His uncle went to press the intercom that connected the surveillance room to the men guarding the front and rear exits, but TJ’s dad beat him to it. “Hold fire.”
Tom Harrison narrowed his gaze at the now completely naked man who put his hands up, twirled all the way around and headed toward their home. TJ’s dad might be overprotective, but he was a deep thinker. He wasn’t rash or prone to violent outbursts. Unlike some of the men who lived here nowadays, Tom didn’t tolerate a man hitting a woman or kids.
“I repeat, hold fire. He’s unarmed.”
TJ clenched his jaw. He hadn’t told his dad about Kayla yet. He couldn’t bear to say the words aloud. All anyone here believed was the wildlife officer had started chasing him for no reason.
His stomach churned at the idea of telling his dad the truth. The idea of disappointing the only person left in the world who he cared about. It was too much. Especially in front of the others. If he could get his father alone…
“I think he’s attempting to prove he means us no harm. Anyone recognize his face?”
TJ stood beside his dad as everyone shook their heads. TJ had never seen the naked guy before but, judging by the clothing and equipment he’d removed, he was either military or police. As the military weren’t allowed to engage US citizens on US soil, then he was probably some sort of tactical cop. Not that the government always followed the rules—as his father often reminded him.
“It’s a trap,” Malcolm snapped. “Has to be.”
Tom turned world-weary eyes on the other man. “Exactly how is it a trap? You think he has an assault weapon jammed up his ass?”
Some of the men snorted.
TJ didn’t. He could see the toll this had already taken on his father, and guilt added to the confusion rushing through his veins. Tom had aged a decade since TJ’s mother had died. Her death had killed something inside the man, and Malcolm had manipulated that grief in order to take over the day-to-day running of the community, cementing his standing as second-in-command, even though he hadn’t been here that long.
TJ didn’t like him. Didn’t trust him.
Tom pressed the intercom again. “Hold fire. I repeat, hold fire. But keep an eye on him.”
“He could rush the walls, get inside our defenses,” Malcolm argued.
“Our defenses can manage a single man, and he’d freeze to death before he got inside.” Tom shook his head. “Easiest way inside this compound is via a helicopter and a long rope. Nope. He’s going after the body of their man, which is fine by me.” His father’s mouth turned grim. “I don’t particularly want a corpse lying outside the gate, rotting. Man needs a decent burial.”
TJ knew his father regretted the death of the man, same way he did. The guards on the gate had been reprimanded but, by then, it was already too late. A federal law enforcement officer was dead. Now the government were going to show up in force and attempt to destroy them all.
“We need the media onside if we hope to endure this.” Tom looked around at the men standing there.
“The media? State-run TV? How are they gonna help us?” Malcolm guffawed.
The other men in the room shifted their weight uncomfortably. His dad was smart, but Malcolm was cunning. TJ hoped his father sent the other man away when this was all over, but right now that was impossible, and that was TJ’s fault.
TJ glanced at Malcolm, who glared back at him.
“It’ll create a public outcry if we don’t let the Feds collect their dead. And we’ll look like a bunch of crazies if we kill an unarmed naked guy, which will turn all our potential allies against us,” Tom said patiently. “We aren’t holding any hostages. If we demonstrate we can tell the difference between an act of war and an act of mercy, the world might believe us when we say we had reason to fire on the wildlife officer who was shooting at TJ. Although, I wish people hadn’t been so damn trigger happy.” The admonishment was directed toward Malcolm and his lackies.
TJ’s mouth went dry as guilt ate him up. It was his fault too. “What do you think they might do to us?”
His father’s lips tightened as he held his gaze. “I don’t know, son. But we always knew this day would come. We’re safe here, even if they drop a bomb on us.”
They had an emergency bunker another thirty feet below ground, but the idea of being bombed was not comforting. What if they were buried alive? Left to die in the darkness?
“You never explained what you were doing out there, TJ,” Malcolm asked slyly.
“I went for a walk.” TJ licked his dry, cracked lips. “The guy started chasing me and then shot at me.”
“And we have a right to protect ourselves on our own land,” Tom stated firmly.
Malcolm was staring at TJ like he knew he was lying. TJ stared right back.
His dad pressed the intercom again. “Watch that guy doesn’t go for the Fed’s weapon. Turn the spotlight on him.”
TJ turned his eyes back to the screen as the stranger eased out of the woods, heading straight for the body of the man who’d chased him.
Bile burned TJ’s throat.
Other screens focused on the other law enforcement personnel in the area. Men and women all staring at this naked guy as he hauled the dead officer over his shoulder.
Was it a trap or a distraction?
TJ’s eyes shot to the monitors near the back exit and east and west, but no one appeared to be infiltrating from that direction. Maybe the Feds hadn’t found the other exit yet? Maybe TJ should leave, now? Give himself up.
If he surrendered, no one else would get hurt…
* * *
Novak started slowly walking forward, cognizant of the surveillance cameras following his progress and new ones that picked up his approach from different angles along the way. Presumably, the cameras surrounded the whole compound, which was something HRT needed to deal with before they could safely insert into the area.
Rocks and sticks cut into his feet. The breeze was so cold, he was worried his dick might fall off, or retract so far he’d be peeing like a girl for the rest of his life. He’d be lying if he’d said he wasn’t nervous about the idea of getting a bullet in the chest if he’d misjudged the mentality behind the concrete wall. He was gambling these guys wouldn’t shoot an obviously unarmed guy who was simply intent on retrieving the dead.
They were worried about an attack on their home and one or more of them being taken away by the Feds and incarcerated. It didn’t mean Novak wouldn’t come back here tomorrow with a heavily armed unit and try to do exactly that, but right now, all he wanted was to reunite FWO Jones with his loved ones and treat him with the respect he deserved.
Novak began sweeping the flashlight in a constant arc a few feet in front of him. He was following a parallel track of both the running UNSUB and boot prints he assumed belonged to the wildlife officer.
The feeling of being watched swept over him again. More cameras? Probably. That was probably what had spooked him in the forest earlier. They’d have to map out the whole area for devices.
Not Bigfoot.
Novak stepped out of the relative security of the trees and paused and did another complete turn to prove he wasn’t hiding a weapon. Every muscle in his body tensed as he imagined barrels of loaded rifles being pointed in his direction by poorly trained militia with their meaty fingers caressing delicate hair-triggers. Usually it was his HRT colleagues with weapons pointed at him, but he trusted those guys with his life. He had to.
These men he didn’t trust. They would probably kill him if he looked at them wrong. Hence the extreme lengths he’d gone to prove he was unarmed.
A dark mound appeared in front of him, revealed by the shallow beam of his flashlight to be Federal Wildlife Officer Jones. Novak ran the beam from the man’s boots to the top of his bald patch. The man’s hat lay upside down on the ground nearby, his 9mm handgun close to his right hand. Novak could not go near that weapon unless he expected to get his butt peppered with lead.
He picked up FWO Jone
s’s legs and dragged him a couple of yards back toward the trees and away from the weapon. Novak’s movements were awkward, as he tried to keep the flashlight in play so the people inside the fortress could see what he was up to. He needn’t have worried. A huge spotlight sprang to life, as dazzling as the surface of the sun. Overkill for sure, but effective as hell for blinding anyone approaching, especially if they were wearing night vision goggles.
Yep, assuming Novak survived the next thirty seconds, he’d definitely learned a few things about the capabilities of the people inside that wall.
They were professional, organized, and had access to some high-tech equipment you wouldn’t normally expect in the butt crack of nowhere.
He gathered the officer’s legs against his chest and walked backward a little farther, dragging the man with him.
The sound of a groan shocked the hell out of him, but he didn’t outwardly betray his surprise. FWO Jones was alive. Novak kept moving steadily away from the giant spotlight and the large reinforced steel door that was set into what looked like the front of a concrete bunker. There was an embankment, twenty feet of concrete and, above that, a tall, barbed wire fence that presumably encircled the compound.
Homey.
When Novak was a good twenty feet from Officer Jones’s weapon, he gently laid the man’s legs on the ground and then hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Again, Jones groaned, and Novak prayed he wasn’t doing irreparable damage to the guy who was slowly bleeding out from a bullet wound in his right shoulder. Once the man was secure, Novak turned and strode quickly back into the woods. Praying with every step that he didn’t get a bullet in the back.
* * *
“If they don’t kill him, I might,” Charlotte muttered under her breath, watching Novak’s tight, naked butt disappear into the trees.
The fact he’d put himself at risk, without consultation, without discussing his hair-brained plan… She wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and strangle the damn pain in the ass Supervisory Special Agent.
Not how she usually dealt with conflict.
Agent Fontaine flashed her a worried smile.
“Don’t worry. He outranks you. You won’t get into trouble for him being reckless,” Charlotte reassured the other woman.
Fontaine didn’t say anything.
What sort of macho bullshit was it to strip off and go wandering up to the door of a compound full of gun-toting killers—alleged killers—and pick up the corpse of the man that a dozen sheriff’s deputies had failed to retrieve earlier, without even discussing it with her first?
It wasn’t that she didn’t ache for the dead man and his family but adding to the collection of bodies wouldn’t help anyone. And if she could talk to these people, she would hopefully be able to arrange the safe retrieval of the man’s remains as soon as everyone’s tempers and fears cooled.
A spotlight came on, blinding her for a second. She shielded her gaze and watched Novak, now emblazoned in perfect silhouette. He bent over and hauled the wildlife officer over his shoulder, then turned to head back through the trees, walking toward them as if he were out for a damned stroll at a naturist camp.
“We probably shouldn’t look,” Charlotte muttered to the other agent, wondering what the Office of Professional Responsibility would say if they heard about this.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Fontaine snorted. “That man’s body is a work of art.”
Charlotte had tried not to notice, although it was impossible to miss the defined muscles and lean frame. Her pulse gave a little zap, and she berated herself for ogling her work colleague. Then she sighed. Some days she felt like such an old maid. She needed to live a little, but now was not the time.
Novak was hurrying now, out of the direct line of fire, but not out of sight of the cameras that watched their every move.
Fontaine had placed Novak’s belongings in the stream bed, out of range of the compound. Suddenly Novak started jogging, heading straight past her toward the creek.
“He’s alive,” he muttered.
What the hell? Charlotte hurried after her fellow SSA, no longer distracted by the sight of ripped abs or thick thigh muscles or tight butt. Nor by his penis which was a piece of anatomy she didn’t usually encounter when it came to her coworkers—nor anywhere else nowadays.
Novak placed Officer Jones gently on the ground and started tearing the clothes away from the wound in his shoulder. “Where’s the nearest doctor?”
“The ME,” Charlotte suggested, falling to her knees beside the injured and hypothermic officer.
“Put pressure here,” Novak ordered.
Charlotte did as instructed while Novak dragged his clothes back on.
“Fontaine, call the ME and tell him we’re coming to him.” Novak dressed in fast, economic motions, his teeth chattering from exposure. He slipped on his footwear as the two deputies jogged in their direction.
Everyone started making so much noise Charlotte couldn’t hear what Novak was saying.
“Quiet!” she yelled. So much for her sensitivity skills.
“Jones is still alive but in rough shape.” Novak was replacing his weapons into their various holsters. “At this point speed is key so I’m going to carry him to the ME. One of you call for a medivac extraction at the nearest location a helicopter can safely land. Charlotte, I need you to keep applying pressure while I transport him.”
Novak lifted Jones over his shoulder, keeping the gunshot wound near the center of his own spine. Charlotte dragged off her down jacket to provide some padding between Novak’s back and the entry wound. Then she pressed hard down against the seeping exit-wound using an undershirt that Novak had tossed her.
She caught hold of a strap on Novak’s pants to anchor herself to him, and they moved quickly in tandem. Her feet got soaked in icy water as they splashed through the small stream. Fontaine shone a flashlight to illuminate their way. The terrain was rutted and rough, but Charlotte kept a firm hold on both the injured man and Novak. Another five minutes, and she heard the noise of people heading toward them through the woods.
“What have we got here?” the ME asked with concern.
Novak laid Jones down on a patch of bare ground, and the ME and his assistants took over, pushing them aside, shouting instructions and improvising a field IV. They might deal with the dead, but they were all trained medical professionals.
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and tried to stop shivering, but her wet toes were like ice cubes, and her coat was now an improvised bandage. So much for her preparedness.
Something warm enfolded her. She looked up to realize Novak had draped his black fleece around her shoulders.
It smelled like him.
“You’ll need it…” she protested, dragging at it reluctantly.
Novak was already striding away. “You need it more. I can’t afford for you to get sick. Let’s head back to the Command Center ASAP. We still have a lot to do tonight.”
Chapter Five
Charlotte glanced up as a helicopter flew overhead in the darkness. The pilot was careful to skirt Tom Harrison’s concrete stronghold. Hopefully, no one else was going to take chances the way Novak had done. The more she thought about the way he’d acted without consulting with her, the angrier she became.
He could have been killed. Then what? All-out war and goodness knew how many lives lost?
The three of them jogged down the mountain. He was in a hurry to get back. She was trying to generate enough body heat to avoid freezing to death.
Agent Truman met them with the vehicle as, presumably, the same chopper flew back overhead again, this time hopefully carrying the wounded wildlife officer to the nearest trauma center. Someone needed to interview the man as soon as he regained consciousness—if he regained consciousness.
The drive back to the ranch was silent as a crypt as adrenaline levels crashed, and Charlotte mulled over what had gone down.
Truman pulled dow
n a gravel road heading toward a large farmhouse with a bunch of outbuildings, including a gigantic barn.
Maple Tree Ranch was painted on the sign.
Rustic. Quaint.
Although there were lights in the windows, there was no indication a major tactical force had taken up residence. That was the kind of professionalism that made the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group one of the best units of its kind in the world. But she and Novak hadn’t worked as a unit tonight.
At the main house, Truman drew the SUV to a stop with an audible sigh of relief. Charlotte thrust Novak’s fleece into the front seat and onto his lap. No way did she want to appear in front of her colleagues wearing his jacket like some winsome teen. That was not the image she wanted to project.
And she was pissed.
She shoved open the door, her frustration at Novak growing by the second. Assistant Special Agent in Charge Steve McKenzie stood on the wooden porch, hands resting impatiently on his waist.
The Incident Commander had arrived.
He had a good rep within the Bureau and had helped prevent a major bombing at HQ, saving hundreds if not thousands of lives earlier that year. He had experience with White Nationalists going back decades. Of course, no one knew the ideology of the people from Eagle Mountain. Not all doomsday preppers were White Nationalists and not all White Nationalists were doomsday preppers.
A few men spilled out of the house. Negotiators Eban Winters and Dominic Sheridan stood on one side of McKenzie. Two HRT guys, dressed down in jeans and plaid shirts and looking like LL Bean catalogue models, stood on McKenzie’s left.
Lines had been drawn.
She climbed the steps to meet her temporary new boss.
“What happened out there?” McKenzie’s gaze was critical and assessing.
Both she and Novak were covered in blood and needed to get cleaned up. First, there was something she needed to discuss.
Novak spoke. “Turns out FWO Bob Jones was still alive, and we helped get him to the Medical Examiner for treatment. Hopefully, he’s being medivacked to the nearest hospital.” His face split into a grin—because why wouldn’t he be proud of that? And he hadn’t even taken all the glory.
Cold Wicked Lies Page 4