In Deep - A Secret Twins Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 6)

by Layla Valentine

  It feels like lying to her. And even though I’ve just met her, I hate the idea of lying to her. God knows enough people are already doing that.

  But the only way to save her, to free her from this, is to keep up the lie for a little bit longer. I have to play the role of Connor long enough to achieve what I came here to do. I can explain it all to Tammy later, and I’ll just have to hope she understands. For now, I don’t have a choice.

  I sit up and watch her running across the lawn, far below me, toward the barn-like structure Xavier called the Commons. All the buildings here look the same. The Commons is a big barn. The dormitories are medium-sized barns. Lots of little barns are scattered around—single family dwellings, maybe. And, off in the fields, the barns that hold the livestock look exactly the same.

  Creepy.

  This shouldn’t be taking the toll on my mind that it is. As a Navy SEAL, I’m one of the mentally toughest people in the world. It’s what makes me so good at adopting an alias—I don’t crack under pressure. During SEAL training, we undergo special conditioning to have the fear response programmed out of us. That makes us more capable of getting things done when we need to, of not buckling when things are hard or intimidating or even tragic, the way this ranch is.

  I’m supposed to be able to set my emotions aside and do what I need to do. That’s supposed to be my skill set.

  And this mission is especially important to me, because it might enable me to make Captain. The fact that Captain Ennis is retiring in a few months is probably the worst kept secret in the service. Somebody’s going to be getting a promotion. But the fact that we’re not deployed right now means that opportunities to distinguish myself are pretty thin on the ground.

  That’s why I was so eager to be sent on this mission. If I bring this place down, it won’t just be a mammoth achievement that will make me stand out to my superiors—my name will be in the press. I might even gain the attention of the White House.

  The first step, though, is infiltration. The plan to bring the ranch down is rigorously designed, down to the last detail, and involves dozens of people, not just me. I can’t put them at risk by going off-script, no matter how badly I want to tell Tammy exactly what’s going on and that she should just get out of here.

  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to use her. Xavier assigned her to look out for me, which means I’m going to have to use the rapport we’re developing and her encyclopedic knowledge of ranch life. She’s going to become my information pipeline, the one who’ll tell me everything I need to know to achieve what I came here to do.

  God, she’s going to hate me. She’s going to hate me at best. She is going to feel so betrayed by me. It’s hard to think about.

  How is it possible she doesn’t see anything wrong here? Does she really not see the holes in the explanation she’s giving me?

  Is it possible she knows?

  No, I write that idea off as quickly as it comes to me. When I spoke to Xavier, I could practically see the dishonesty radiating off him. There was an audible sneer in everything he said, a gross kind of pride at being able to pull off a scam like his. Talking to him made me want to take a shower. My interaction with Tammy was completely different. She was so sincere, so fresh and open. If she was lying to me, she’s officially the best liar I’ve ever met—and I’ve met some real champion liars.

  I get to my feet and pace back and forth between the two trees that grow on this hill—Eastern Hill, Tammy called it. Creative naming. It’s at the easternmost point of the ranch, and it’s a hill. Still, I can imagine this is probably a nice place to spend time if you’re not stewing about subversive plots. If I was just having a nice picnic right now and not planning how best to stab a sweet, smart girl in the back and sabotage her way of life, I would probably find this hill very relaxing.

  I think back to my briefing, when I was first given this assignment. I was called into the ready room where individuals always meet with Captain Ennis before solo missions. Much to my surprise, Admiral Henshaw was there, too. I knew immediately that this mission must be a big deal. I took my seat opposite the two officers at the table, and Captain Ennis slid a file folder over to me. I picked it up and flipped it open.

  The top page was a flyer advertising Pyrite Ranch. Of course, I already knew that was where I was being sent, so I laid it aside. Underneath were several pages full of numbers. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking at, so I turned my gaze back to the officers for an explanation.

  “Tax records,” Captain Ennis explained. “These are the ranch’s reported earnings over the past five years.”

  “Okay?” I said, unsure what to make of it. “So, we know they pay their taxes.”

  “Whether they pay isn’t the issue,” Admiral Henshaw said. “It’s the amount of revenue.” He reached over and tapped the paper with a long, bony finger. “This place is a self-sustaining wellness retreat, yes? Now, look at the next page.” He pulled it out. “Here’s what a similarly sized wellness retreat reports in income—and this place is not self-sustaining. They pay a staff. They pay to keep electricity on. Do you see the problem now?”

  I nodded. The second place—the one that wasn’t self-sustaining—was bringing in considerably less income than Pyrite, a place that ought to have virtually no expenses.

  “So, where’s all the money going?” I asked.

  “Precisely,” Admiral Henshaw said. “And that’s what we want you to find out.”

  Now, standing on this hilltop and taking in the entire community at once, I feel like I’ve stepped into a mystery novel. I’m standing in the middle of this place I read about, this place that defies logic and reason.

  I saw Xavier’s website. I saw what he charges for those retreats. It’s exorbitant. Which is fine—he’s at perfect liberty to charge whatever he likes—but if he and all his acolytes are running around in clothes they sewed themselves, eating eggs they pulled out from under the chickens this morning, then what does he need the money for?

  I wish I could believe he was financing some kind of charitable organization. That would be a great thing to do with a place like this. Come experience communal living, all proceeds go to benefit the homeless, or whatever. But I don’t believe it at all.

  First of all, if that was what was going on, why in the world wouldn’t you advertise it? Even if it wasn’t in your nature to brag, putting that fact on the website could only help sales. But I scoured that website, and I found nothing to make me believe this wasn’t a straightforward commercial enterprise.

  Besides that, there’s Xavier himself. He’s slimy as hell. Sleazy. He has a used car salesman vibe, hidden under a paper-thin veneer of Zen hippie. Xavier is the thing I find hardest to believe about this whole place. Does no one at all see through that man? It was so clear, when I talked to him, that he was barely keeping himself from laughing at everyone in his orbit. That benevolent smile of his was closer to a sneer.

  I don’t believe for a minute that a man like that has dedicated himself to life on a commune to benefit anybody’s interests besides his own.

  But what are Xavier’s interests?

  I don’t know, exactly. But I do know one thing, and it makes me more uneasy than anything else I’ve learned about Xavier or Pyrite Ranch.

  I know they’re armed.

  The final report that came in from intelligence before I left revealed extremely disturbing information. Aerial photographs revealed multiple people moving by night—it wasn’t clear who they were; the photographs only showed us human-shaped heat signatures—between a truck and a barn. The truck has now been photographed and traced, and found to belong to a known arms dealer.

  Someone was, or maybe still is, supplying guns to Pyrite Ranch, and it seemed like they might be stored in or under one of these barns.

  And multiple people on the ranch know about it. The heat signatures revealed several individuals at the arms dealer’s truck, most of whom were not in in the vehicle when it drove away. Xavier almost certainly
knows what is going on, but he can’t be the only one.

  I don’t think it could be possible that Tammy is involved—she just seems too earnest, too heartfelt about how much she loves the place—but what about the others she introduced me to during our tour? Any of them could be guilty of smuggling guns. I made eye contact with all of them, trying to suss out who was innocent, trying to see who would flinch. But no one did. Were they all in the dark about what was going on, or were they just that good at lying?

  These are important questions, but I know they aren’t the most important question, the thing that absolutely has to be answered for my mission to be considered a success. That question is, what are the guns for?

  It’s weird that someone like Xavier would have a gun at all. He’s supposed to be a free-spirited hippie. He’s supposed to value nature and doing no harm to all the little plants and animals, right? So, even owning a single firearm is way out of character for that guy.

  Of course, having spent time around Xavier, I’m not surprised at all. If I had to describe the man I met, one of the first things I’d say would be power-hungry, and power-hungry people are exactly the type to buy up guns on the black market. So, one possibility is that he’s just a weird obsessive, and having an arsenal in his basement makes him feel like a big man.

  That’s the best possible option. The one with the least potential for violence and danger.

  There’s also the possibility that he’s planning to arm his acolytes on the ranch and set them loose on the civilian population. I don’t see that working very well, if it is his plan. He might have some loyal servants here, but there must be plenty of people like Tammy, too—people who love the meditative lifestyle of this place, but who would raise an eyebrow if they were asked to pick up a gun.

  She wouldn’t do that, would she? I don’t think she’s that far gone.

  Besides, if they try any kind of attack on the outside world, we’ll shut them down before they get started. The Navy is watching this ranch from the outside, and the minute those guns come out, it’s lockdown time. Xavier wouldn’t even get off his own property.

  So, then, the final possibility. What if Xavier is planning an assault on his own people? What if he and the others who visited the arms dealer’s truck are planning to pull those guns out in the night?

  I’m going to be sleeping with one eye open as long as I’m here. That’s for sure.

  It’s also possible that the guns could be for something else, something I haven’t even thought of yet. But whatever they’re for, I’m certain it can’t be anything good.

  I have to uncover their plans before they have a chance to execute them. I have to put a stop to whatever’s going on here. And, as I watch Tammy emerge from the Commons and make her way back up the hill, an unexpected thought pops into my head—one I’m utterly unprepared for.

  I have to protect her.

  Chapter 5

  Kyle

  The walk up Eastern Hill is long, long enough for it to become awkward that I’m just watching Tammy as she walks back up to me. I need to find something to do, something to occupy me so that I won’t just be staring at her.

  Off to my left, beyond the two trees, is a stump where a third tree clearly used to grow. The trees on the ranch are fairly well spaced out, and staggered, too—looking down from the hill, I can see several young saplings spread around the grounds, as well as some trees that have attained a mature height, and many thick-trunked old oaks.

  The stump I’m looking at now clearly belonged to one of these. It’s wider around than either of the other trees on the hill. I imagine it’s the practice here to cut down trees once they reach a certain size, harvesting their wood for construction.

  And, of course, for fires. It’s clear that the logs beside this stump are intended as firewood. For one thing, the bark hasn’t been sheared off. Someone has also started the work of cutting the wood into fireplace sized logs, but there’s plenty more to be done. I locate the axe lying on the ground alongside the stump, pick it up, balance a log on its end, and quickly split it.

  Not bad.

  I’ve used axes before, but only to break down doors as part of rescue operations training. I’ve never done anything like this. I take a moment to admire my work, the two evenly split pieces of wood now lying on the ground. Then, I pick them up and add them to the pile someone has already started.

  I set up another log, heft the axe, and bring it down again. This is actually kind of fun. I can see how it gets addicting, having repetitive physical tasks like this to do, things you can be good at and take pride in. If I didn’t know the truth about Pyrite Ranch, I’m sure I would be really excited to bring my bundle of chopped logs down to the Commons at the end of the day and arrange them in the fireplace, start a fire, and watch my friends and family get warm. There would be an immediate sense of pride in that.

  Of course, I know my job helps people—that’s what the SEALs are for, at the bottom line—but sometimes, it’s harder to see. Standing here on top of this hill and knowing that I’m lying to Tammy, who has been nothing but kind and welcoming, it’s hard to feel like a good and helpful person. But chopping firewood is simple and uncomplicated. I set up another log and bisect it, enjoying another rush of satisfaction as the wood fractures apart. If only everything in life were this easy. If only I could always be this sure that I was doing the right thing.

  “You’re pretty good at that,” says a voice from behind me. I turn to see Tammy making her way to the top of the hill. She collapses down on the grass where we ate lunch, clearly tired from the steep climb, and holds up a cloth bag. “I found cookies,” she says.

  I whack the blade of the axe into the stump of the tree for safekeeping and join her.

  “Was that your first time?” she asks.

  “Chopping wood? Yes.”

  “You’re a natural,” she says with a smile.

  “You’re a flatterer.”

  She reaches into her bag and pulls out a chocolate chip cookie as big as my hand. “Fresh out of the oven,” she says, handing it to me and pulling out another one for herself.

  I break the cookie in half. Sure enough, it’s still warm and soft, exactly how I like them. I take a bite and I’m surprised it’s raisin, not chocolate. Of course. A ranch in California can’t produce their own chocolate, but they can grow grapes. Still, it’s really good. Wholesome, like everything else here.

  “These are wonderful,” I tell her.

  “Olivia made them.”

  “Olivia?”

  “She’s a friend of mine. Well, actually, I used to be her tutor when she was younger, but she’s almost finished with school now.”

  “There’s school on the ranch?” This place continues to surprise me.

  “Of course,” Tammy says. “Everyone gets their GED. Once she’s finished with her studies, Olivia will move out of the children’s dormitory and into the adult women’s dorm with me, and she’ll come to work as a seamstress until she gets married. I think she’ll probably marry quickly, though, because she loves working in the kitchens.”

  “Where does she work now?” I ask. “Do students still have to help with chores?”

  “Everyone helps out with the animals,” Tammy says. “And when it’s harvest time, of course, we all go out to the fields, and when new buildings go up, everyone helps with those. Aside from that, there are free blocks after study hours during which students can visit different areas of the ranch and try out any responsibility they want to.”

  “What’s the point of that?” I ask. “If all the unmarried women have to become seamstresses, what’s the point in discovering whether or not there’s something else you like?”

  Tammy licks crumbs off her fingers. “Sometimes, if someone has a natural aptitude or a passion for something, Xavier will assign them to that thing,” she says.

  “So, couldn’t your friend Olivia work in the kitchens without getting married? If it’s such an interest of hers?”

  “May
be. She would need to schedule an interview with Xavier, demonstrate her ability, and explain why she wanted to do it. And then, he would need to decide it was to the benefit of the whole ranch, and not just her. But it’s possible. Xavier really values people who excel at work that serves the community, you know. He’s all about being as productive as possible in service of the community. In fact, he would probably be really impressed with how quickly you cut all that firewood.”

  “You think so?”

  I glance back over my shoulder at the pile of wood. I was just chopping it for fun, and to let off a little steam, but is it possible this newfound skill of mine could actually be helpful toward achieving my mission?

  “Maybe I should arrange an interview with him,” I say. An interview would be the perfect opportunity to interrogate Xavier without his realizing what I was doing. I could ask him all about the history of the ranch and his vision for its future. If you want to find out what people are up to, get them talking about themselves.

  But Tammy shakes her head. “Not likely,” she says. “Xavier’s a busy man. He doesn’t take meetings with just anyone.”

  “What would I have to do to get a meeting? You said Olivia could do it.”

  “That’s different,” Tammy says. “Olivia’s a lifer, born here at the ranch. Xavier’s known her since she was a baby. He practically helped raise her. You, though…you’re still a stranger. We want to know you, Connor, and we want you to be part of our family, but it takes a while to build those relationships. If you really want to be assigned to the chore of chopping firewood, though, I could put in a good word for you. Xavier might be willing to start you out here.”