by Sybil Bartel
Her face contorted with a sick look I’d never seen, and anger laced her voice. “You’re not leavin’.” She reached for me with her other hand.
It was instinctual.
I drew back and slapped her.
Rage and the imprint of my hand reddened her face, and her hands came up.
Too late, I realized her intent.
The force of her open palms smacked against my chest and she shoved me with all of her might.
No purchase, not expecting her to fight back, I flew backward out the front door, tripped on the broken top step, and I fell off the porch.
My back hit the hard ground, air left my lungs and sharp pain shot through my midsection.
I opened my mouth to scream, but it wasn’t my voice that broke the humid Florida afternoon.
“Shaila!” Mama cried out.
Everything went black.
A man in formal dress walked into the office with purpose. Glancing at me, he set a leather bag on the desk and nodded at the recruiter. “Staff Sergeant.” He looked back at me. “You must be Tarquin Scott.”
I did not offer my hand, and neither did he. “Yes.”
“I’m Special Agent Tom Morrison with the FBI.” The man tipped his chin at the seat next to me. “May I?”
It was not my domain to command, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
Before taking the seat, he glanced at the recruiter. “Thanks for the call, Miller. Lock the door so we’re not interrupted.”
The recruiter stood without comment and did as the agent said.
The agent opened his leather case, pulled out a small black device with buttons, a flat device with a screen, and a cell phone. He placed them all on the desk, then he sat. Meeting my gaze, his brown eyes expressed intellect and gravity. “I’m going to cut right to the chase. You’re from River Ranch.”
I nodded as the recruiter sat back down.
“Staff Sergeant told me you want to join the Army, but you don’t have any identification or background.”
“I was here when he made the call. I am aware of what he told you.”
The agent nodded. “Good. Then you understand the rarity of this situation. I’ve never met a living witness from River Ranch.”
“No one leaves River Ranch.” Not alive. I could attest to that fact.
“I understand that. What I don’t understand is how you got out.”
“I was vanquished.”
Without comment, the agent waited for more information.
I studied his face. No formal education, I did not have the advantage here. But I had seen many different sides of what man was capable of. Expression gave away intent. Malice could not be hidden. Evil had a silver tongue, and trust was merely a word. These things I knew.
It was why I would not give specifics away freely. “If you would like information on River Ranch, I will need assurances.”
“Which are?”
“Admittance into the United States Army and Ranger training and living quarters for me and my wife, as well as medical assistance.”
The agent frowned. “You’re married?”
“Yes.”
“Not legally,” the recruiter interjected. “I would need the proper documentation to accommodate her.”
The agent glanced at the recruiter, nodded and looked back at me. “Is your wife injured?”
“She is with child.”
“You get healthcare in the Army, your medical will be covered for both of you.” The agent stared at me a moment. “Is she from River Ranch?”
“No.”
The agent blinked but hid his surprise well. “I can’t speak for the Army and what accommodations they’re willing to make for an enlisted married man, but I am willing to work with you if the Staff Sergeant is.”
The recruiter opened his mouth.
The agent held up his hand to him. “That said, placement into the Ranger program is not something anyone can give you. You have to earn it with discipline, determination and strength.”
“I will earn it.” I had no doubt.
The agent did not question my statement but merely nodded. “All right, then in exchange for information on River Ranch that I can use to dismantle River Stephens’s weapons cache, I’m willing to get you the proper background and paperwork needed to enlist and I’ll help facilitate a marriage license. In addition, the FBI currently has a reward for information that could lead to River Stephens’s arrest. If the information you give me is solid, you will qualify for that monetary reward.”
Saying nothing, I catalogued his body language.
Not fidgeting, not shifting in his seat, gaze steady, he did not show any signs of dishonesty as he spoke again. “If it makes you more comfortable, after you tell me what you know, I’ll throw witness protection on the table. If needed, I’ll get the US Marshal Service involved and get you and your wife a new identity.”
I did not need a new identity when I did not have one to begin with, but I was not ignorant. My woman was identifiable. “I will reserve the right to discuss that with my wife.”
“As you should.” The agent reached into this bag and pulled out some papers. Setting them on the desk between us, he put his hand on top of them. “These forms are what you will need. If we have a deal, I will sign off on them and walk them through processing myself, then you will have what you need for Staff Sergeant Miller.”
“How long?” I did not know what processing entailed, but it sounded as if it were not immediate.
“For the paperwork?” the agent asked.
“Yes.” Glancing at the clock, I fought off another wave of uneasiness at my woman being alone with her mother. I did not know how to use the device on the wall to tell time, and I did not know how long I had been here, but I could see the sun starting its afternoon descent.
“A week, two. Max.”
I stood. “No, thank you.” We would be out of proper food within a week, and my woman was already too thin for being with child.
“Wait.” The agent stood. “Negotiate.”
“I am not here to negotiate.” The lie rolling easily off my tongue, I compounded it. “You want what I know, but I do not need what you are offering.”
The agent held my gaze. “Then why are you here?”
Taken unawares by the question, I did not answer it. “I spoke my piece. My requirements have not changed.”
“I’ve met your requirements,” he countered.
Unused to argument except from my woman, I chose my words carefully. “Whatever information you are seeking to attain about River Ranch, I have. My worth to you is greater than your offer of one to two weeks.”
The agent nodded slowly. “I’ll expedite the paperwork then.”
I waited.
His hands went to his hips. “One to two days for your paperwork. The marriage license may take more. Your wife will need to provide her own identification.”
“She does not have any.” Not that I had seen.
The agent frowned again. “And she isn’t River Ranch?”
“No.”
“Is she illegal?”
“I do not know what means,” I admitted.
“Was she born in the United States,” the agent clarified.
“Yes. Florida.”
The agent inhaled. “Okay, if she isn’t River Ranch, she should have identification. A driver’s license, a birth certificate, passport, something.”
There was nothing like that in the cabin. “She has none of that.”
“What’s her name?”
I hesitated.
The agent eyed me. “So far, up to this point, everything we have discussed is between you, me, and Staff Sergeant Miller. Unless she is already in witness protection, there’s nothing you’re risking by telling me her name.”
I did not believe him. There was always risk. Putting her name in the same breath with mine was a risk to her.
“We’re still speaking confidentially,” the agent persuaded.
I did not
see a way around this if I wanted to get her into living quarters provided by the Army. “Shaila Hawkins.”
The two men looked at one another.
The agent spoke first. “All right, I’m hoping this is one hell of a coincidence, but I have to ask. Is she related to Stone Hawkins?”
I said nothing.
“Jesus Christ.” The agent sat down before glancing at the recruiter. “Did you know about this?”
Eyes wide, the recruiter shook his head.
The shock on his face now hidden, the agent looked back at me. “How is she related to Stone?”
“She is his daughter,” I admitted.
“Does he know you’re with her?” the agent asked.
Defiant, I replied, “I fought for rights to her.” She was mine.
The recruiter mouthed the word wow.
Keeping his expression guarded, the agent merely nodded. “So Stone has seen you? He knows where you’re from?”
“We have not met in person.”
“But does he know what you look like?” the agent persisted.
“I do not know.” The hysterical female could have given him a description.
“You sure?” The agent’s eyes narrowed. “Because there’s quite a rumor floating around about a mass shooting out at his place on the edge of the Glades that happened a couple months back.”
“I do not know anything about any rumors.” I only knew the truth.
The agent stood again and paced. “Of course, we have no bodies and no proof.” He turned and looked pointedly at me. “But if we had more information about it….” He trailed off.
I said nothing.
“We’ve had Stone Hawkins on our radar for years. Gun running, drugs, prostitution.” He paused for effect. “Murder.”
“I have not met him.” I only had him in my sights.
“But you’re married to his daughter?”
I remained silent.
The agent held my gaze for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “Christ. No wonder you want into the military.” He pulled a pad of paper out of his leather bag and some photographs. “Okay, are we going to do this? Do we have a deal?”
“Will my wife be granted living quarters?”
The agent looked at the recruiter. “That’s up to the Staff Sergeant. Miller?”
The recruiter cleared his throat. “If you are legally married, the Army requires you to provide adequate support for your dependents, including housing. Because of this, you will receive a housing allowance at the ‘with dependent’ rate. However, while you complete basic training, you will live in the barracks and your wife will need other accommodations. There is on-base family housing or, if you choose, she can be off-base and you can use your monthly housing allowance. Once you complete basic training and receive your assignment, the housing choices for her may change, but she will always have housing as long as she is your dependent.”
“Jesus Christ, Miller,” the agent snapped. “Do what you have to do and just get him into married housing.”
The recruiter nodded once. “Okay. I’ll make it happen.”
The agent looked back at me. “Good?”
I did not pretend to understand how the inner workings of the Army operated, but I understood enough to know she would be safe in quarters with proper plumbing and electricity. That only left one issue. Her safety from her father while I was unable to be with her.
But in order to secure that, I would need to tell the agent the full truth of the situation, which I did not want to do in front of the recruiter, even though the agent had already mentioned the incident on her father’s land.
Having already come this far, I cleared my throat. “I have one last issue that I need to discuss with you alone.”
“Shaila, Shaila.”
My shoulders shook, and unbearable pain shot through my middle.
“Shaila, wake up!”
My face was slapped.
I sucked in a breath that felt like icicles stabbing me and forced an eye open.
“Oh thank God, you scared the living daylights outta me.”
I blinked, but I couldn’t focus. “Mama?”
Her shaking hand brushed my hair back as her tears dripped on my face. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to push you. Forgive me. Just get up and we’ll go inside. It’ll be okay.” She jostled my shoulders again. “Come on, just get up now.”
“Don’t,” I protested, testing a shallow breath. “Don’t shake me.” Oh sweet Jesus, I hurt.
“Sorry, sorry.” Mama leaned back as her hands ran down my arms. “Just get up now. You gotta get up.”
A sudden fever flushed my face, and everything spun for a moment before I tried another breath.
“Come on, Shaila. You gotta get up. You gotta get my phone from the garage so we can call Daddy. He’ll know what to do.”
“Do?” I tried to push up, but searing pain cramped my whole stomach and made my vision swim.
“Yes, yes,” she rushed through the words. “We need him, baby. You need him. He can fix this.” Her voice broke and more tears fell down her face. “He can fix you.”
Oh dear God in heaven. “Mama, I told you, I’m not callin’ Daddy.” The words like sandpaper in my throat, it hurt to even talk. “I ain’t never callin’ him again.”
“But you’re bleedin’.” Mama choked on a sob. “You’re bleedin’ bad.”
“What?” My head spun. “Where?”
Mama’s gaze cut to my legs.
Taking another shallow breath, cursing every pain in my middle, I got one elbow under me. “I ain’t bleedin’, Mama. I’m fi—”
Oh.
Dear.
God.
Blood.
EVERYWHERE.
Between my legs.
I couldn’t get air in for a sob or a scream. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
My baby.
My baby.
A choked cry ripped from my lungs as pain cut me deep. “My baby!”
The recruiter stepped outside, and I told the agent everything he needed to know about River Ranch and River Stephens, including where I had buried the bodies that met untimely deaths. Then I told him about the events that led to me and my woman hiding in the Glades. “That is why my wife will need protection from her father.”
The agent did not respond. He blinked.
“She needs protection,” I repeated.
“No, I heard you. I get it.” The agent slowly shook his head. “I just… goddamn, I was not expecting all of this.”
I did not care what he expected and he did not get it. “Her father will use her as leverage to get to me.” It was what River Stephens would do. “If I am not with her, she is vulnerable.”
Looking past me, the agent frowned. “How many of Stone’s LCs did you say you shot?”
I was not repeating myself. I had already told him everything, and my patience was wearing thin. Dusk was passing and I was out of time. I needed to get to her. “I gave you the information you need on River Ranch.” I gave him all the leverage I had. “How will you protect my wife?”
“Okay.” He nodded as if clearing his head. Then he sat up straight and focused his gaze on me. “All right. This is what we’re going to do. We’ll get the Marshals Service involved and we’ll WITSEC her. She’ll get a new identity, background, the works.” Searching my face, he paused. “You’ll need the same, and you’ll both be relocated. The Lone Coasters Motorcycle Club has hundreds of members up and down Florida’s east coast. We can’t hide her in state, no more than we could protect you from Stone Hawkins issuing a hit on you if he finds out you’re alive.”
I did not care about myself. “Protect her. I will be fine. I do not need a new identity.”
The agent exhaled. “Okay, look. Any woman attached to the name Tarquin Scott is going to be a target from here on out because Stone Hawkins now knows your name. You have to understand that. And even though no bodies were discovered at Hawkins’s place, and no one’s come for
ward about a dozen dead bikers—which, trust me, we usually hear about—you’re still a target. You need to play this safe for her and for you.”
I did not correct his inaccurate death count. I was weighing his statement. I wanted to protect my woman, but I did not want to hide. Not hiding gave me opportunity if River did send someone from the compound after me.
The agent continued. “You also need to realize if what you say is true, and I don’t doubt that it is because who would make something like that up? You’re going to have a bigger problem than just keeping your wife safe if Stone Hawkins comes forward with any of this. I’m not putting any of what you told me about Hawkins in my report. I’m sticking to the River Ranch script and getting you into the Army after we secure new WITSEC identities for you. But that doesn’t mean he won’t come forward with his own evidence against you in order to get you put away.”
“I will handle it if he does.” My aim was true and patience afforded opportunity. I stood. “I will be here tomorrow morning as instructed. Have the paperwork ready.”
The agent stood slowly as if he had aged since walking into the recruiter’s office. “I’ll have everything I promised. The US Marshal Service will be here in the morning with me as well as my superior so he can sign off on some of the paperwork, so make sure you bring your wife.”
I nodded once and turned toward the door.
“Hey,” the agent called. “You need a ride?”
“No vehicle can go where I am going.”
The agent nodded as he studied me. Then he surprised me. “We’ll stop Stephens.”
No, he would not. “Do not underestimate his cunning.”
“You already gave me his hiding places. He won’t have anywhere to go next time we raid the compound. We’ll catch him and we’ll stop him from brainwashing any more of those people.”
He would not catch him or stop him. There was only one way to stop a madman like River Stephens, and it was the same way to stop a man like Stone Hawkins—you had to take their lives away from them. “You will not stop him.”
But I would.
I would stop both of them.