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“A Gathering.” Leigh high-fived the air. “It’s a big deal. Micheline is inviting all of her fans and followers. We’ve been working nonstop making sure the mailers go out. We’re also doing mass emails, but these are for the older folks who might not have access to computers.”
Intuition tingling, Fiona looked down at one of the fliers and started to read. She looked up at Leigh, hiding her alarm. “Is this...” She licked her lips, her heart racing. “Is this going to be the born-again ceremony? The big one?”
“It just might be.” Leigh practically sang the words, though her heavily made-up eyes were still cold and calculating. “I’m so excited!”
Fiona pretended to share in Leigh’s fake joy. Meanwhile, her insides were jumping. She had to find out the actual plan and then not only come up with a way to stop it, but surefire proof that Micheline was the instigator. Once she had, she could call Holden and have a team brought in to carry out the arrests.
Leigh would be going down, too. The beauty queen might be naive, but so far she’d done nothing but go along with her boss’s unethical, moneymaking schemes. And since she’d appeared to sanction the mass murder—as long as she herself didn’t have to die—Leigh would also be charged.
But there was more, and like the excellent FBI agent she knew she was, Fiona wanted to find it. The existence of some sort of basement cells, where people were being held prisoner without rights to a trial or hearing, would clinch it. She had to figure out a time and get herself down there.
“What are you waiting for?” Leigh sniped. “Is there something else you need?”
“What do you want me to do with these?” Fiona asked, holding up the leaflets.
“Take them to campus and put them up, pass them out, whatever you have to do in order to get more people to come. College kids love the idea of stuff like this.”
Feeling queasy again, Fiona nodded. “Will do.”
“Get going,” Leigh ordered, shooing her away with one hand. “We’re short on time.”
Fiona clutched the papers to her chest and hurried toward the door. Only when she’d gotten in the front seat of her car and locked the doors did she take the time to thoroughly read one.
This Friday. The date jumped out at her. All of this would be going down in less than a week. Which meant Micheline would have to try and sell off the mythical unborn baby before her followers committed mass suicide.
It was going to be a busy week. Fiona started the car and drove to a local office supply store. There, one could rent the use of a paper shredder. Fiona paid her money and began rapidly shredding the documents. She kept back three copies, but she didn’t want to take a chance on any of these getting in the hands of a single student.
Once she’d finished, she drove over to campus, parked and got out. Just in case Micheline had installed a GPS tracker on her car.
She spent a good half an hour walking around after stopping in the campus bookstore and picking up some fliers advertising a concert by a local band. These she tacked up on bulletin boards and telephone poles. If anyone had followed her to make sure she’d completed her task, unless they stopped and looked at the posters, it would appear she had.
Then she drove quickly back to the AAG center. Maybe if she could get in unnoticed, now would be the perfect time to check out the basement.
First, she needed to make sure both Bart and his friend Randall were elsewhere in the center. Walking with purpose, she strode through the common area as if she had an urgent task, looking for them.
She found them in the dining hall, sitting together and chowing down on hamburgers. Which meant there wouldn’t be a time better than right now.
Heart pounding, she rushed through the kitchen, out the back door and down the hallway by the laundry room. The first door was locked, but her key fit. After gaining entrance, she made sure to lock it after her, just in case.
Clattering down the metal steps, she reached for her weapon, which of course she didn’t have. Habit. But she sure did wish she’d found a way to arm herself, at least while down here. Bottom line—she didn’t feel safe. She could fight and she could run, but she had no recourse against a man with a weapon. And she’d seen the side piece Bart carried in a shoulder holster. As for Randall, she doubted he even knew how to use a pistol.
The second door was also locked. No surprise there. Once again, her key worked. She took a deep breath and yanked it open, stepping inside. Out of reflex, she carefully locked it behind her and pocketed her key.
Then and only then did she turn and allow herself to process what she saw before her.
During her time in the FBI, she’d paid many a visit to jails and prisons. This place, with its row of metal cells and strong urine smell, appeared to be an attempt to recreate that, though on a much smaller scale. There was only one long row.
Underhill had begged not to be taken to the cells. Now she knew exactly what he’d meant.
The first two cells were clean and empty. In the third, a huddled pile of clothes looked eerily familiar. She hoped—oh, how she hoped—there wasn’t a person underneath.
As she moved closer, her heart in her throat, she realized exactly who she saw lying in a mess of blood on the concrete floor. Jake.
She
must have gasped or made some other sound of disbelief, because he raised his head. His face—his handsome face—was now so swollen he was barely recognizable. Swollen, bruised, his split lip combined with blood—so much blood—made him look like something out of a nightmare.
“Jake.” Her heart broke. How the hell had he gotten in here? And why? “Who did this to you?”
