Infiltration Rescue

Saturday dawned bright and gorgeous, drawing Avery out of her apartment. She had plans to meet Ruth at the Spring Tulip Festival. They went every year with Ruth’s nephew, Chuck, and his adorable family. Avery had bought a new dress for the occasion.

She found Chuck and Laura at the festival entrance, loaded up with kid gear. Strollers, diaper bags, sippy cups. They were the parental equivalent of doomsday preppers, ready for any small disaster. Chuck had one toddler in his arms and the other hanging off his ankle. Avery smiled at him and hugged Laura.

“They’re getting so big,” Avery said, gesturing toward the older boy, Tyson. “When are you going to have another?”

“Never,” Laura said, and they both laughed.

Chuck gave Avery a dutiful peck on the cheek. “You look great.”

“So do you.”

He was the closest thing she had to a brother, and she enjoyed his company, but they didn’t see each other often. She told herself he was busy with his family, and that was true. It was also true that Avery enjoyed her solitude. She attended these get-togethers because Ruth invited her. She didn’t feel like she belonged, not really. She was a late arrival to the Garrison clan, and a bit of an odd duck. Chuck used to say she’d hatched from an egg in Ruth’s garden. He knew only part of the story.

Avery spotted Aunt Ruth, who was in line buying the festival tickets, and waved. They went through the front gate and down the midway together. It was a warm day, borderline muggy from the recent rains. After a stroll among the flower fields and vendor stalls, Chuck offered to buy everyone an ice cream. They found a picnic table in the shade to enjoy their cones. Laura took a seat next to Avery. Together, they watched the people in the crowd pass by. An attractive young couple caught Avery’s eye. The woman had a baby in a carrier strapped to her chest and another child in a stroller, which she was attempting to navigate over bumpy ground. Meanwhile, the man she was with chatted on his cell phone, unencumbered.

Laura made a gun shape with her thumb and forefinger, shooting the gross offender. “What a jerk.”

“Does Chuck ever do that?” Avery asked.

“Not in public. At home, he pretends not to see the dirty dishes.” She switched focus to a second man in the crowd. “TDB alert,” she said. “Tall, dark and bearded.”

Avery chuckled in approval, licking her ice cream.

“Are you dating anyone?” Laura asked. The inevitable question.

“No.”

Laura shook her head in disappointment. “You’re supposed to tell me about your single-girl escapades so I can get a vicarious thrill.”

Avery smiled gamely. “Sorry. I’ve been swamped at work.”

“Next time,” Laura said, elbowing her. “Or I’m going to let Chuck set you up with one of his college friends again.”

Avery groaned in protest. Chuck meant well, but she didn’t want him picking her dates. The last guy he’d selected had been a coffee shop barista who still lived with his parents. They hadn’t hit it off.

Ruth broke in with a suggestion for Laura. “Why don’t you take a walk with Chuck? I’ll watch the little ones.”

Laura leaped to her feet eagerly. Chuck put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned toward him to whisper something as they strolled away. He threw back his head and laughed. Watching them, Avery felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t envy, because she didn’t want what Chuck had. It was the feeling of being an outsider, looking in.

Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by Tyson coming at her with sticky hands. Avery grabbed a paper napkin and attempted to clean him up. He turned into a limp noodle, boneless on the ground. Ruth clapped at the performance. Then she scooped Tyson into her arms and kissed his chubby cheek.

“You didn’t say much about Agent Diaz,” Ruth said.

“There wasn’t much to say.”

Ruth arched a brow of disbelief.

“Why would you tell him where I grew up?”

“He already knew.”

“He suspected. That’s not the same as knowing.”

“Well, he acted pretty sure, and he was easy on the eyes. Maybe you noticed?”

“I noticed.”

“You should thank me for sending a man that handsome your way.”

“You sent him to interview me, not ask me out.”

Ruth shrugged, as if Avery was splitting hairs. Avery sighed in irritation. She wished Ruth hadn’t been so eager to cooperate with Agent Diaz. His visit had thrown Avery for a loop, and the fact that he was good-looking didn’t soften the blow. If anything, it made the knife twist a little deeper. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

She didn’t need help finding a man, however. She was fine with being single. Not everyone wanted to get married and have babies, like Chuck. She’d rather focus on her career. It had taken her longer to finish school because of the gaps in her education, so she’d been a full-time psychologist for only two years. She was still getting established in her field. She also wasn’t ready to give up her independence. She might never be ready. The family model she’d grown up with had soured her on holy unions.

Tyson demanded to see the farm animals, so they walked over to the pens to indulge him. Ruth held hands with both children, cooing over the curly-tailed piglets while Avery stood nearby, her mind in turmoil.

Ruth bought each of the boys a handful of feed for lambs. Jake, who was only two, seemed wary of the nibbling mouths. Instead of holding out his palm, he threw his pellets in the face of a bleating mama.

Avery laughed at his impulsive choice. At the same time, tears she didn’t understand pricked her eyes. Then Jake started crying, because his pellets were gone, and they all went back to the shade to cool off. Ruth scrubbed their little hands with wet wipes again and gave them a bag of crackers she found in the stroller.

“You never talk about it,” Ruth said, picking up the pieces of their conversation. “Chuck doesn’t know the details. He doesn’t know why you...”

“What?”

“Avoid him.”

“I don’t avoid him,” Avery said, dismayed. “I’m right here.”

“You’ve been distant. More so since the kids came.”

Avery had a hard time digesting this criticism. She wanted to say that Chuck wasn’t her real cousin, but she could make the same claim about Ruth. They were the only family she had. “Did he say something?”

“No.”

Relief coursed through her, because she cared about Chuck’s opinion. Blood relation or not, she loved him. “I’ll do better.”

Ruth’s blue eyes softened with sympathy. “I didn’t mention it to make you feel bad.”

“Why did you mention it?”

“Because it’s all related. Your refusal to discuss your childhood, your withdrawal from family gatherings, your avoidance of men and relationships. You can’t just bury the past and pretend it doesn’t affect you.”

Avery tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Who’s the psychologist, you or me?”

Ruth smiled at the joke. They both were.

“I talked to Diaz, you know. I told him about my mother.”

“Good.”

“He sent me a list of follow-up questions.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll answer him.” At some point.

“What’s he going to do, raid the place?”

“He won’t say. I think he wants to arrest Silva.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re cooperating with him. Maybe he can help you get some closure. For the infant.”

Avery flinched at the suggestion. This was the most off-limits part of the discussion, the darkest of dark secrets. She didn’t talk about her childhood for a reason. She couldn’t speak of the little life she’d left behind. Since it was born premature, she’d always assumed the baby had died. Not knowing for sure ate away at her, but she refused to contemplate the possibilities.

“I should go,” she said.

“Avery,” Ruth scolded mildly.

“What?”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“You haven’t settled down with anyone.”

“I’m a free spirit.”

Ruth gave her a skeptical look. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I learned from the best.”

Ruth laughed at this, unoffended. She collected lovers with the carefree ease of a hippie at a drum circle. But she wasn’t afraid to risk her heart, like Avery. She’d been married to the love of her life, who’d died young.

“I don’t need a man to complete me.”

“No, you don’t.”

For some reason, Ruth’s good humor and placid agreements bothered Avery more than her well-intended prodding. Tears pricked her eyes once again. She said goodbye to the boys, hugged Ruth and left. She practically ran out to the parking lot. The hitch in her chest didn’t ease as she drove home.

It lingered late into the evening, like a storm cloud hanging over her head. She tried going to bed early, but sleep eluded her. She threw off the blankets and returned to her laptop. Maybe she needed to exorcize her demons before she could rest easy. She opened a blank document and filled the page with the information Diaz had requested.

Some of the details eluded her. She remembered very little about sermon styles and religious practices. She was better with people. Names, ages, relationships. She sketched a crude map of the commune and listed every household she could think of. Every man, woman and child. A glaring omission stood out in her own family tree. Instead of “unknown infant,” or “stillborn baby,” she typed a question mark.

She sent the attachment before she could second-guess her decision. Then she stood abruptly, her stomach twisted in knots. She curled up on the couch in the dark, hugging the knit blanket around her shoulders, and waited.

His response came an hour later. It wasn’t the careful thank-you he’d sent last time, but a quick note with a simple request: Will you accept a video call? I want to share some photos I can’t send via email.

She opened the app for live chat with trepidation. The prospect of seeing his face again shivered down her spine. She considered changing out of her pajamas and putting on makeup, but it seemed silly to bother with her appearance at bedtime. This was a conversation, not a date. Also, she’d rather get it over with quickly. She clicked the icon and found an invite from N.Diaz. Within seconds, she was staring at his handsome visage on her computer screen. Her own image appeared in the upper left corner. Even in the dim light of her living room, she could see her puffy eyes and mussed hair.

She touched the disarray, self-conscious.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “I apologize.”

God, his voice. Even without the accent, it was sexy. Low and clipped, like a hot professor’s. He chose his words carefully. She wondered if he made love with the same textbook precision, or if he went off script.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, dropping her hand. Her breast jiggled at the sudden movement, which reminded her that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her T-shirt. The fabric was soft and thin from many washings.

His gaze darkened, but didn’t dip. “We can do this another time.”

She released the breath she’d been holding. “No.”

“I have a couple of new satellite images from the commune,” he said, reaching for something off-screen. His attire was as casual as hers, a white cotton tee that clung to the muscles of his chest.

“Before I get into that, I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done so far. The information you sent was incredibly thorough. Almost encyclopedic.”

She accepted the compliment with an uneasy nod. It wasn’t unusual for memories to be more complete in some areas than others, but most people couldn’t recall the amount of detail she’d provided. She remembered her troubled childhood quite well. The next time she claimed otherwise, he wouldn’t believe her.

Damn it. She shouldn’t have been so accommodating.

He leaned forward. “I’m going to level with you, Ms. Samuels. I need a consultant, someone I can contact with various questions over the next few weeks. The FBI can pay you for your expertise.”

She made a noncommittal sound. She didn’t want to be a paid consultant.

“You don’t have to answer now,” he said, and held up a printed photograph of The Haven’s burial grounds. “This is the cemetery.”

“Right.”

“There appears to be a new arrival.”

She squinted at the grainy image. There were several dozen simple white crosses in a grassy clearing. One of the crosses was adorned with fresh daisies. The accompanying mound indicated a recent burial. “Okay.”

He set the photo aside and held up a second one that depicted overgrown fields. “I have no idea who’s buried there, but I thought of the head farmer you mentioned. If he passed away, it doesn’t seem as if anyone has taken over his job.”

“That is strange,” she said. “He always started planting in the spring.”

“Did everyone in the community help him?”

“No. The women worked in the vegetable garden, and picked fruit. Most of the farming duties fell to the young men. Brother Michael had a crew of teenaged boys every spring and summer.”

“There are a lot of young men in the militia. The compound is surrounded by armed guards.”

Twenty years ago, there hadn’t been a militia—or a compound, for that matter. “Father Jeff always stressed the importance of growing our own food and making everything we needed. He wanted the community to be completely self-sufficient.”

“Maybe his priorities have changed.”

“Maybe.”

“Did he ever make doomsday predictions?”

“Not that I recall. He said that modern society was destroying itself, but we were safe as long as we stayed pure.”

“Pure?”

“Away from the influence of outsiders.”

“Anyone outside the cult?”

“Especially the government.”

“Was he a proponent of racial purity, as well as spiritual?”

“He might have been,” she admitted. Although she couldn’t remember any specifics, she had a vivid memory of Father Jeff stroking her pale hair. “He definitely preferred blondes. Blond children. Blonde wives.”

Diaz absorbed this information without comment.

Avery drew in a shaky breath, glad for the reprieve. She didn’t want to delve any deeper into Silva’s prejudices and preferences. She couldn’t bear to think about what might have happened if she’d stayed.

“Was there a suicide pact among members?” Nick asked.

A chill traveled along her spine. She hadn’t expected this question. He was talking about drinking the Kool-Aid, Jim Jones style. “No. Never.”

“Are you sure? You were thirteen when you left.”

“My mother would have told me.”

“Could he be considering it?”

“Mass suicide? That’s an extreme leap.”

“So is domestic terrorism. These are escalating behaviors.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic. The Father Jeff she’d known as a child was a master manipulator, capable of crushing violence. He might not hesitate to sacrifice his parishioners, even his own family, for some horrific glory.

“I’m concerned that we’re running out of time,” Diaz said. “I want to take action.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Silva makes a considerable income from book sales and event appearances,” Diaz said, searching her gaze. “I’m going to his next event. I’ll claim to be a loyal follower, as well as a botanist. If the commune is in need of a head farmer, I can fill the spot.”

Avery gaped at him in disbelief. He thought he could just introduce himself, and get in? “They won’t take you.”

“Why not?”

She gestured to his face on the screen, speechless.

“I’m not white enough,” he interpreted.

“That’s not it. Cult members don’t trust outsiders of any kind. You’re a single man, and you’re too handsome.”

His brows drew together. “How is that a problem?”

“Because you’re the competition, in a place where teenaged girls are forced to marry much older men. The unlucky ones become second or third wives to elders. The leaders won’t want someone like you around, tempting their women.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “What if I was married? Would they recruit a couple?”

“I don’t know. They accepted my mother as a pregnant teen, but she was beautiful and obviously fertile.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

She had a bad feeling about his plan, but she didn’t try to talk him out of it. She was too freaked out. Everything he’d said so far rattled her, and they hadn’t even discussed her most-feared subject.

“The assignment is classified, and I can’t say much more without a collaboration agreement between us. Will you consider the consultant job?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Ms. Samuels—”

“You can call me Avery.”

“Avery,” he repeated in a lower tone. With a hint of an accent.

Heat rose to her cheeks at the sound of her name on his lips. It felt like a caress, a rough thumb dragged over the hollow of her throat. She wondered if he was doing it on purpose. He had to be aware that women found him attractive, Avery included. He knew how to press an advantage.

“Let’s talk about the list of names you gave me.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“There are no surnames.”

“The Haven doesn’t use them.”

“Your mother’s name was Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“And you? What was your birth name?”

“Hannah.”

“There was a question mark under your mother’s name.”

She fell silent, wishing like hell she hadn’t included it.

“Did the child she was carrying survive?”

“It couldn’t have.”

“Are you sure?”

Tears blurred her vision, because she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t seen the infant’s body. Trauma had sliced up her memories into shards of pain, fractured and incomplete. Had the midwife slipped away with a bundle in her arms? Instead of inquiring about her sibling, Avery had fled. She’d used death and chaos to her advantage. She’d left and never looked back.

A heavy wave of guilt washed over her. “I have to go.”

Diaz didn’t argue. “Thanks for taking my call.”

She closed her laptop, buried her head in her hands and wept.

Chapter 4

Nick spent the next several weeks prepping for the event in Las Vegas.

It would be his first contact with the target, a critical moment that could lead to the most challenging assignment of his career. He had to make this happen. He had to avenge Davidson and restore himself.

The good news was that he’d convinced Avery to be his consultant. It had been a challenge to bring her on board. During their first video call he’d pressed too hard, and she’d shut down. In his defense, she’d opened up the conversation by leaving that damned question mark on her list. What was he supposed to do, ignore a possible bombshell? Not likely. It was his job to dig for information. Although she hadn’t given him a direct answer, her panicked reaction spoke volumes. She didn’t know if she had a sibling or not. She didn’t know if she’d left her only surviving family member behind.

Nick could sympathize with this horror on a personal level. He’d been in the dark about his own parents for almost ten years. He’d returned to Venezuela as an adult and learned the truth about what happened to them. Visiting their graves had been a sad experience, but at least he had closure. She didn’t.

He’d had to push Avery a little, because he needed to engage her emotions. If she cared about the people in the commune...that benefited Nick. He wanted to move on this, before Silva went into hiding, launched another attack or started culling his flock.

Nick couldn’t rule out a mass suicide attempt. He’d mentioned the possibility in his proposal, because the threat of a tragedy might help him get a green light. He’d do whatever it took to get close to Silva.

No regrets.

Well, maybe one. He regretted communicating with Avery Samuels on video in the middle of the night, because he’d been plagued with longing ever since. He probably shouldn’t have responded to an after-hours email to begin with. He hadn’t been thinking beyond the investigation, which he was admittedly obsessed with. Requesting a video call had seemed innocent enough. He needed to show her photos, and he wasn’t allowed to send classified files through text or email. She’d clicked on his invite. Within seconds, he was staring at her sleepy eyes and bedroom hair, mesmerized.

Yeah. That was a mistake.

Richards had warned him to be careful about approaching her, and he hadn’t been careful. He’d been impulsive, and she’d been...in her pajamas. Soft and vulnerable. Bare-legged, he imagined. He wanted to know everything about her. What she did for fun. Whom she dated. Why she was so afraid of male strangers. What she was wearing underneath that T-shirt.

He shouldn’t have noticed the way the fabric clung to her breasts, or anything else about her appearance. He couldn’t act on his attraction, even if it was mutual. She wouldn’t hook up with him. She wanted to comply with the investigation and move on with her life.

The following afternoon he’d emailed again, using his most professional tone. He’d suggested she consult with him regarding general information about the cult, not her personal family history. For compensation, he’d offered to pay an hourly fee. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was the best he could get from the Finance Department.

Two days later, she’d accepted. Which was damned lucky, because she was a priceless resource. He couldn’t afford to alienate her. He also couldn’t afford to get too attached. He wasn’t the kind of man who jeopardized cases with romantic entanglements. There were no more late-night video chats.

The consulting contract helped to maintain the boundaries between them. It seemed to put her at ease, as well. She wasn’t being interrogated. She was getting paid to advise him about Silva’s practices and methodology. Nick squelched his curiosity about her childhood trauma and gave her space. When she wasn’t talking about herself, she was a fountain of knowledge. He couldn’t have asked for a better collaborator.

Now all of their hard work was paying off, because Nick was about to come face-to-face with his nemesis in Las Vegas.

This was a big break, because Silva rarely left the safety of his compound. When he did, the details were always shrouded in secrecy. He spoke to small gatherings of religious extremists. Although his name wasn’t on any of the promotion materials, the rumors of Silva’s attendance at an upcoming convention had been leaked online. Nick had heard the news in the “alt-w” circles he frequented. Alt-worship was an internet term for alternative spiritual beliefs, which included everything from old-school witchcraft to modern-day Mansonites. There were some twisted people and sick ideas in this armpit of the dark web, but Nick had seen the worst side of humanity before.

He’d created a user profile to navigate the space and interact with some of Silva’s admirers. The next step was developing an undercover persona, based on his online profile. Nick would assume this identity to approach Silva.

He’d made arrangements to collaborate with Avery on Mondays and Thursdays from 7:00 to 8:00 p.m. Their sessions were the highlight of his week. He was looking forward to her feedback tonight more than ever. It was his final opportunity to brainstorm before he met Silva. Also, he liked seeing her face.

She answered the video call promptly, as usual. She looked beautiful, as usual. On Mondays she wore workout clothes because she did yoga. This was Thursday, which meant business casual. Her pin-striped blouse was unbuttoned to her collarbone, her hair pulled back. Glasses were perched on her pert nose.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I got him.”

“How?”

“He’s attending an exclusive event in Vegas on Saturday. I bought a ticket.”

She seemed more startled than impressed. “You’re going to meet Jeff Silva in Vegas?”

“I’m flying out tomorrow.”