She knew the voice. It was Phin Harrison. The friendly, flirtatious biker from the bar.
“You just won’t believe what we do to gun-toting spies around here,” he added.
18
Hunter saw Phin Harrison as he moved in on Amy.
He was afraid to let out a shout and alert the man; these people weren’t rational—he might well shoot Amy before being shot himself.
He moved with all the stealth—and speed—he could muster, coming up behind the man, determined that he would disarm him with surprise. He’d shoot him if he had to, but the fear remained that neither he nor the bullet could move fast enough.
Hunter was on him, his Glock just about at the man’s back, ready to demand that Phin drop his weapon, when Amy moved.
She had been staring at the man, probably sizing him up. And then she made her move, slamming his gun arm with a sudden slicing movement of her own; Phin let out a yelp of pain and surprise.
His gun slipped from his fingers.
Hunter leaped to retrieve it lest the man recoup quickly. Phin made a lunge for Amy, but Hunter was there, and only too happy to slam him back against the tree with a tight grip to his throat.
“You just threatened an FDLE agent, Mr. Harrison. You’re under arrest,” Amy said.
She had cuffs out; Hunter released the man before he could do damage. They both had weapons now, and Phin didn’t.
But they’d been seen from the park; Hunter was aware that man in the robes at the podium had beckoned to a group of men behind him.
The entire populace of the park was turning to look into the woods.
Phin Harrison knew that.
He smiled. “Another spy!” he said quietly. “On my land. Stand your ground, buddy. This is my property right here—I own this land, and I have the right to stand my ground when someone is trespassing and might be dangerous. But screw the law, guys, you’re badly outnumbered.”
“No, he’s not.”
Hunter smiled; it was Roger Dawson who had spoken. He had followed behind the two of them.
“Phin Harrison,” said another voice. Detective Ellison.
Ellison continued with, “Threatening a state and a federal officer. You will be coming with me.”
“You have no right—”
“We saw a threat of fatal danger. We have every right,” Ellison said.
Amy clicked the handcuffs onto Phin Harrison; Detective Ellison reached for him.
The crowd in the park was still.
Hunter looked at Amy; with a nod, she indicated that he should look behind him, behind Detective Ellison and retired agent Roger Dawson.
There were at least eight armed agents from the FBI coming through the trees.
“Take me in—you go on and take me in. And then I’ll be suing your asses and having your badges. You are on private property. My private property.”
“We’ll let the courts settle it all,” Hunter told Phin. “Feel free. This is private land? We’ll go on down to the park and see about that barbecue.”
Phin stood silent. Hunter moved past him, handing Phin’s gun off to Dawson, a “thank you” in the nod and smile that he gave him.
He started through the remaining trees and down the embankment that led to the road and the park.
But as he moved, the robed figure backed off the pedestal. Hunter started to run.
A woman thrust a small boy of three or four in his path. He swerved. The whole population of the park was moving, intent on blocking his way.
He reached the barbecue grills and was met by the bartender from the biker bar.
“Hey, man, what’s your hurry? How about a few of the best barbecue ribs this side of Memphis?”
The figure in the cloak, the leader, was gone.
The girl with the guitar had also disappeared.
Hunter noticed the kid from the bar—the one who had really been too young to be in there ordering a drink. Chase Colby.
Next to the tall, beefy bartender, he was very small, and looked very young.
“Told you—he’s an FBI goon. They just don’t let law-abiding citizens alone,” Chase said.
“I am with the federal government, and I think everyone should be concerned. A woman was found not far from here, brutally murdered,” Hunter said.
“Yes, and you should be out finding her killer, not disturbing peaceful folks at a barbecue,” the bartender said.
“She was killed in this town,” Hunter said.
“By an interloper—like you!” Chase told him. “And you’d better let Phin go. He was just protecting what was his. And that’s our right—we protect what is ours.”
The crowd had dispersed. The girls with their flowery crowns and white gowns were gone, having hurried back to the church.
Hunter could see that the group of young men who had been about to rush up the embankment to come to Phin’s aid were backing away, as well—across the park in the opposite direction.
But he’d gotten a look at them.
And he was certain he’d seen Chase’s brother, Jayden, among them. Along with Ethan Morrison’s sons, Ezekiel and Aaron.
There was nothing more that he could do here now. It had been a town barbecue, nothing illegal in that.
He smiled at Chase. “I know your dad. And your sister. Good people.”
Chase frowned; he hadn’t expected to be recognized.
“Yeah, my dad is a good guy. And you’ve been harassing him, too. And the church.”
“Your dad is a good guy—who offered to help us in any way that he could. I know you feel the same. I know you all feel the same. We’re here to catch a killer. And we will. Anyway. Excuse me, folks. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
It felt terrible, turning to walk away, exposing his back to Chase and the bartender. But he knew that Amy, Roger and a half dozen sharpshooting agents were watching everything.
As he walked back toward the others, he could feel the way he was watched. It was—ridiculously, perhaps—like dozens of fiery needles shooting at him.
He reached Roger and Amy waiting in the woods.
“Ellison has Phin Harrison,” Roger told him. “He says he can hang on to him for twenty-four hours. He doesn’t suggest pursuing charges now. The law can be iffy...”
Harrison probably would be released, if it proved to be his property where they’d been standing, even if he had threatened Amy—and Hunter, for that matter. They had no warrant, and they had been on his land.
“Right. If Phin owns this land. He may not—someone else may own it,” Hunter said.
“You’re thinking Ethan Morrison,” Amy said.
“I am.”
“Well, we can talk to Phin.”
“And we will. I want to shake the hands of a few agents before we go. They sure made a timely appearance.”
Amy grinned. “You have one hell of a boss, your Garza. Roger told me he’s had tech on the satellite imagery. The agents were geared up, down the road, and ready.”
He nodded.
Sometimes things worked out. Except that their plan hadn’t worked completely. They hadn’t seen whatever ceremony had been planned for the young woman. They had never seen the faces of the men in the strange robes. But they did have Phin.
“Come on, let’s say thanks and follow Detective Ellison to the station.”
Hunter made his way back through the woods; the contingent of FBI agents were waiting by the road. He greeted their team leader, Special Agent Monroe, and the whole group; Amy and Roger did the same.
“More than happy, Special Agent Forrest, to help where we’re needed, when we’re needed. Though it seemed you were good without our firepower—”
“There was no fire because you were here,” Hunter assured them.
“And we’ll be here. Count on us,” Monroe told h
im.
“We’ll be in touch,” Hunter said.
He and Amy and Roger started down to the road to their cars; there was no more reason to use the trees as a shield.
The ride to the county station took about twenty-five minutes. As they neared their destination, Amy sighed. He glanced her way.
“Civilization! I’ve never loved it so much.”
He smiled.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For?”
“You really had my back. You’re a hell of a partner.”
“Amy, you had him. That was an impressive move.”
She shrugged. “I have some moves. We’re taught, as you know, that thinking strategically can make up for size and strength. I had him disarmed, but if I would have made it to his gun before he clocked me—I don’t know. Thankfully, I didn’t have to find out.”
Hunter smiled, nodding. “You are a damned good agent.”
“Thank you. I’ll take it. Hey, is Roger following us?”
“Yes, but he won’t come in on the interrogation.”
“He won’t?”
“He’s retired, remember? Doesn’t mean that he won’t be listening in.”
Ellison had Phin Harrison in an interrogation room, waiting. He was cuffed to a bar on the prisoner’s side of the table in the room.
Amy and Hunter took seats across from him.
“This is ridiculous,” Phin sputtered.
“Is it? I’m sorry,” Hunter said. “But I’m trying to remember your words. Something about Special Agent Larson and me getting to see what you did to spies in your town.”
“You were spying on us.”
“We were watching a ceremony in the park,” Amy said. “If you recall, you invited us to the barbecue.”
“Right. You should have just come to the barbecue. You would have been welcomed. Even though the kid knew who you were. Even if you’re going after a community full of good people, instead of searching for whatever drifter dumped a body here,” Phin accused them.
“Someone in your group of good people has to know something,” Amy said. “Phin, you’re far too smart not to realize that! What happened here, well...all this property that’s owned by all these good people. One of them has to know something.”
Phin was silent.
There was a tap at the door.
Detective Ellison, bald with just a fringe of tidy gray hair and a well-maintained mustache and close-cropped beard to complement the look, entered. “Mr. Harrison, I interviewed you myself regarding the murder. You spend half your time at the biker bar, and you see who comes and goes. You claim that you all keep a watchful eye, so tell me, what the hell happened?”
“I told you—some damned drifter,” Phin said.
“Sure,” Ellison told him. “Oh, and by the way, I just checked. You don’t own that property. It’s owned by Ethan Morrison.”
“And I’m his property manager!” Phin protested.
“Well, it’s going to be interesting to see how this plays out,” Ellison said.
“I think I’ll do a little legal investigation,” Hunter said, rising and looking at Amy, and hoping that she understood. He wanted to see how Phin reacted to her alone. Phin was cuffed to a steel bar. There was nothing he could do to her, beyond threats. But Hunter wanted to know if he would threaten her.
“Amy, ask him about the girls.”
Amy met Hunter’s eyes and gave the tiniest of nods. She understood what he wanted.
“Right. So, Phin, what was the ceremony about? Had the girls graduated from classes or something like that?”
Hunter headed toward the door; Ellison stood, as well, when he saw Hunter’s intent.
Once the door clicked behind them, Ellison asked, “You think that he’ll sing a different tune, alone with Amy?”
“He’s a macho supremacist—yes, let’s see what he’ll have to say to Amy.”
* * *
“What is the story with the girls?” Amy asked Phin.
“What do you mean, what’s the story?”
“What was the ceremony about—those pretty girls all coming out of the church. What kind of a church is it, anyway?”
“It’s nondenominational. We don’t think one thing. Everyone has a right to an opinion. We know that God gives us leaders and that the leaders show us the way. We may be lost and floundering, and they lift us up. You people are jaded, and you don’t understand faith—you’re so busy ripping people to shreds that you don’t understand community and protecting those you love from others.”
“Why do you think people need to be protected?”
He lifted his hands in a huge, expansive gesture and stared at her as if she was insane.
“Look where I am! We were having a friendly barbecue—and you waltz in to spy on us as if you’ve a right to tell other people how to live.”
“You didn’t answer me—what was the ceremony about? Who were the girls?”
He leaned forward, as if he was incredibly clever, and therefore amused at her stupidity. “Pretty girls, lady. Good girls. The kind who know how to be girls. You know, you’ve got the look, Miss Special Agent. I thought you might be someone who was really special. Pretty thing...but I was wrong. You’re a tool. You’re used by a society that doesn’t care about you or support you. You could know something better. What it’s like to be loved. Really loved.”
“What was the ceremony?”
“An award ceremony—they completed classes that our church has for young ladies.”
“I see. I guess they learn to obey the men in their lives.”
He arched a brow to her. “And that’s a bad thing? Women who make their men happy keep them. We don’t have divorces. It’s biology, idiot—sorry, lady, but you are an idiot. Biology teaches us that the male is the stronger of the species. He’s made to protect his partner, and to protect his children. She is made to bear those children, and to be a fine example of living.”
“Women are built to serve,” Amy said, keeping her tone sweet and pleasant. “And when they serve well, they are rewarded with love.”
He shook his head at her again and then leaned forward. “And what? You can’t charge me with a crime because we believe in the natural order of the world. Yes, we believe that men are to earn a living, to support their families and to protect them at all costs. And women, yes, they keep the home. They cook.”
“The bartender from the biker bar was barbecuing,” Amy said.
“Barbecuing is a man’s business.”
“Does everyone in town think and feel the same way?”
He shrugged. “You saw. The whole town was out. Yeah, that’s right! You saw the whole town enjoying a barbecue, some beautiful religious music and a ceremony to mark some of the young women with special rewards and honors for completing classes.”
“Run by a man in a hooded robe.”
“You’re mocking me? You’re probably from one of those faiths where the priests or whatever wear robes. We have leaders and ceremonies. Yes, there are ceremonial robes.”
“How much of your money do you give your great leader?” Amy asked.
“Divine Leader.”
“How much of your money do you give him?”
“Money is a material thing. We live, knowing that there is a place where there is no pain, where we are all rewarded.”
“So you turn over all your income,” Amy said flatly. She leaned back, laughing. “And that’s okay, because your beer is free at the biker bar.”
“I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“I’m a state agent. You threatened me at gunpoint. But you also threatened a federal agent. That’s serious.”
“Standing my ground!” he said.
“But it wasn’t your ground.”
“I am paid to protect that ground.”
>
“Is that a job that’s written down on paper?” Amy asked.
He leaned back again, and tried to fold his arms over his chest, apparently forgetting that he was cuffed, and the cuffs were attached to the bar on his table.
He leaned toward her again, pure venom in his eyes.
“You don’t have anything on me. And I know what you want. You want to tear down something holy and beautiful, because you don’t understand it.”
“I think I do understand it. Let’s see...this was probably always a religious community. But agriculture went bad about fifteen to twenty years ago. There was a cold snap back then, I think. A Florida cold snap filled with frost and freezing temperatures. I remember when it even went to freezing down in Miami when I was a little kid. The rest of the state was way worse. Orange groves were affected by the freeze, and other agricultural industries were hit hard, too. One bad year can make or break farmers. The town would have been pitched into poverty. I’m suspecting that, here, the change was subtle. Everyone spent a few years suffering and when a new preacher came to town and things got better—well, it had to be because of that leader, a charismatic speaker, someone who convinces you that he or she has been ordained by God, and that by following him you’ll have rewards in heaven and on earth.”
He stared at her. “I will be rewarded. Here. On earth. They’ll set me free. You have nothing. And you’ll never understand the beauty and peace that you might have had. Does our town have faith? Yes. You see, years ago, a seal was broken. And when that seal was broken, it was the beginning. Only those of us with faith will survive what comes. A quarter of the earth will perish. You could have been one of the saved.” He leaned back. “I think I’ll wait for my lawyer now.”
Amy stood. That was it; that was the law. She was done.
“All right. Well, thank you for your information.”
“I didn’t give you any information.”
She smiled sweetly. “Yes, you did. So much!”
She turned to leave the room. He shouted after her angrily. “You could have been exalted! You could have had so much. Now, you will die in the sin of the disbeliever!”
At the door she turned to him. “Is that another threat?”
Danger in Numbers Page 22