Danger in Numbers

by Heather Graham

  “Young can mean all kinds of good,” he told her. “Not far now...we should be there in about five minutes.”

  “Five minutes? Shoot. I hope you have time to tell me why you think this is related, why you think you know so much about the People’s Paradise.”

  He looked over at her, slowing the car, then looking at the road again.

  “Because I lived at the commune as a kid. I was a member of People’s Paradise.”

  16

  Hunter had thought he owed it to Amy to tell her about his past. It just wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

  He had studied so much at college, and he had spent time speaking with his parents, of course.

  They were good, normal people.

  So how had they gotten mixed up in it all?

  All that he had learned about behavioral sciences still left him at a loss. He tried to understand; on the one hand, he did. He knew the logic and he knew there was usually a progression in “brainwashing” an individual. It was still harder than he thought to go back.

  He pulled into a parking space on the dirt-and-pebbled drive in front of the biker bar.

  He turned in his seat and looked at Amy. “When I was six years old, my parents were instrumental in bringing down the leader of People’s Paradise. But they were members when I was a small child, and while I didn’t understand everything going on, I knew they revered Brother William, and then they had come to fear him. When we got out, we were put into the witness protection program. My parents are still in it and will be until they die. The feds got most of the people involved in the higher echelon, but there are a few of his acolytes, if you will, or enforcers, who were never found. The assumption was that they fled to Mexico.”

  “Oh,” Amy said.

  “We’ll talk about it more later, if you want. For now, we should go listen and observe in the bar.”

  They got out of the car; Hunter’s phone rang.

  Caller ID showed him it was his boss, and he paused. “It’s Garza. I have to take this.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll head on in,” Amy said.

  Hunter watched her go. Inwardly, he shook his head—at himself. He was really falling into frightening territory; he was enchanted with the sway of her hips as she walked. Her jeans seemed to emphasize the fact that she had long, long legs.

  “Hunter?”

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything you’ve discovered?”

  “We’ve checked out records. Colby’s son Jayden was in a fraternity at school, and then Chase was accepted into the same one. But they left several months ago—left the fraternity after the first year, choosing to live on their own in an apartment.”

  “Jayden is in premed, from what I understand—about to graduate with his bachelor’s degree. Chase just started—he’s a freshman,” Hunter said.

  “That is correct. We also discovered Morrison’s two sons—about the same ages—were also members of the same fraternity. And left the fraternity house to live in an apartment just about the same time.”

  “So, you think—”

  “I don’t think anything. I’m just giving you the information.”

  Hunter hesitated. “Sir, can you get Sheila to research something? The general perception out in the world is Ethan Morrison’s father was a dirt-poor farmer who worked to the bone to start the empire Ethan turned into billion-dollar businesses. I think we need to know more about his father.”

  “The man is dead, but we’ll do the research that we can.”

  “Ethan Morrison is a comparatively young man for his riches, right?”

  “Forty-four,” Garza told him. “Had children young, divorced the first wife. Who was going to go to court against him, but she was never able to do so—she passed away from natural causes.”

  “How convenient for Morrison.”

  “It was an aneurysm.”

  “Right. I’d like to know about the medical examiner who had the case.”

  “It was almost twenty years ago.”

  “Hell, I would dig her up.”

  “If you did and it was proved she was murdered, you’d never pin it on Morrison—not this late in the game.”

  “People do have an alarming tendency to die around him.”

  “We’re doing what we can.”

  “I know. Please, this may be important. Ask Sheila to use her most amazing digging talents and see what she can come up with.”

  “I will. Happy to follow any lead you throw at us.” He paused. “I know you’re the right man for this, Hunter. But make sure you don’t let your past sidetrack you.”

  “Yes, sir. The Morrison sons’ names, by the way?”

  “Ezekiel, known as Zeke, and Aaron.”

  “Biblical.”

  “Yes. Take care. Should it become necessary, I can send more agents.”

  “And when we’re ready, I will call on them,” Hunter promised.

  Garza was quiet for a minute. “You know what it’s like, when we reach the point and have witnesses or facts to move on. You’re a hell of an agent, Hunter, but you know damn well you’re going to need help. As in maybe a SWAT team.”

  “Yes, of course. But we don’t really have anything yet. I know there’s a cult at work here, but I can’t say who is involved, though I have a suspicion. And whoever is the head man, he has six or more trusted helpers. The men who came down in the van, for one, bringing the victims to be killed in the south. Right now we’re trying to check out the friendly folk of Maclamara. We’re at a bar on the northern edge of the town—”

  “I know where you are. We’re tracking your phone.”

  “Good.”

  “Keep me apprised of every situation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh! One more thing,” Garza said before Hunter could ring off. “Special Agent Roger Dawson, retired, called in. He heard about the murders and assumed you were on the case. He says he may be retired, but he’s available if you want to ask him questions about the past, about anyone concerned.”

  “That’s great—Dawson was my hero. I’m always happy to talk to him. He helped me forget the past. Now maybe he can help me remember when it might be important.”

  Hunter ended the call and stood, thoughtful for a moment.

  Dawson had been his hero, the reason he’d become an FBI agent, and the reason he’d been so determined to make his life count.

  He could still remember standing in the clearing on the California hillside.

  Hunter hadn’t been involved with any of the trial; he’d been a six-year-old. But he had known Brother Colin died in the gunfight. Brother Anthony had gone to prison and died there, as had several others. But the man known as Brother Darryl had disappeared.

  And Hunter could remember Special Agent Dawson talking to his parents, warning them they couldn’t go back—only forward, only under witness protection and only as their new identities.

  Because revenge was something that could possess a man.

  17

  Through the relative gloom of the bar, Hunter could see Amy was seated on a stool. A tall man in his early thirties with neck-length, dark, curly hair and light eyes was leaning against the bar at her side.

  Flirting, obviously.

  Amy was laughing at his words.

  The man was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt with a motorcycle insignia.

  Just a biker—or was he more?

  Hunter walked casually up to the bar to join her. She turned, her smile still in place. “Hunter! There you are. I’d like you meet Phin Harrison. He lives just about a mile or so down. He has a motorcycle repair shop.”

  “How’s it going?” Hunter said, offering the man his hand.

  “Uh, hey,” the man said, shaking hands with Hunter, studying him, assessing him.

  Phin appeared to be perplexed; appa
rently, he had thought Amy was alone.

  “Motorcycle repair, eh?” Hunter said.

  “You have a bike?” Phin asked.

  “No, I’ve had bikes and I’ve been thinking about getting one again. I’m weighing the pros and cons of the different ones on the market now.”

  “Well, come by the shop. I can show you a few.”

  “People here are so nice, Hunter!” Amy said, enthused. “They’re having a big barbecue at their city park, sounds really cool. Phin invited us.”

  “Really? That is nice,” Hunter said. “But is it like the whole town is invited? And, of course, if we’re coming, we’d need to bring something—”

  “We do it every few weeks,” Phin said. “And we never ask newcomers to bring anything. People just get together. They make plans with each other sometimes, things they’re going to do together between barbecues. Oh, we have some preaching, too, but we have it on a Sunday and we’re kind of a God-fearing place here, so we’re all happy to have our church out in the park. You’re not against church, are you?” Phin asked them.

  “No!” Amy said. “I’ll be happy to hear a preacher.”

  The bartender, a big man, about six-foot-five, both heavy and muscled, came up, and Hunter ordered a beer.

  The bartender eyed him suspiciously.

  Just because they were newcomers? Or did someone know the law was heading back to their little town?

  The door opened, shedding sunlight into the dimly lit bar.

  A young man came in and looked in the bar for a minute, his eyes perhaps adjusting to the light. The bartender lifted a hand to him, and Phin Harrison said, “Hey.”

  They appeared to know him. He looked to be college-age.

  Sandy hair, six feet, medium build. He moved in to take a seat at the stool closest to the door; the bartender moved on to help him.

  Phin turned his attention on Hunter and Amy again.

  “You two a couple, or what?” he asked.

  Hunter and Amy looked at each other.

  Hunter laughed softly, setting his hands on her shoulders. “Yeah, we’re a couple. Definitely,” he said lightly.

  “Well, think about the invitation. Like I said, we’re God-fearing people around here. We take care of each other. So, are you just passing through?”

  Hunter decided to take a chance. “Actually, we were thinking about maybe settling in this area.”

  Amy glanced quickly at Hunter but didn’t miss a beat. “It’s so beautiful. I grew up in the city—so seeing the trees here, wow! The way the moss falls from the trees and the trails just streak off the roads, I’d sure consider it.”

  “Well, we do like places that feel like neighborhoods,” Hunter said. “Where people help one another, where they do things for one another. And we have been looking for the right church to join. She was raised Catholic, and I’m Baptist. We’re looking for something...different.”

  “You’d love our pastor,” Phin said. “And we do have something special and unique here. Think about it hard, because if you don’t believe you’re right for really loving your neighbors and pitching in, you’re not going to like anything about this place. No one is an island here—Micanopy isn’t big, and the next biggest thing, well, you have to go all the way up to Gainesville or all the way down to Ocala if you need something and you don’t know your neighbors around here. Not that far in miles, maybe, but in an emergency, well, we all need each other.”

  “So true,” Amy said.

  “So, where is this barbecue?” Hunter asked. “Where is the town park?”

  “About five miles down—you won’t be able to miss it. There’s a welcoming sign that’s always up. The outdoors is our church around here, though we do have a church. Anyway, like I said. Give it some thought. You’re welcome to come by.”

  “Thanks.” Hunter finished his beer and set the empty bottle down. “Honey, let’s get back to the hotel. I’m going to call in about the horses, make sure the vet saw Red after we left.”

  “You horse people?” Phin asked.

  “Right. That’s why we need property,” Hunter told him.

  “Nice to meet you—and I’m sure we’ll meet again,” Amy said.

  Amy slid off her bar stool and Hunter took her hand, ready to lead her out. As they reached the door, she whispered, “Go on out.”

  He did, but remained by the door, not sure what she was planning. But as she headed back in, she called out, “I think I left my sweater.”

  He waited.

  A minute later, she emerged.

  He caught her hand and they smiled at one another and laughed, aware someone in the bar could be watching them.

  When they were in the car, Amy explained, “I knew the bartender was talking with the kid who came in, and I had a feeling they were talking about us.”

  “Saying?”

  “When I was heading back in, he was saying he’d been warned about a pair of agents on the case down in the south, and they shouldn’t be fooled by us. I guess going to the barbecue as a couple of folks seeking a new home is not going to fly. We won’t hear anything, anyway.”

  “No, they’ll be watching us like hawks,” Hunter said. He looked at her as they drove out. “I’d still like to go to that barbecue.”

  “We can get a satellite image of the area. We can park a car and see what we can find from the outside looking in,” Amy suggested.

  He nodded. “Good. Right. And I’ll let Garza know just in case there’s trouble.”

  “I’ll talk to my people, too.”

  “And we’ll check in with Detective Ellison.”

  “Ellison?”

  “He called me when they found the girl here—before I headed south to be with you. He’s a county man, detective, and a good one. We were in a behavioral training class together and worked the murder of a young waiter, maybe five years ago. He’s still investigating the woman who is, to me, the first in this series, even if she was killed as practice so they’d know how to kill when they started murdering people for their Apocalypse scenario.”

  “I don’t think I’ve met him,” Amy said. “I’ve been around a lot of the state, but I haven’t met an Ellison.”

  “Bo Ellison. He might even have something for us, though Bo would have called with anything important. He’s been getting reports, of course. But I also want to let him know I believe something more is going to happen here.”

  “You don’t think they’re planning something at the barbecue, do you?”

  He was quiet a minute. “I’ve started to wonder about Ethan Morrison’s sons—Aaron and Ezekiel.”

  “Because they’re his sons?”

  “Well, that. And maybe because I believe he’s been a controlling father. But not just for that reason. I don’t necessarily believe that the sins of the fathers fall to the sons. But Morrison has been in the news often enough and he’s often seen with his sons. It might be natural that they’d be his loyal lieutenants. They might have been among the men in the van, the three men who came south with our victims, Lady Liberty and Jane Doe number two. If not, Colby’s boys could be involved, Jayden and Chase—and maybe all four of them. This operation is tight, and loyalty is key. Loyalty among family members can be fierce. We know Hank either helped commit or was privy to the murders. Whoever recruited Hank knew something about him—knew about his past, and he’d be easy prey for them. That makes me believe—along with Casey’s concerns—her brothers are involved. They might be at college now, but they grew up back south and they knew Hank.”

  “We’ll need to recognize them when we see them,” Amy said.

  “Yes, we’ll get photos sent to us. Back at the inn, we’ll work on contacts and a plan for an hour or so, get some satellite images and head back.”

  “All right,” Amy agreed. “Food along the way, please.” She flashed him a smile. “I don’t
usually drink during the day, and certainly not in the morning. But Phin wanted to buy me a drink, and you said we needed to get friendly with the locals, so...”

  “Let’s get something to eat,” he agreed.

  There was a sign that welcomed them to Micanopy. The sign explained that Micanopy means “head chief” and that it had been awarded to the famed leader of the Alachua Seminoles. Hernando de Soto had been in the area way back in 1539.

  Maclamara, he knew, was a township named for the rich man who’d once been the only landholder in the area—he’d owned a plantation that had encompassed it all. The place still had only about twenty families that called it home.

  Amy asked, “Where was she found?”

  He knew she was referring to the victim in Maclamara.

  “About half a mile back, not far off the road. Right at the border between Maclamara and Micanopy.”

  “Can we go back?” she asked.

  “We need to watch our time.”

  “I won’t need much,” she said.

  He pulled the car in a tight U-turn and drove back the other way. There was a small part in the trees and a narrow, leaf-laden trail that led to the clearing in the woods where the young woman had been found. Hunter drove onto the shoulder of the highway, and they got out.

  A few strings of crime scene tape littered the ground, but it had rained, and there was no evidence that remained to show just where the body had been.

  But Hunter remembered, and he showed Amy.

  “They had a swarm of forensics experts on her, from the county and from the FBI. They combed the place, and they talked to everyone over the age of three, to the best of my knowledge, in Maclamara and Micanopy. No one saw anything. No one knew her.”

  Amy looked around.

  “It’s just like in the south.” She started walking back from the site and paused. “You’re right, this was practice. What is frightening now is we’ve had the sword and the pestilence.”

  “Famine and plague are next.”

  “They could be starving their next victim to death.”