Special Assignment: Baby

The older woman moved to her side and ruffled Ryan’s hair as Sabrina had only moments ago. He babbled his approval at the attention. “But you already work too hard,” Mrs. Cartwright argued. “You don’t need another job.” She shook her head and gazed up at Sabrina. “Especially not at that place and one that doesn’t pay. You should be with your son.”

A weary sigh slipped past Sabrina’s lips. How could she explain that she didn’t have a choice in the matter? “It’s the only way I have of keeping an eye on Charlie. He won’t listen to anything I say anymore.”

“He’s a good boy, Sabrina,” Mrs. Cartwright protested. “He’s just missing a father figure in his life. He’ll come around.”

Sabrina scrubbed a hand over her face and blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. “I know. But, God, couldn’t he have looked anywhere but to Neely?” She prayed that her elderly friend was right and that Charlie would come around…soon.

“Lots of folks considerably older than Charlie are following the man.” Mrs. Cartwright sighed, the effort heaving from her thin chest. “Joshua Neely seems to have what they’re looking for, as frightening as that sounds.”

Instantly, Court sprang to Sabrina’s mind. How could he fall for a guy like Neely? It just didn’t make sense to her, no matter what his excuse. Sabrina had a sneaking suspicion that Court wasn’t being completely honest with her. How could he just up and walk away from the FBI? He had been in love with the whole damned super-agent mystique. He sure hadn’t been in love with her. She suppressed the old hurt that accompanied that thought.

Her gaze drifted down to Ryan. Having given up on his mommy rescuing him from his red-and-blue prison, he now sat playing with his spongy stacking blocks. Court may have broken her heart, but he had given her the one thing that got her through each day—her son. His birth had coincided with the realization that hard financial times were ahead, not to mention Charlie’s plunge into adolescence and his subsequent rebellious behavior.

Ryan made life bearable. She would protect him from the hurtful games adults played. No one—not even Court—would hurt her son. Sabrina would see to that.

“I have to get going.” Sabrina bent down and dropped a kiss on her baby’s sweet head. She forced a smile for her elderly friend. “I’ll be back around lunchtime.”

Mrs. Cartwright followed Sabrina to the door. “Be careful, Sabrina.” She smoothed a hand over the tight bun she’d twisted her gray tresses into. “I worry about you, you know.”

Taller than most women, Sabrina leaned down and gave Mrs. Cartwright a quick hug. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, I’m tougher than I look. Just take good care of my little boy.” Besides, Sabrina didn’t add, with her long legs she could probably outrun most of the men she knew—Joshua Neely and his cohorts included.

Mrs. Cartwright waved goodbye from the door as Sabrina backed away from the house. She drove to the end of the dirt road that served as a driveway to the Cartwright place and then pointed her old truck in the direction of the militia compound. Sabrina glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. How long had it been since she had bothered with makeup? Two years, an impatient voice reminded her.

“You’re pathetic, Korbett,” she accused.

Not only had she dabbed on a touch of makeup, she’d taken the time to French-braid her hair. A haphazard ponytail was her usual hairdo. Sabrina huffed her disgust. To make matters worse she had scrounged around until she found her best pair of jeans and her one almost-new blouse she saved for wearing to Ryan’s pediatrician appointments.

She scowled at the road before her. So what was wrong with wanting to look her best? After all, she was going to a job of sorts. There would be other women there who would probably be dressed similarly. Just because she took a little more care than usual today didn’t mean she’d done it for Court.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered.

Truly pathetic.

Sabrina braked to a stop in front of the gate leading to the compound. She kept her gaze straight ahead as the armed guard—Jed Markham, a man she had known her entire life—inspected her truck inside and out. She clenched her teeth at the fury that unfurled inside her. A twelve-foot-high chain-link fence, topped with concertina wire, protected the compound from intruders. Four manned observation towers stood in strategic locations. The place looked like a military base prepared for war. The hard-core followers, like the one circling her old truck now, even wore military garb.

Jed waved an arm and the gate slowly opened in front of her. “You can pass,” he barked.

“Didn’t find anything suspicious, huh?” Sabrina asked, baiting him sweetly, with a matching sugary smile. “I guess I hid that bomb better than I thought.”

Jed simply glared at her as he worked the wad of tobacco in his mouth until he could spit.

Sabrina rolled her eyes and drove on through the gate. She parked near the meeting hall, which also held the two classrooms, and climbed out into the brisk morning air. Fall was right around the corner. Then winter would be here before she knew it. She dreaded the bad weather to come. If Charlie didn’t come back home to help her—she would not think that way. She would win him back…somehow. She had to make him see that men like Neely were only taking advantage of the good intentions of the people here. She just hoped she wouldn’t be too late.

“Morning, Sabrina,” Lorie Beecham called out as Sabrina made her way into the classroom. “We’re sure glad to have you. We’ve got two new students this morning.”

Sabrina surveyed the dozen or so children in the room. How could people bring their innocent children to a place like this? She resisted the urge to shiver. Someone had to stop Neely before something bad happened.

But who?

Her thoughts went automatically to Court. She forced his image from her mind. She had to remember that he was a part of this now….

He was one of them.

COURT APPRAISED Joshua Neely’s office as he waited for the man to show up for their scheduled meeting. The young man who served as Neely’s personal assistant or secretary of sorts had insisted that Court have a seat and wait since Neely was expected back momentarily. But Court didn’t want to sit. Instead, he paced, surveying Neely’s framed mementos.

Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined one wall. Law books filled most of the shelves. According to the intelligence Court had on Neely, the man held a degree in political science as well as law. The office furnishings were an odd blend of typical middle-management style and more elegant oak pieces probably donated by enamored followers. The only disturbing elements were the newspaper clippings of high profile cases between other militia groups and the federal authorities, framed and hanging on nearly every available inch of wall space. Then there were the banners proclaiming Neely’s position on the law of the land. True Freedom Lies in the Heart of the Sons and Daughters of this Great Land. We Shall End the Oppression.

Court caught himself before he shook his head. Between the rally and a mostly sleepless night in the barracks with a group of particularly fervent followers, he was edgy this morning. Two weeks of hanging out at the Watering Hole, a hangout where one or more militia members could always be found, had finally paid off yesterday. Court moved back to the desk and dropped into one of the available chairs. The undertones in Neely’s speech at the rally and the intense reaction of those present had seriously unsettled Court. This wasn’t the first group of this nature he had investigated, but this one was certainly the most enthusiastic. Yet, it was something more that had him so uneasy. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

There was nothing wrong with enthusiasm, but it was the man who garnered the reactions that disturbed him, he decided. Court couldn’t quite label his suspicions just yet, but a bad scenario was forming in his mind.

Anybody around when that scenario reached fruition would likely be caught in the fallout.

The taste of Sabrina, sweet and warm, abruptly filled his mind, startling Court. The kiss he’d stolen from her had haunted what little sleep he’d managed last night. He had purposely forgotten how pretty she was. Even as a kid, all arms and legs with a honey-brown ponytail that hung to her waist, Sabrina had been too appealing for her own good. She and Court had grown up together on the Double K, and she’d spent most of her days following him around. By age twelve she’d had herself a serious case of hero worship. Only a year older, Court hadn’t minded. Even now the sound of her laughter, the memory of the way those dark chocolate eyes twinkled made him want to smile…made him regret.

Court snapped himself from that pointless line of thinking. That was a different life and he wanted no part of that past. Without success, he tried to blink away the image of how she’d looked when she found him at her door. Flushed, her skin glistening with perspiration from the work she’d obviously been doing in the barn. Though she was still tall and thin, there was something different about Sabrina. Court frowned, trying to pinpoint the subtle change. She was softer somehow, but every bit as lean and strong as before. Sabrina Korbett was only a couple of inches shy of his height of six foot two. He smiled at the thought that he’d never known her to be afraid of anyone or anything. Not even when she should have been…afraid of him, that is.

Court passed a hand over his face and swore at his inability to keep his mind off the woman he’d spent half a lifetime trying to forget.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, Court.”

Court pushed to his feet as Joshua Neely, followed by his first lieutenant, entered the office. “No problem, Joshua.” He accepted the man’s hand and shook it. “I’ve been reading.” Court gestured to the framed newspaper articles.

Neely nodded, his expression grave. “A sad history of the oppression. I fear it will take extreme measures, perhaps even terrorist-type activities to ever make the government understand that we will no longer lie down and allow them to march over us.” He indicated the man at his right. “Have you met Thad Ferguson?”

Court extended his hand in Ferguson’s direction. “Raymond introduced us last night.”

Ferguson squeezed Court’s hand in blatant challenge but said nothing. Court smiled and returned the gesture twofold, then released the other man’s hand and turned back to Neely. Court felt Ferguson’s glare on him for several more tense seconds. If the man wanted a pissing contest, Court was ready to oblige.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.” Seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two men, Neely settled into the high-backed swivel chair behind his desk. “We need to get to know one another a little better.”

Adrenaline stung as it flowed swiftly through Court’s veins, putting him on alert. Forcing his tense muscles to relax, he settled back into his chair. “What would you like to know that you don’t already?” No point in beating around the bush. Neely had questions. Court could only hope that his cover remained intact.

“I spoke to Mr. Cornelius in Richmond,” Neely began, then rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers.

Slipping into anti-interrogation mode, Court forced all thought from his mind. He leveled his gaze on Neely’s. “Has Mrs. Cornelius recovered from her bout with pneumonia?”

Neely smiled. “Fully.” He leaned back into his chair, his hands clasped in front of him. “Mr. Cornelius was most impressed with your horseman talents…as well as your marksman skill.” Neely lifted one dark brow. “He raved about your ability to size up a situation and take quick, decisive action. Said he’d never seen anyone track the way you could. Apparently the two of you went hunting quite regularly.”

“As often as possible,” Court agreed noncommittally. Elmo Cornelius was an uncle to a fellow agent Court had worked with for years. Elmo had jumped at the chance to play a part in Court’s cover.

“Mr. Cornelius was rather distressed with your sudden decision to leave his employment. He’s still looking for a worthy replacement,” Neely offered, his gaze expectant.

“After the Falls Meadow incident, things changed,” Court explained. “I realized when the feds murdered those folks for simply standing up against unfair gun control that I had to do something. I hadn’t forgotten the ideals of the Sons and Daughters, and I felt compelled to come home to my roots. To stand up for what was right.”

Neely glanced at the framed article that retold, from the media’s point of view, the bloodbath of Falls Meadow, Virginia. The feds were the bad guys as usual. No one cared that antigovernment elements were springing up everywhere these days. Most were harmless, but some represented a danger to themselves and the surrounding community. It was those few who made it tough for everybody. The unfortunate incident at Falls Meadow had coincided time and locationwise for Court’s cover.

“You want to fight back? To avenge the wrong done to those people?” Neely prodded.