“If something does happen to her...” Casey murmured.
“No, don’t go that route,” Hunter said firmly. “You two were her friends. You, Martin and Patty—you helped her. And we don’t have any answers yet.” He hesitated and looked at Amy. “Do you think you could sketch a likeness of our Jane Doe number two’s face, as she might have appeared in life?”
Amy stared at him for a minute. Could he read her mind? Her face was eaten—I’m not a magician!
But he kept smiling at her; others didn’t know the circumstances of the woman’s death.
“I can try.”
Amy pulled out her pad and worked. Kaila looked nervously around.
Amy created a pleasant image of a woman with long dark hair, dark eyes and a smile.
Casey looked at the image.
“No, not her,” she said.
“How do you know?” Hunter asked.
“Billie has light hair. Lighter, dirty-blond hair and pretty eyes, a soft, soft brown, like an amber or yellow. And her hair is short—like curving around her face, just about chin length. She chopped it off when she started running.”
Amy and Hunter exchanged a quick glance; they hadn’t known much about the second corpse, not from the way the body had been all but eaten. They did know she’d had long dark hair.
“When did Billie start running?”
“When they brought her down here.”
“When who brought her down here?”
“The men with the van. They brought her and a few of the other girls.” Casey paused, taking a deep breath. “Billie said the men in the van—there were three of them—brought down three girls. So, from what you’re telling me...well, Billie knew the women were transported here because they were supposed to serve men—and were convinced it was a holy mission. She escaped from a cabin somewhere and made her way out through the brush and the snakes and whatever somehow. From what I’ve seen on the news, and what I’ve learned from my father, and now you... I think the girl killed on the cross was one of the girls Billie was with. I guess the other girl—the second woman you found dead—was the third. Because that’s not Billie you sketched,” she said, looking at Amy. “I mean, I don’t think it can be.”
Amy nodded and reached across the table to squeeze Casey’s hand. “It’s not Billie.”
“Not that the murders are any less horrible,” Casey said.
“Excuse me, people think I work here,” Kaila muttered, moving away from the table to pick up an order of food Frank had set out. Then she put on her waitress smile and went and checked with her customers.
As Kaila headed to a booth, Frank left the kitchen and came around the counter. He spoke casually to a few of his customers while making his way to them.
Hunter watched him, speculative.
“You have to find these killers,” Frank said, smiling as if he pretended for anyone watching that he was just discussing his recipe for French toast. “We haven’t figured out what the hell is going on around here, but two girls are dead. It’s bad for this town. Bad for business.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do,” Hunter told him.
“We don’t know what you know, but we know Artie was arrested, and Hank is dead. That boy never stood much of a chance, but still. Sometimes I think there just might be an evil seed and some folks are born with it.”
Frank straightened as the door to the diner opened. Agent Ryan Anders had arrived, ready for his meeting with Detective Mulberry. Time had been ticking away—they’d started early that morning interrogating Artie, driven back here, taken an airboat out to the shack and made the bloody discovery there.
Yeah, it was dinnertime.
And if they wanted to get up to Maclamara tonight, they had a good five-hour drive ahead of them.
“Hey!” Ryan said, surprised to see them there.
“Hi!” Amy said.
Frank moved away from the end of the table. “Are you joining this crew here?” he asked.
“I, uh, for a minute, sure. I’m meeting Detective Mulberry for dinner,” Ryan said.
The open seat was next to Casey. He and Casey hadn’t met yet.
Hunter quickly performed the introductions.
“Please, sit,” Casey said.
“Back to work for me. Some of us don’t get dinner breaks,” Frank said, and walked off.
Casey turned back to Amy. “Billie wouldn’t just leave, not without a word to us. She was grateful and sweet and...we were idiots. We should have done more. She should have...trusted cops, I guess,” Casey said. “They have her.”
“We think we know where they have their main group,” Hunter told her. “And we’re heading that way.”
“You’re leaving?” Casey said worriedly. “I admit, I’m afraid. For me, for my dad... My brothers are safe. They’re up at college, though... I don’t know! I worry about them, too. I swear to you, my father is a good man. But he thinks he can bring that billionaire Ethan Morrison into the fold, and that if he can do that, he can convince Morrison many of the things he does are wrong. My dad always wants the best in life—he wants to see the best in people. He believes every man can be helped. My dad thinks he can fix a man like Ethan Morrison.
“I worry sometimes my brothers think he’s cool—that the media has lied about him, and all he’s trying to do is save humanity, researching drugs that can cure cancer, that kind of thing. He scares the hell out of me, but...I love my brothers. Anyway, that’s not the here or now, but...I’m scared of what’s going on here.”
“I’m staying at the motel,” Ryan said firmly. “If any of you need me to help in any way, you make sure you have me on speed dial. I’ll come running.”
Hunter nodded. “And Detective Mulberry will be close.”
He slid out of the booth. “Amy, you and I need to get going. I don’t believe Billie is here anymore. I think they found her. They might even know we were closing in on them and got the hell out. I don’t believe you’re in danger, Casey. But we’ll make sure you’re protected. And we’ll do everything in our power to find Billie.”
Amy also stood as Kaila swept back by, anxious.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Amy smiled at her. “Ryan is staying.”
“Oh!” Kaila was either relieved, or pleased. Hunter hid a smile. He looked at Ryan; the kid was going to be a good agent.
And they needed to get going—nothing else was going to happen here.
Their lead, Billie, was gone.
14
Fall 1993
Sam
Walking toward Sam was Special Agent Dawson, the man who had slipped into the commune undercover, who had offered him this chance.
Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful human being in his life. Dawson was making his way across an open patch of ground, where the forest gave way to low shrubs, in between him and where Sam’s family was hiding in the deeper woods.
“It’s all right!” Sam said. “It’s all right!”
He heard Jessie let out a soft sob.
She looked at Sam, relief and hope mingling in her eyes. She hugged their son and said, “It’s all right, Cam, it’s all right! We can go to him!”
Cam knew the agent; Dawson had spent time with them all. Young himself—in his late twenties—he’d been assigned to watch the children during his undercover days at the commune.
Cameron looked at both of his parents, questioning.
Sam nodded. “We’re right behind you, buddy!” he told his son.
Dawson stepped closer, and at Sam’s gentle push, Cameron started to run to him.
The sudden explosive sound of a shot rang out.
Terror flooded Sam. His son, his beloved boy, was out in the open.
If they had somehow gotten Cam, he prayed that death would take him quickly, too, because
he’d no longer be able to endure life.
But Cam barely faltered as he kept running. Then Sam saw other men, all in camouflage, come out of the woods behind Dawson. Five of them, Sam counted. Other agents. And it was one of those agents who had fired, who still had his gun pointing at Brother Colin, who had stepped from the woods to their left to take aim at Cameron.
“Down!” Dawson shouted, throwing himself on top of Cameron and bearing them both to the earth. Sam put his arms around Jessie, dragging her back into the trees.
More gunfire crackled. In the silence a few long moments later, Sam saw agents moving toward the direction from which the shots had come. Dawson stood, and helped Cameron to his feet, as well. Sam started running to them, pulling Jessie along at his side.
Dawson kept Cam’s hand in his as they came together. Jessie fell to her knees to hug her son.
“There were two of them out here. I guess they thought they’d chase you down and get rid of you easy enough,” Dawson said. “Looks like Brother Colin is dead. Think that’s Brother Anthony who was behind him, and we’ll get an ambulance for him. We’ll get the three of you out of here, and then we’ll be going in—today.”
“Thank you—I don’t know how we’ll ever thank you,” Sam told him.
Dawson grinned. “No, Sam. Thank you. We need your testimony because we’re going to try to bring them in, clean out the whole hornet’s nest.”
“You have my testimony.”
“And mine!” Jessie said, standing. “This has all been my fault. I fell into something far worse than what I thought I’d been leaving behind. I was so stupid!”
“Jessie, don’t beat yourself up. You and Sam at least saw the truth. You knew Brother William was using people, sucking them dry—and killing them, as well. You did the right thing. Not everyone has that kind of courage.”
“We couldn’t have done anything without you. You saw what they’d do. They’d have killed us. They were going to shoot Cameron, shoot down a six-year-old boy!”
“But they didn’t get me,” Cameron said, looking up at Dawson in admiration. “They didn’t get me, because of you guys!”
“They’re the good guys,” Sam said, setting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “They’re the good guys.”
“But there is still danger,” Dawson warned them.
“We, uh, have money. We haven’t touched it. Brother William knew Jessie’s father died, and he left everything to her. He was figuring a way to get her to transfer everything over to him, but thank God you came along. Again, thank God—we do have that to fall back on. We can go somewhere,” Sam said. “Somewhere far away.”
“We need you to testify, and after that, well... What I’d like for you to do is enter witness protection. They can set you up with identities that will let you lead new lives. Cam can go to school...”
“Witness protection would be great,” Jessie said. “Sam, we can start over. We can be new people and let Cameron have a normal life.”
“Let’s get out of the woods here first, eh? And get through the operation we have planned for today.”
Sam, Jessie and Cameron were taken to a safe house in Los Angeles.
And the operation did happen that afternoon.
An ATF team went in along with a contingent of men and women from the FBI.
Brother William had been stockpiling weapons illegally.
He ordered his followers to take suicide pills when he saw the law coming. But happily, most did not. Instinct kicked in with most people.
They wouldn’t kill their children.
Brother William was cornered in his office; he didn’t take a pill himself. He swore he’d be judged innocent in court, that he’d done nothing wrong.
But there were others besides Sam and Jessie who testified he’d taken them for everything, and he’d ordered the murder of a young woman and attempted to murder them, as well.
Brother William tried hard. He claimed his henchmen had worked on their own.
Brother Colin was dead, but Brother Anthony protested and turned witness himself. The case was federal—he wanted to avoid the death penalty.
Brother Darryl disappeared; they were never able to find him, which made witness protection even more appealing to Sam and Jessie.
After the trial, it was time to start their lives again.
Special Agent Dawson introduced Sam to Special Agent Barry Clooney, the man who would set up their new lives.
“Naturally, we have to create identities for you,” Clooney told them. “For your new names, anything you want to avoid, or anything that comes to mind?”
“Forrest,” Sam said. He looked at Dawson. “This man saved us when we were in a forest.”
“Connie. Connie Forrest!” Jessie said. “I always liked that name.”
“Al. Alfred Forrest,” Sam said. He smiled at Jessie—now Connie, his beloved wife by any name.
“And what about this young man?” Dawson asked, bending down to Cameron.
Cameron had a serious look on his small face as he looked at Dawson. “I thought you were a hunter—you saved my life. I want to be Hunter.”
“Hunter? Hunter Forrest?” Jessie asked.
“Hunter,” Cameron said stubbornly, and Sam laughed.
“A hunter in the forest saved us. Jess, that’s what he wants. It’s a good name, a strong name, and the name he wants.”
Jessie looked at Dawson.
“It’s a great name,” she said.
From that day on, they were the Forrest family.
Al, Connie and Hunter.
And the names quickly became more real than those they’d been born with. And a new life, created with love and intention, became real, as well.
They became...themselves. Connie was able to retrain and become an art teacher. Al was able to write, and he was published.
They moved a few times, just to be safe. But the memory of their time in the commune faded through the years, though it always remained.
A nightmare that teased now and then...
Every day was a gift; the sun always burned a little brighter.
It scared Connie and Al a little, of course, when their son wanted to go into the military. But they didn’t stop him; he had really grown into a fine young man.
And they weren’t even surprised when he wanted to join the FBI. They’d been given the gift of life; in the end, they were proud when their son wanted to do whatever he could to give that gift to others.
15
They took turns driving, heading for I-75 quickly, stopping for dinner—which, they both realized, they could have eaten at the diner. But they were quick, taking only thirty minutes for food and time to refuel.
As they drove, Hunter told Amy they’d stay in Micanopy. While a small town itself, Micanopy had a few good hotels.
“Have you been there?” he asked Amy after they had eaten and were back on the way.
“I’ve been through, visiting friends who went to school in Gainesville,” she told him. “I can’t say I know it well. It’s an old town, right?”
He nodded. “Very old. One square mile, right in the heart of a rural area. The population is well below one thousand, though when you head southwest down to Maclamara, the population goes down to just a few hundred. Micanopy, though, is charming—rural, of course. Micanopy is the oldest midland town in Florida—dripping moss, narrow streets, pretty. Anyway, I still have a room at a historic inn there. It’s an old Victorian house that has been adapted. It’s a small place, but the inn does a good business what with college students and their parents and visitors.”
“You still have a room there?”
“I never checked out when I headed south. I was on my way the second I heard about your victim.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, it’s a suite on the ground floor. You can have th
e bedroom. I’ll take the sofa.”
“I don’t mind a sofa.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but trust me, I don’t mean this in any chauvinistic way—I will be miserable if you don’t take the bedroom. Can’t help it—my mom raised me to be courteous.”
She smiled. “I don’t care where I sleep as long as I get a shower. I still feel as if I smell...like that cabin.”
“Me, too,” he agreed. “Showers. Even if we do get in at one or two in the morning.”
When they arrived, the night-lights that glowed around the place showed the charm of the Victorian building, with the large porch and its fine columns and the balconies above. The surrounding trees were all dripping moss beneath the moon.
Hunter used his key to enter the house and they paused in the old entry. The office—on the ground floor, right across from what was called “the Faulkner Suite”—was closed.
A curving staircase led to the rooms on the second floor. There was a parlor immediately in front, with the hall to the suite just to the side of it. The parlor had been decorated with Victorian furniture, fine upholstered chairs, a love seat and a “fainting” couch.
“This place is lovely,” Amy said approvingly.
“The suite is nice, too. These people did a great job renovating.”
They headed down the hall where he used his second key to open the door to the suite.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “within my federal budget. That’s what small-town life will do for you.”
She smiled, looking around. The suite didn’t offer a kitchen, but it had a wet bar with a microwave and little refrigerator. It was separated from the parlor area by a counter; the parlor had a sofa, wide-screen TV and small occasional tables, along with a dining table that would seat eight.
“Cool,” Amy approved.
“Hmm. Didn’t notice it before, but I don’t need the sofa—there’s a Murphy bed against the far wall. I’m all set.”
“You take first shower,” Amy told him. “That way, we can both settle in. I want to see what made the news—if the murders are still on national TV.”
“As you wish.”
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