Cassidy Page 5

  “Chloe!” the man called sharply. “Move it!”

  “I have to go.” Judith pulled a cookie out of her dress pocket and set in within Cassidy’s reach. “You must be hungry. Take this.”

  “What?” Saffron snapped from the stairs. “Are you talking to me? What’d you want now?”

  “No, I’m talking to my pet spider. Want to see him? He’s so cute.”

  “No!” Saffron shrieked. “Keep it away from me!”

  “Aw, come on.” Judith gathered her skirts, giggling while she climbed the stairs with a bag over her arm and one hand extended. “Look at him. He’s just a hoppy spider with hairy legs. He won’t—”

  The door crashed into place, plunging Cassidy into darkness once more. She blew out a big sigh, relaxing into her scratchy mattress of bags and who knew what else was down there. Her fingertips fluttered over the burlap for the treat Judith had left behind. Hmmm. Oatmeal and raisin. Tasty. Jude’s daughter seemed to be a lot like him. Kind to a stranger.

  Cassidy savored every last morsel. Fingering the bump at the back of her head revealed a good-sized knot, but other than that, nothing else was too damaged. The burn Hank had left on her chin still oozed, but her vision was back to normal. If only she could wash the stink of the manure out of her clothes and off her body.

  After Greg prevented the branding, she hadn’t been sure what to expect. She’d almost trusted him. He’d helped her, but doubt had still whispered at the back of her mind, ‘Not yet.’ So she’d waited. It’d been a damned good thing, too.

  When he’d lifted the board and settled her into his arms, foolishly, she’d hoped he might take pity on her, that maybe he wanted to wipe her bloodied face or something just as kind, like let her go. But then he’d whispered almost lover-like in her ear, “And now we shall pray, Sister Whoever-You-Really-Are.”

  The lying prophet’s yes-man turned out to be a cold-blooded murderer, and prayers were another term for water boarding. Turning the board over landed Cassidy on some kind of a teeter-totter contraption that raised her feet off the ground while it lowered her head. With a grunt, Greg had placed one palm at the back of her head, then dunk, underwater she went. She hadn’t been able to fight back, not tied to the board like she was.

  “You must learn to pray,” he’d hissed when he raised her face clear of the water the first time. “Repeat after me. The prophet is all wise.”

  “Bullshit!” She’d choked out, determined to get one word in. Big mistake. She never got a chance at another. Under she’d gone again. It felt like minutes before he’d pulled her up that time, choking for breath. She could barely remember what he’d wanted her to say.

  “Believe in the prophet with all thy heart,” the bastard preached. “Tell me why you’re here, and this pain shall end. I’ll let you leave.”

  Liar. Before she’d been able to inhale one complete breath, he’d shoved her so far down she’d scraped her forehead on the bottom of the tub. Her oxygen deprived lungs inhaled reflexively, drawing in water.

  Once more Greg yanked her topside, dripping, gagging, and sure she’d die at his hand. “You must believe before the blessing, you wayward bitch. Say it! That’s all you have to do. Say ‘I believe.’”

  She’d sputtered. Air. Just let me breathe! I believe already.

  “I didn’t think you would say it, but you will,” he’d said, his lying face next to her dripping wet cheek. “You’re a strong one, but you will beg to believe by the time I’m through with you. You’ll beg for daily discipline at my hand, too. They all do.” He’d twisted her hair into a knot, and shoved her underwater again.

  The end of Butch Cassidy Dancer had finally come. There was no way out of this mess. The fight went out of her. Cassidy opened her eyes and prepared to embrace her watery death. It wouldn’t take long.

  But suddenly, the board lifted up and fell with a hard thump to its side. She’d never been so glad for the painful effort of coughing and choking. God, it hurt to breathe. It took every last ounce of her strength to retch the water up and out of her lungs and stomach. When she could finally focus enough to see, Greg was gone.

  She fingered her wet hair now, thankful for that Jude guy. When she’d first seen him, she’d still been dazed, and only noticed those thick, Coke-bottle glasses at the end of his nose. The shock of dark, messy hair on his head only added to the unsure hero thing he had going for him. She thought an owl had saved her. Or Harry Potter.

  Cassidy sighed. The odors of fruits, vegetables, and dirt in this dark place had a calming effect. She was safe for the time being, but tired beyond belief. And worried for Rourke.

  “We’ll wait until dark to go in,” he’d told her only the night before. They were the only two agents assigned to this operation. After two weeks of gathering intel on the Palma Christi Cult, they knew they’d locate Ms. Melissa McCormack in the northern compound since the single women were housed there.

  Cassidy knew Melissa’s story well. The only daughter-in-law of Jed McCormack, a prestigious entrepreneur and close friend to Alex Stewart, the man who owned The TEAM, Melissa was a rock star in Cassidy’s estimation. When Jed’s son, Brady, came home a quadriplegic from Iraq, she’d put her life on hold to attend to him and all of his medical and personal needs.

  She loved him, pure and simple. Through months of surgeries and physical therapies, she became a fixture and a godsend in the McCormack home. When Melissa arranged for his transfer to their specially designed residence in Maryland, specifically built to accommodate a man with no functioning limbs, Brady’s heart was won over again. They married and fell into a daily life of struggles and discouragement, but also filled with love. Surgeries were a common occurrence, and Brady suffered multiple setbacks. Pneumonia finally won. Death took him at the age of thirty-one.

  It wasn’t the hard task of loving him that had claimed Melissa. It was losing him. Steadfast and strong during all his years of need, she’d fallen into a dark depression when she was finally free to live her life. His death might have been a relief for others, but Melissa had only lived for Brady. Surviving him proved the real challenge.

  When she’d disappeared, Jed contacted Alex. Within days, The TEAM had located Melissa. By then her bank account had been emptied, and the home built by love was owned by an out-of-state entity, an obscure corporation from northern California called, you got it, the Church of the Palma Christi. The real problem began.

  Neither Jed nor The TEAM had spoken to Melissa since she’d disappeared, nor could they get inside the front gate of the cult. For all intents and purposes, Melissa had dropped off the grid. So Alex sent Rourke and Cassidy to do the impossible.

  Rourke had devised a plan to infiltrate with Cassidy taking the lead. He’d personally trained her in the art of deception and camouflage. She knew how to get in, get out, and never be seen. Actually, she thrived on the adrenaline of those risky adventures. It was amazing to know that she had the innate talent and skill to infiltrate an enemy’s camp, to get close enough to her targets that she could smell them, and yet, they had never known she was within arm’s reach.

  This mission was no different than others she’d been on. It was her turn to shine, her chance to prove she belonged on this team of ex-military snipers. Only she couldn’t wait, not when she thought Melissa McCormack was in danger. Cassidy had been listening on the parabolic ears.

  Apparently Melissa wasn’t willing to turn over one hundred percent of her assets and, judging by the conversation, Cain wanted it all. But Melissa proved more obstinate than he’d expected. That woman had to be Melissa McCormack. Everything Cain and Jerusha discussed had described the grieving widow perfectly. She’d just lost her husband to pneumonia, she had substantial family wealth, and she was sick with grief. Who else could it have been?

  So, like the hardheaded renegade Rourke claimed she was, Cassidy jumped the gun and proved him absolutely right. She infiltrated the compound alone.

  Imagine her surprise when that Melissa turned out to be an elder
ly, dyed-in-the-wool, no-kidding convert dedicated to the church, and who, by the way, could scream her guts out in a bizarre attack of self-righteous hysteria. She didn’t need help, and didn’t want to be rescued. Damn it to hell. Cain and Jerusha might have been talking about the right Melissa, but Cassidy had zeroed in on the wrong one. It ended up being Cassidy who’d needed the help.

  Argh. The blessing. The very name gave her the creeps. In no way, shape, or form was sexual intercourse with the older and creepier prophet a spiritual gift. The thought made her skin crawl. Cain was nothing more than a child molester and a pervert. With her whole heart and soul, she wanted to bring Cain and his minions down and send them all to hell, right before she saved the right Melissa.

  With a tired sigh, she pushed her strong opinion aside and let the cool of the cellar lull her into a more relaxed state. If her instincts were right, Chloe wouldn’t tell anyone. If her heart was right, Rourke was champing at the bit, already on his way to pull his dumb-ass agent’s butt out of the fire.

  The glimmer of respect in his sexy hazel eyes came to mind. Definitely one of the good guys, Rourke was a tall, handsome hunk with the same color hair as his eyes. He stood a good foot taller than Cassidy, and she liked the advantage it gave him. It made her feel feminine, and she wasn’t often susceptible to that feeling.

  Born a tomboy in a family of older brothers, she was given to outdoor sports. She’d rather work all day in a garden instead of wasting time dusting, vacuuming, or baking. The few times she’d had occasion to stand beside Rourke, she’d definitely appreciated the fact that she had to look up. All her female instincts kicked into high gear. She’d been glad she was a woman.

  He had to have felt the same attraction, didn’t he? Wasn’t that why he always took a step into her personal space? True, he’d never taken any liberties, hadn’t even laid a hand on her, but didn’t he feel that same tingle she did? Just once, she wished he’d been a little inappropriate, made a move, or something. Anything. But Rourke was steady, dependable, and trustworthy to a fault.

  Alex Stewart, their tough boss, relied on him as senior agent to the Seattle boss, Murphy Finnegan, who had come out of retirement when sitting around home drove him crazy. That was probably what kept Rourke at bay. As senior agent, he was management, and management didn’t play with the women who worked for The TEAM, at least not in Alex’s company.

  A top gun in his own right, Rourke was next in line for Murphy’s position. If the truth were known, most of the ex-military agents in the office were worthy of the senior agent title. They had all been to battle. In her estimation, Rourke was her equal. At least, he was pretty close.

  The truth was, she was the odd duck in The TEAM, an ex-DEA agent who’d mutinied against her DEA superiors on a difficult operation that landed her inside Mexico. The TEAM had joined forces with the DEA on that op, something her DEA supervisor refused to accept. Things went from bad to worse to damned ugly. A couple agents died, but the senior agent-in-charge of The TEAM, Mark Houston, gave her a thumbs-up. Alex hired her after she’d assisted Mark inside Mexico instead of sitting on her ass with her DEA buddies in Utah. Alex respected her. Enough said. He should.

  Then there was Rourke. Cassidy closed her eyes, imagining all the things she might like to do with him when she got out of this mess. Maybe I’ll invite him over for wine coolers and a deli tray. He lives in Olympia, just off I-5. I’m an hour north in Puyallup. That’s not too far by interstate.

  But as quick as that pleasant thought came to her mind, reality struck. She’d screwed the pooch on this op. She could hear Alex the second he caught wind of this debacle. One of the toughest men she’d ever worked for, he could leave a wayward agent feeling like a mule deer that had been field dressed and skinned after a clean kill.

  He hadn’t chewed her out yet. If anything, she’d detected his respect after she’d told her DEA superior to go to hell, but she had a chewing out coming now. He might be as angry as Rourke. She pushed that unpleasant future event from her head. Cassidy saw right through it. Bellowing was how men vented. They cursed and sometimes broke things, but that was because they cared. They were passionate.

  There was a time she thought Rourke hated her. He’d treated her like a low-life grunt when she’d first joined the Seattle team, made her feel inadequate and inferior. Plus, he’d acted as if she knew nothing about surveillance and weaponry, as if she wasn’t already a highly-trained federal agent.

  To make matters worse, she was the rogue agent who’d quit the DEA. That kind of insubordination didn’t sit well with Rourke, even though she’d worked freelance for Alex the minute she’d left the DEA. She was no quitter, but Rourke didn’t seem to see her as anything but. He just plain didn’t respect her.

  She hadn’t liked him, either. He was full of himself and the rudest man alive—full of that Army be-all-you-can-be bullshit and always up in her face. One scorching look from him could wilt her then.

  He’d bullied her every step of the way, and Cassidy understood why. She got it. She really did. He didn’t want a quitter on his watch. She might have been right to leave the DEA like she did, but she’d come into The TEAM with an unforgivable blight on her record, at least, in his estimation. To win him over, she’d sucked up her pride and worked every piece-of-crap assignment he gave her.

  When she wasn’t kissing his ass, she lived at the range until she could hit any target at any distance. She could disassemble and reassemble every weapon she’d ever trained on in her sleep. Her sniper rifle became an extension of her hand and fingers. She lived, breathed, and ate target practice. She stayed low, and she stayed determined. Just because she’d quit once didn’t make her a quitter. She needed to show him.

  It was their chance meeting at the range one afternoon that had turned the tides. She hadn’t known that he stood watching while she’d pounded target after target, one headshot after another. The only things different that day were the four words he’d said after she’d packed her gear and shouldered past him on the way to her car.

  “Good shooting, Butch Cassidy.”

  She had to turn back to him to be certain he’d really spoken to her. “Excuse me?”

  His upper lip had twitched, but no smile. No wink. No repeat of that once-in-a-lifetime compliment, either. He’d shown her his broad back and strode purposefully away from her to the range. But just like that, they were friends, and she’d earned a cool nickname. It wasn’t the last time he called her Butch.

  Exhaustion lulled her to sleep.

  “Rourke,” she whispered as the worries of the day drifted away. “I’m still waiting.”

  Chapter Five

  Jude endured the humiliation of being held up to the congregation as one of Cain’s heroes. The impromptu gathering offered a different perspective, though. Sitting on the stand with Lucien, Hank, and Greg, he faced everyone else for a change. He might not be enjoying his sixty seconds of fame, but there he was, up front and center, finally able to see everyone.

  He stretched his neck and strained to see past the sea of sooty bonnets and sweaty heads to no avail. His heart sank. Where could Judith and Rachel be? His gaze zeroed all the way to the back of the chapel, all the way to Tucker Chase, one of those back-of-the-room benchwarmers. The rest of the congregation appeared to be listening to their prophet with zombie-like attention. Not Tucker. His head was down, his eyes fastened to the floor.

  Jerusha sat in the first row with her class of other parents’ perfect children. All beamed up at Cain as he elaborated the heroic actions of the man who was anything but a hero. That Hank and Greg were present and nodding in sync with each other told Jude that Cassidy was still safe.

  “My brothers and sisters, today is a profoundly great day. As you all know, in the past I have allowed those who disagreed with the Lord’s teachings to leave our fair valley. Many Gentiles left, but many have chosen to stay. It is with great honor that I present Brother Jude Cannon. He has not only chosen to struggle with us, but he put his life on the
line and fought to protect each and every one of us. I recommend his status be changed from outcast to common member?” Cain asked proudly from the pulpit, gesturing toward Jude. “All in favor give the appropriate sign of approval.”

  Every last member raised their right hand. Jude couldn’t remember a time anyone had disagreed. Didn’t even know what the appropriate sign of disapproval might have been. Good enough for me. Means I’m somebody who’s still a nobody.

  “Would you like to say a few words?” Cain asked graciously.

  No! Jude thought, but he shuffled to the podium anyway. Gripping the sides of the stand, he looked the audience over, searching all those bonnets for the bright smiling face of his daughter. He let the moment stretch until he knew for sure she wasn’t there.

  “I, umm…” He cleared his throat, still not sure he could choke through the lies he knew Cain expected him to spout. “I’m thankful to be here today.” That much was true.

  Jerusha nodded approvingly, as did a few others on the front rows. The pious looks on their faces dried every modicum of saliva in his mouth. What a joke. He straightened his taped up, nerdy glasses and started again. “And I’m, umm, thankful for the opportunity to serve.”

  Quietly, the back door of the chapel opened as two young girls sneaked in and made their way to the bench near Tucker. Jude’s heart leapt to his throat, but both kept their heads and bonnets bowed, probably afraid to be noticed. Look up, Jude mentally commanded. See me!

  “Anyway,” he continued gruffly. And suddenly he had a reason to talk. “Ever since I been here, I been looking for a good woman.”

  Jerusha raised her brows in surprise, not the girls. They were too busy passing something back and forth, their heads down and whispering like normal youngsters stuck in boring church meetings.

  Jude cleared his throat extra loudly. “Anyway I’d like to ask Prophet Cain’s permission to marry.”

  Judith looked up. Straight at him, her mouth opened wide in surprise. The loveliest smile blossomed over her face as tears filled her eyes. The young lady at her side nudged her, but Judith blinked rapidly, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.