When Rox arrived at Sweet Basil, Kyle was already seated at their favorite table—near the front, but against the side wall. He’d been a beat cop for ten years and a homicide detective for six. But she’d been a cop and a CIA agent, so she liked to keep her eye on the door too. Because he still carried a weapon, she deferred and let him have the lookout spot. As she approached, the sight of his broad, handsome face made her heart swell. Rox walked to his chair and kissed him, then sat down, surprising herself.
Kyle’s forehead wrinkled. “Hey, I thought we didn’t do public displays of affection.” He was forty-two but had gray at his temples and sun-weathered skin from a lifetime of hiking.
“Sorry. I’m just happy to see you.”
His eyes widened. “You had your first treatment today. How did it go?”
“The process was what I expected, but becoming emotional on the way home while listening to music was quite a surprise.”
“Just from the music, huh?” An amused smile.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told him. He wanted her to be more flexible and privately affectionate, but not a sentimental fool. “It was weird. But I’m sure it was the newness of those neurological connections. A one-time quirk.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
A server approached the table. He nodded at Rox. “The usual? Crispy basil with chicken and a pot of jasmine tea?”
Should she look at the menu for once? Not tonight. She didn’t have a lot of time. “Yes, thank you.”
Kyle asked about the specials, then ordered a beef-and-mushroom dish. After the server walked away, Kyle asked, “What else is different?”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him but felt compelled to. “I’m more in tune with people’s emotions. Even listening to my friend laugh over the phone, I could tell something was wrong.”
“That’s a good thing. And I noticed you hesitated when he asked if you wanted the usual.”
Rox laughed. “I know. I thought about looking at the menu. I hope I don’t become one of those people who can’t ever make up their mind.”
He laughed, smiling widely. “You won’t.”
“I know. I’ll still be me.”
“I hope this makes you happy.”
“Me too.”
The waiter brought their drinks and started to set them down on the wrong sides of the table. All three of them laughed.
When he stepped away, Kyle said, “Tell me about your new case.”
Relieved to be on a neutral subject, Rox summarized what she’d learned but didn’t name the group or her clients. Keeping those secret protected Kyle from knowing details that might hurt both of them—especially if she had to resort to illegal methods.
Their food arrived, and while they ate, Kyle talked about the stress of working the I-5 Killer case. She suggested they take a vacation together when it was over, and they joked about all the places they would never go. Neither of them did well in crowds.
After dinner, he walked to her car and whispered in her ear, “Come over when you’re done working if it’s not too late.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She stepped back, resisting the impulse to kiss him again. “I’ll text you.”
Rox climbed into her vehicle and watched him walk to his. Would they still be compatible if she kept doing the treatments? She hoped so. Kyle was a great guy who could be very tender in intimate moments, and he seemed to like her quirks. And now that she was forty, finding a new boyfriend could be challenging. Her attraction to law-enforcement types already narrowed the field.
Twenty minutes later, she parked a block away from the Sister Love mission. A few scruffy men sat on the sidewalk in front of the soup kitchen, one with an oversize backpack and another clutching an overstuffed plastic bag. They seemed to be engaged in an animated conversation. A pretty sunset bathed the street in a pink glow that softened the dingy setting.
Rox climbed out of her Cube and crossed the street to check out the back parking lot of the soup kitchen. Her hope was that the Sister Love members had arrived—and would leave—in one vehicle. If they didn’t, she would follow Bethany, the girl she’d chatted with earlier. The more Rox knew about her, the easier it would be to gain her trust and maybe turn her into an asset. Rox assumed the girls all lived together because that was typical of cults. The leader always wanted control. But what if they were scattered across several houses or locations? Finding Emma could be challenging. She hadn’t given the Carsons a timeline, and she hoped they were prepared for the long game.
The back lot was exposed on two sides, and the only cover was a big maple tree in the corner. Rox stood behind it and checked out the vehicles. A long white passenger van, like churches always used, sat near the back door, while two small cars and an old truck took up the area closest to the nearby laundry. The van likely belonged to the charity. Its lack of logo was in keeping with Sister Love’s low profile.
Rox hurried back to her vehicle and reparked near the corner where she could see the soup kitchen’s back door, plus the side of the building where the van would likely exit. But the triangle lot offered several exit possibilities, and she couldn’t watch all sides. Tension built up in her chest, and she had to force herself to relax. This could be a long wait.
But the schedule ran as she’d predicted. At 8:32, five women came out the back door. The older one, Ronnie, headed for a separate car, and four other girls climbed into the van. Rox hadn’t seen the fourth one earlier, but maybe she’d come in just for the dinner shift. She was short and chunky and took the driver’s seat. Definitely not Emma. The van backed up, and Rox noticed Ronnie’s car was already gone. The older member obviously had privileges the others didn’t. Maybe she didn’t even live with the group. Rox’s instinct told her to follow the van. The younger members were likely headed back to the main residence.
The white van pulled out, and Rox fought the urge to start her car immediately. After a count of five, she eased onto the nearly empty street. Damn! Where was some traffic when you needed it? But the young women probably weren’t watching for a tail. Or maybe they were. If their leader was paranoid enough to stay off the grid, he might have trained his followers to be leery. Rox hung back and tried not to worry. But the sun had set, and noticing another car’s headlights in the dark was the easiest way to spot a tail.
The van took Route 26 to the 205 and headed south. Once they were on the highway, Rox closed the gap, leaving only one large SUV between them. Ten minutes later, the Sister Love van took Highway 212, an exit Rox wasn’t familiar with. She’d grown up in southeast Portland and worked a central-city beat as a police officer, then moved to Washington, DC, with the CIA. Now she lived in the same general area where she’d grown up, only a little nicer. She’d explored some of Portland’s suburbs, but this was Clackamas County, and she didn’t know it well. She kept her eye on the van, figuring she could correlate road names on a map later.
They passed a McDonald’s on the right, where a group of young people stood around sports cars in the parking lot. Moments later, a mobile-home community appeared on the same side of the road. Riverbend. Oh right. The Clackamas River was out there somewhere in the dark. Not many trailer parks had a view of the river. Abruptly a big-assed Cadillac pulled out in front of her. The old man driving didn’t even look her way. Rox hit the brakes and cursed. Now she had a slow-moving vehicle between her and the SUV—and the van in front of it. Passing the old man could draw attention. Too bad. Rox waited for a minivan going the other way to pass by, then pressed the accelerator and flew around the Cadillac.
Up ahead, she saw only one pair of headlights. Was that the SUV or the van? She kept her foot on the gas and closed the distance. It was the gray car. Where the hell were the members? The SUV’s turn signal came on, followed by brake lights, and it turned down a street lined with new homes. Rox stared down the exit road as she slowly passed. No second car lights, just the SUV. Had the van turned off somewhere while the Cadillac held her back? She hadn’t seen
another exit. Gunning the engine, Rox raced forward. The van must have simply pulled ahead.
A split in the road gave her pause, but Rox spotted lights in the distance and kept to the left. Please let it be the van. Rox pushed her speed a little higher. The roar of an engine startled her, and she glanced in her rearview mirror. Two sets of headlights barreled up the road behind her. For a moment, she feared they were after her. But the lead car blew by her, with the second one only a few yards behind. The sports cars she’d seen at the McDonald’s—and they were racing!
The two vehicles screamed down the highway and quickly disappeared into the darkness, without veering to pass a van. Where the hell had it disappeared to now? Rox saw a side road and slowed. She glanced down the lane but didn’t see any headlights. Unsure, she drove forward. Another side road appeared. She braked and turned down the lane. No cars were on the road. She drove slowly, passing an occasional house, but didn’t see any white vans. Some of the homes were set back from the road, with adjacent barns and surrounding fields. Other homes were newer, with smaller lots. Eventually the road dead-ended, and she turned around, feeling conspicuous. The van could have parked behind a farmhouse, and the cult members could be inside, watching her drive back and forth.
Damn. She’d really messed this up. No, she’d done everything right. Sometimes, shit just happened. She drove back to the first side road, turned off her lights, and crawled along. This road was more rural, with fewer houses, set farther back. Some weren’t even visible, just a mailbox and driveway to indicate their presence. The darkness was frustrating, but at least she had some moonlight. After a mile, she turned around and drove back. When she reached the main highway, Rox pulled off to the side. She hated to give up and go home, but it made more sense to come back tomorrow in the early light of day before the members went out again. She started to pull out, but the sound of racing engines caught her attention. Rox paused and waited for the sports cars to scream by her again. Crazy kids. She hoped no one got hurt. A different engine rumbled in the distance behind her. Rox glanced in the rearview mirror. Headlights pulled out of a driveway and turned in her direction. By the height of the beams, she knew it was a large vehicle. The van?
Rox slumped down in the seat. It was too late to move her car farther off the road, but at least her lights were still off. A minute later, the big white van pulled up to the intersection, only ten feet away. She glanced over and noticed that the young woman in the front passenger seat was a different girl from any she’d seen leaving the soup kitchen. She looked younger, with long hair. But that was all she could tell in the dark. Was the driver different too? In her quick glance, she thought she’d seen four or five people. Had the van stopped somewhere and swapped out members? What the hell was going on?
CHAPTER 5
Rox waited a full minute before easing onto the road. The van had turned the way it had come, toward the Portland suburbs. Not surprising. The other direction led to more farmland, wilderness, and a small town named Boring. But where were the Sister Love members headed at nine o’clock in the evening? To solicit donations like Bethany had mentioned? But where?
On the drive back, the darkness and lack of traffic gave her nothing to focus on, so Rox played math games in her head. For fun, she tried to predict how long it would take to arrive at their likely destination somewhere downtown, based on speed and her best guess about distance. Twenty-seven minutes. Rox checked her watch so she could test her answer later.
She wished she knew how many members were under the influence of Sister Love. Four had worked at the soup kitchen, and maybe five members were in the van now, most likely a different crew. Based on everything she’d learned about cults, she tried to calculate the exact number of young women in Sister Love. At any point, Oregon was home to seven to ten of what could be called cults, if you didn’t count nudist colonies or national groups like the Moonies. She also excluded the Rajneeshees, a group of two thousand that had occupied an area not far from here thirty years earlier. Small localized cults usually had ten or twelve members, but maxed out at about forty. All-female cults were usually more harmonious than mixed-gender groups, so they operated for longer periods of time. Considering the uniformity of the members’ ages, her best guess was thirteen or fourteen, with very few having left the group—which reminded her that she needed to try to find an ex-member to interview.
As they approached the 205 freeway, a few more cars entered the road, and Rox eased in closer. She expected the van to get on the expressway, but which direction? North would take them back toward the soup kitchen and all the suburbs east of Portland. To her surprise, the Sister Love members headed south, which quickly turned east toward the I-5 freeway. At the split, the van continued south, surprising her again.
Twelve minutes later, it exited onto a side road leading to a huge truck stop, complete with fueling station, small convenience store, and restaurant. What the hell? Rox passed the driveway—in case they were watching—then turned around and parked across the street at another gas station. She glanced at her watch. Twenty-five minutes. Two minutes off her estimate. Not bad, especially since they’d driven in a completely different direction from what she’d predicted. Rox reached under her seat for binoculars, then positioned herself as low as she could in the car and still have visibility.
Four young women climbed from the van, all wearing dresses or skirts. Three had long hair, and all were slender and attractive. Interesting. Bethany, the girl she’d talked to at the soup kitchen, had long hair but was heavier and rather plain. And Ronnie, the older one, had been downright unattractive. Rox had to conclude that this was a specialized mission that required the girls to be pretty. She pulled out Emma’s photo again and studied it. She didn’t think her x-target was in this group, but Rox couldn’t be sure until she saw them all closer up. She watched them cross the parking lot toward the café, two of them carrying small round objects. Donation cans? The girls kept glancing down the long row of semitrailer trucks in a side lot and talking quietly. The truck stop was probably loaded with guys, many at the end of their driving day. The whole scenario gave Rox a bad feeling.
An older man with a bushy gray beard held open the café door, grinning as the members entered. Rox ditched the binoculars and climbed from her car. She had to find a better vantage point, one where she could see what was happening inside. She hoped this wasn’t about prostitution, but the possibility was pretty strong. She crossed the road, glancing around for something to duck behind. Oh, never mind. She would just go inside. The restaurant was huge, and she could stay near the front. Or hang out in the little next-door store.
As she strode through the front parking area, counting nine regular cars, a shiver ran up her spine, startling her. That had never happened before. Rox spun around, but there was no one behind her and no one inside any of the cars. Yet she sensed someone watching. She glanced at the side lot where the big rigs were parked, angled in next to each other like giant dominoes. Two men stood near a truck in the middle, talking, but they weren’t looking at her. The tall light poles were thirty yards apart and illuminated only small areas, so if someone was watching, he could be hiding between trucks.
Rox shook it off and hurried into the little store, immediately spotting the double glass doors that opened into the diner.
“Hi.” The thirty-something guy behind the counter barely looked at her, keeping his focus on the tiny TV near the register.
Rox walked to the magazine rack near the door and picked up a copy of Newsweek, the only readable publication in a cluster of covers with nearly nude women. After flipping it open, she continued her surveillance. Through the glass doors, she saw the four cult members head for a booth near the back. Two of the girls sat down, while the other two began to circulate the room, carrying gold canisters. They stopped at tables where families or couples were seated—highway traffic, the people from the cars in the front lot. Rox couldn’t hear what the members said, but after a short pitch, most of the diners put
money in the offered cans. It seemed like an odd place to solicit donations, especially this late.
The other two girls accepted coffee from a waitress who stopped at their booth, but neither picked up a menu. After a few minutes, a tall man in a knit cap got up from a bar stool at the long counter and walked over to the girls’ booth. Dressed in jeans and a windbreaker, he looked about forty-five. He spoke directly to the girl who’d been driving, then walked out of the restaurant. Rox would have paid a hefty bribe to hear that conversation. Another minute passed. The two girls with the donation cans kept working the room while the two in the booth sipped their coffee. Abruptly the girl he’d spoken to—with long dark hair and tattooed arms—got up and sashayed toward the front door. She glanced in Rox’s direction, so Rox turned away and looked down at her magazine.
Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket, startling her. She had it on silent, and except for clients, she didn’t get many calls. She reached in to quiet the phone, then glanced through the glass doors again. Tattoo Girl wasn’t in sight. Rox shoved the magazine into the rack and turned to the front of the store. The girl had to be outside. Rox started for the door, and her phone buzzed in her pocket again. Someone really wanted to talk to her. What if it was Marty? Sometimes his bad knee locked up, and he couldn’t move. She’d gotten good at massaging the stubborn tissue until it was ready to cooperate. Rox slipped the phone out and looked at the caller ID. Yep, it was her stepdad. She stopped near the front door, keeping to the side, and took the call.
“I’m still tailing the cult members,” she whispered. “Can this wait?”
“I’m on the floor, or I wouldn’t have called.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not much, but my knee is locked up, and I can’t move.”
Guilt Game Page 4