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“Are you talking about the mass suicide?” Fiona asked, deciding to be direct rather than talking in euphemisms.
Randall flinched. “Wow. I’m not sure I’d call it that, but yeah. The Gathering for Rebirth is in twenty-seven hours.”
“Are you going to take part in it, too, Randall?” Fiona asked, holding on to the bars as she struggled to stand. She finally managed to get up, using only her uninjured leg, keeping the broken ankle up off the floor.
He didn’t answer. Still avoiding eye contact, he busied himself with checking some storage bins on a long, metal table.
“You don’t seem to be the gullible type,” Fiona pressed. “More of a thinking man, at least that’s how I see you. Why would you want to ingest poison, just because some egotistical blowhard of a woman told you to?”
Randall snapped his head up at that. “Don’t talk about Micheline like that,” he ordered. “She’s a good person.”
“Is she? Are you aware that she doesn’t even intend to be anywhere near here when all her poor followers die? She’ll be hoofing it to the Caribbean, along with the ten million dollars she asked the Coltons to wire her.”
“What?” Randall blinked. “No, you’re wrong. She’s going to pass out the elixir herself. She told me so.”
“Really? Because when she visited me, she made it clear that she planned on bugging out of here long before the big gathering went down. She’ll leave the rest of you holding the bag, Randall. If you live, you and Bart and Leigh will be accessories to murder. You’ll spend the rest of your lives in prison.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “Micheline wouldn’t let that happen. She promised to always take care of us.”
Before Fiona could respond, Randall’s walkie-talkie squawked. At the familiar sound, Fiona instinctively looked for hers, but it had apparently been taken when they’d grabbed her cell phone.
Randall pressed the button and answered. “Code red, code red,” Bart screamed. “Get up here now!”
“What the...?” Randall paled. He glanced at Fiona, then took off running for the stairs. Judging by the way he slammed the door, he’d left it unlocked.
“Too bad we can’t get out of our cells,” Jake said. “I’d love to see whatever is going on up there.”
“I can only hope it’s law enforcement,” she muttered. “Who else could cause Bart to react like that?”
Due to the double set of steel doors, no noise from the house above reached them.
“I hate not knowing what’s going on,” Jake finally said.
“Me, too,” she admitted.
She’d barely gotten the words out of her mouth when the door smashed open, so hard it slammed into the wall.
“FBI,” a voice hollered. Holden St. Clair.
While she had no idea how they’d known to come here, the relief made her legs go weak. “Down here,” she yelled. “They have me and three others locked up in individual cells.”
The sound of more feet clattering down the stairs. Three more FBI agents, two men and a woman, came in, walking Randall and Bart, both in handcuffs, in front of them.
“We’re going to need medical assistance,” she told Holden once he’d retrieved the keys from Randall and unlocked her cell.
“How badly are you hurt?” Holden asked, pulling her to her feet and letting her lean on him.
“Broken ankle,” she said. “But Jake has a head injury and probably broken ribs. There are two others in cells that way.” She pointed. “The man most likely has pneumonia, but it’s the woman I’m really worried about.”
Holden nodded, signaling one of the other agents, who went back upstairs so he could call for help. Assisting Fiona so she could walk, they went to Jake’s cell and unlocked it. Immediately, Fiona went to him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, falling to her knees next to him.
Attempting to smile at her, he nodded. “A bit woozy. Slipping in and out of consciousness. But I’ll survive.”
“Wait here,” Holden ordered. “I’m going to check on the other two.”
A moment later, he returned. “The man with the pneumonia is very ill. I’ll have the paramedics take him out first.”
