That Darcy would say the wrong thing, reveal the wrong fact about Boyle’s real reason for rubbing elbows with the Blue Ridge Infantry.
“He doesn’t know about you,” she lied.
“You didn’t tell him?” Boyle looked skeptical.
“I told him about Landry. I didn’t mention you. I was hoping I was wrong about you, and nobody else would have to know. I respected you. Your record, your work.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
She shrugged. “I can’t do anything to change your mind.”
“You can tell me how many other people are out there right now.”
“I have no clue. Darcy was my only contact until last night. He’s the one who brought the others into this mess. I didn’t want anyone else involved.”
Her words had the ring of truth, and she could tell Boyle knew it. “So they think Landry’s the one behind all of this.”
“They did. And if you stay out of sight, they’ll continue to think so. But if anything happens to Darcy, his friends won’t stop looking for answers.” She tried not to let her fear show. “You need to tell Calvin to send Darcy packing back where he came from.”
“That’s touching, really. Trying to protect your friend.” Boyle’s eyes glinted with curiosity. “Or maybe he’s more than a friend?”
So much more, she thought with despair, and she hadn’t ever had the guts to say it out loud. “Make him think I’ve been taken somewhere else. He’ll go looking for me, and then you’ll be rid of him.”
“You’d give up your own life to save him?”
She shook her head, suddenly terrified by the gleam of understanding in the SSA’s eyes. “I didn’t say that. I’m trying to get out of here alive, too, believe me. Darcy’s got a lot of people who’ll look for him. I don’t. Thanks to you, everybody thinks I’m a crooked fed. Nobody’s going to care what happens to me. So I can help you with your plans. And then, I hope, you’ll let me go free. What am I going to do, tell the FBI I helped you commit an act of terror? They already think I’ve gone native with the BRI, right?”