Tara Quinn - In Plain Sight

Simon finished his drink, but didn’t pour another. “You could do an investigation. To track down information about your father.”

She’d thought about it a few times. “I’ve just never been sure enough that I wanted to know,” she said. “If it turns out he was a louse, I’m descended from a louse and that’s all there is to it. And if I find out he was a great guy, I lost one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Simon stood. “You’re right,” he said. “You may be better off not knowing. That way anything’s possible.”

It made a strange kind of sense. She was tired enough to accept it.

“Thanks for taking out my trash.” She followed him to the front door.

“Thanks for the drink.”

She started to say “anytime,” but decided against it and held the door for him instead.

He began to leave, then stopped abruptly and turned, his face two inches from hers.

She could hardly breathe, struck with the completely unfamiliar desire to have wild, passionate, unrestrained and irresponsible sex. The kind you had without accountability or any thought of tomorrow.

“Lock the door behind me.”

She was deciphering the words when, halfway across her yard, he turned. Jan quickly shut her door and clicked the lock as loudly as she could.

And only then realized that while she’d just told Simon her entire life story, she still knew very little about him.

A gentle breeze blew through the trees surrounding the old wooden cabin, mixing with the sounds of chirping birds to create a background of nature music. Bobby Donahue swelled with pride as he surveyed his acreage in the mountains several miles outside Flagstaff. He’d done well.

Reaching over, he untied the blindfold covering Tony Littleton’s eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he said, “but the cause is too important to risk discovery. This place is a combination storeroom, training ground and safe house. There are selfish people out there who don’t want our voices to be heard because the truth of our message threatens their personal bottom lines. I have to be very careful. I can’t let you know exactly where we are or how we got here. Not yet, anyway.”

“No problem,” Tony said, his voice eager as he glanced around, reminding Bobby of a cocker spaniel pup he’d had as a kid. That dog had been his constant companion—until his father had snapped its neck one night, when it barked during basketball playoffs.

Perhaps it was time to get another one. The experience would be good for Luke, exposing the two-year-old to deep and abiding affection, and Amanda could take care of it.

“No one comes up here—ever—without me.”

“I understand. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about from me. It’s like you’re my personal savior. I’m so jazzed about this opportunity I lie awake at night thinking about it.” The skinny young man walked a few feet in one direction and then another, as though trying to take in the whole world at once. Bobby smiled, basking in the certainty that his life’s mission was the true course, the only course, and that all would be well.

This was why Bobby took in all new recruits himself—the resurgence of passion, faith and hope he gained from exposure to theirs was priceless. He’d practically had an orgasm the first time he’d felt the fire of purpose in his veins.

The air was cooler up on the mountain, feeding his lungs, stimulating him. “There’s not much inside besides supplies,” he said, taking a key ring from his pocket to open the bottom lock on the only visible door. And then, instructing the boy to close his eyes and not move an inch, he rounded the building, pulled a large knot out of a tree, took the lock box out of hiding, quickly worked the combination and retrieved the key to the second lock. All the while keeping an eye on Tony with the help of hidden surveillance mirrors he’d installed all over the compound.

Moving with the animal grace he’d worked so hard to acquire, he used the key on the front door and returned it to safety.

The boy passed the test. He didn’t peek.

“Okay, let’s go in,” he said. He might have hit the mother lode with this recruit. Tony Littleton had “future leader” written all over him. Hell, years down the road he might even be presidential material.

“Wow!” Tony turned full circle in the middle of the cabin’s main room. “There must be thousands of cans in here. What’re they for?”

“Food storage,” Bobby said proudly, grabbing one of the silver gallon-sized metal storage containers. “All essentials that will keep for up to seven years. Macaroni, dried beans, mashed potatoes, pudding, soups, spaghetti, cereal, dried milk, canned meat. We’ve got fifty gallon jugs of water in the shed.”

“No kidding.” Tony’s voice reflected his awe as he read some of the labels. “Cool, you even have refried beans!”

It was as if the kid was already tasting them—seeing himself as a member of the family at the table. Bobby paused to take a couple of deep breaths, holding back tears of joy.

“It’s like I’ve been searching for this all my life,” Tony said, turning to face him. “I’ve always known I had a greater purpose, that I had a special job to do that would benefit the world. Something inside me recognized it the very first time I spoke with you in that chat room. Everything you said about justice and the world, about the need for men who had the courage to do God’s work, about wiping out the conspirators, fighting the forces of evil and filling the world with God’s true chosen people rang completely true to me. It’s like you were reading inside my deepest self.”

Yes. Yes! The zeal was there. The passion. The beliefs. And soon, the training would be, too. He’d start with targets today. Explosives work could come later. And by this time next year, little brother Tony Littleton would be wearing red laces in his boots.

“It’s the strangest thing, Jan.” Andrew came into Jan’s office, closing the door as he always did when he wanted her uninterrupted attention. The other attorneys on the floor had the habit of dropping in on her to discuss cases, ask her opinion; they always seemed to assume that she was available.

“What’s strange?” Friday, the twenty-ninth of September. Three days before Hall’s hearing and still no word from Ruple. She could think of little else.

“I just got a report on those bank account numbers we found in Hall’s computer.”

“You found some commonalities? They all had business with the same bank, or bought from the same online company?”

He approached her desk. Dropped a file in front of her. “They’re all dead.”

That one hadn’t occurred to her.

“Dead?” She stared at him, her stomach heavy. “Are you sure?”

The question was rhetorical. He wouldn’t have brought the information to her unless it had been validated. She sifted through the papers, anyway. Names, socials, copies of death certificates. The victims were from all over the state.

“So this sicko targets obituaries?” It was brilliant, really. Stealing from an estate when everything was in confusion and the heirs wouldn’t know what to miss—at least at first.

“It’s the conclusion I’m drawing.”

“That would explain why the victims haven’t reported anything.”

“Let’s contact the families and find out how many of them he stole from. We’ve got him on one count of fraud. If we can add another ten to it, so much the better.”

“This gives a whole new meaning to the term ambulance chaser.”

“No kidding,” Jan said, studying the list again. “So we know how he got the names, but that still doesn’t tell us how he accessed their personal information. There’s got to be some connection between these people, other than having appeared in obituaries across the state of Arizona. Once we know who he hit, let’s get warrants to look at some of the victims’ computers—assuming these are other victims. We know Hall spent a lot of time on his computer. Maybe we’re dealing with a virus—something Hall or one of his brotherhood wrote that would allow them to attack other people’s computers with only an e-mail address and then access their hard drives.”