Chosen Prey Page 18

  “Morning, Mrs. Yosko.” Dare raised his cup for another quick draught.

  She poured her cereal into her bowl as she looked directly at Dare. “You lost her.”

  The woman’s words hit him like a hammer to his chest.

  “It’s time this ended once and for all,” she said without pause, her brown eyes focused on his, and she seemed amazingly sharp. “That girl has been on the run for too long. She needs to be able to live a free life and not be looking over her shoulder all the time.”

  Dare ground his teeth. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Mrs. Y gave a single sharp nod. “I know you will, son.” She turned her attention to her cereal and poured milk on it. “Now there’s the matter of getting me out of your way.”

  Nick leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. “You can stay here until we get back. Make yourself at home.”

  Dare gripped the handle of his mug tighter. “We’ve got to keep you safe.”

  “Thank you,” she said as she poured a teaspoon of sugar on her cornflakes and milk.

  She waved her frail hand as if brushing him off. “I can’t do for myself anymore, so it’s time I went to the retirement home. I’ve been putting it off, keeping an eye on Lyra. But now she has you.”

  Dare raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been keeping an eye on her?”

  After eating a bit of her cereal, she jabbed her spoon in the air toward Dare. “Who do you think let Manny know those SOBs were trying to find your place? I’ve kept tabs all over Bisbee.

  “Lyra doesn’t know this, and you’d better not tell her,” the lady said with narrowed eyes, “but I’m the landlord of the house we live in and I let her pay rent at a dirt-cheap rate. That girl deserved a break. Knew it the minute I saw her. By the look in her eyes, I knew she was on the run. I have agents handle the property—all my properties—so she doesn’t know,” Mrs. Yosko said, “and I expect she never will.”

  “Won’t hear it from me,” Dare said with a whole new appreciation for the woman.

  When she looked at Nick, he held up his hands. “Landlord of what?”

  “That’s my boys.” She gave a smile, all gums and teeth. “I’ll stay here as you do what you have to do to get Lyra back and finish this mess once and for all.”

  She had that right.

  “Can’t bring in law enforcement, can you?” Mrs. Y stated with a firm expression.

  “That’s what we figured.” Dare nodded. “Last thing we want is a standoff with the cult members, and the feds tying our hands. We need to get Lyra out safely now, and not wait for the officials to get a valid warrant. We’ll get her out and let the local PD and SWAT come in. They’ll call in the ATF and DEA to help clean up the mess.”

  “Good thinking,” Mrs. Yosko said.

  After things were settled with Mrs. Y, Dare and Nick got down to business.

  Nick had wrangled a friend into flying him and Dare in a small jet to the Sandy River Airport outside Sandy, Oregon. His contact had been able to check the logs and found that another jet had set course for the same airport early that morning.

  Despite his increasing desire to fly to the commune this minute and go charging into the compound like a maniac, Dare listened to his partner. Nick had called in some old favors, and several combat-experienced men would be meeting them outside a town close to the compound. A couple of the men lived within driving distance, and the others would fly in.

  They’d give that sonofabitch Neal Barker something to remember.

  “When will your men arrive?” Dare asked Nick as they packed their gear.

  “About the same time as us, early evening. They’ll meet us at a cabin they’re going to rent, not too far from the town of Sandy. Manning lives in Portland and is taking care of the details.”

  “The cult won’t expect us to follow them to their compound so fast.”

  “That, or they’ll be even more prepared.”

  * * *

  By the time they’d arrived at the secluded cabin outside of Sandy, the small town close to the compound, it was 6:00 p.m., eighteen hundred hours. The sky darkened not long after they arrived, and the air smelled of rain. Looked like they might just have a storm brewing. All the better cover for tonight.

  The four men looked dead serious when Nick and Dare caught up with them at the cabin. With the addition of Dare and Nick, the six of them were large enough that they barely fit into the small front room. After they all arrived, there were a few quick grins and signs of camaraderie as they slapped one another on the back and shook hands all around. Nick made the introductions to his old military buddies.

  Mike Freeman was as big and muscular as a tank, with a blond crew-cut and a barbed-wire tattoo around the biceps of one arm. Eric Harrison, also a powerfully built man, sported a long brown ponytail and gold earring. Aaron Lloyd stood shorter than the other men at maybe five-eleven, was dark-haired, and had amber eyes that reminded Dare of a hawk, and the man was just as muscularly built as the rest of them. Black-haired Tiger Manning had a tattoo of a Bengal tiger on his forearm. He was perhaps the fiercest-looking of the bunch, with black eyes that held no doubt he was ready to kick some major ass.

  After their greetings, it was all business. Dare had already noted huge bags of various shapes and sizes lying around the cabin’s front room. No doubt there were some serious firearms and other surprises in their equipment.

  Fat drops of rain started to plop against the windows. Two of the men dragged a table from the kitchenette to the center of the front room, and Nick spread the map out on it. Dare took the lead in explaining the layout of the compound as they crowded around the table.

  “According to the satellite maps, it looks like they have guards stationed every ten feet, inside and out,” Dare said as he pointed to the perimeter of the compound. “If it’s anything like the smaller compound in the Huachucas, it’ll have double chain-link fences five feet apart with rolls of razor wire running along the top.” He also showed the locations of the main gate and a smaller one in the back.

  “No doubt they have cameras at all angles, too,” Nick added.

  “From the satellite pictures taken when it’s dark,” Dare said, “they keep that place lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  “What kind of weaponry are we looking at?” Freeman asked in his deep southern drawl as he shoved his fingers through his blond crew-cut.

  “From what we saw at the other compound,” Nick said as he looked around the table at the men, “the guards are armed with M249s and AK-47s.”

  “If what I suspect is correct, they’re into running drugs, so trading arms might be how they’re getting their supplies,” Dare said. “These bastards are into a slew of crap that could put them away for a long time, and that would be icing on the cake.”

  Dare discussed the obvious lack of experience of the guards in the Arizona compound. “I think we’ll be looking at a different ball game here. This compound is larger and has been here a good long time. Long enough for them to develop some solid security systems.”

  The men outlined several strategies and came up with a plan A and a plan B. Dare was satisfied and certain they wouldn’t have to use plan B. With this team, he had no doubts execution would be perfect and they’d get it right the first time.

  When they were ready to roll, it was nearing dusk and rain poured on the windows in a steady thrum.

  “Sonsofbitches are in for one hell of a surprise,” Lloyd said.

  Harrison’s gold earring glinted in the room’s dim lighting as the corner of his mouth turned up in an almost vicious grin. “Bring it on, baby.”

  “Fuckers won’t know what hit them,” Tiger Manning growled as he narrowed his dark eyes.

  Dare sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a slow exhale. Neal Barker was going down.

  19

  Despite Neal’s orders that she rest, Lyra got to her feet as soon as he left. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her robe and began pacing the length of the ten
t. Her face and head ached from his slaps, and just the thought of them pissed her off even more.

  For now, she had to concentrate on figuring out some kind of plan. The tent was high enough that Neal’s head hadn’t even brushed the top and long enough to give her a lot of pacing room.

  What could she do with the threats against herself and her mother? Lyra wouldn’t be of use to anyone if she was drugged, and she couldn’t let her mother be whipped. She brushed her sweaty palms on her robe. The scrapes on her hands, from when she’d slipped down those concrete stairs seemingly ages ago, barely hurt any longer.

  Her thoughts turned toward her memories of the Temple and Neal’s riches. He had a room a hundred times larger than any of the tents The People lived in. She hadn’t been allowed to speak about it, of course. Neal had rationalized it all as necessary means to communicate with the original Prophet Jericho. How was it that The People seemed so blind to the fact that Neal didn’t practice what he preached?

  The man had his own private jet, for cripes sake.

  She slipped her hands out of the pockets of her robe and picked up the bong. The sickly sweet scent of marijuana was strong. If it wasn’t for Neal, she wouldn’t have any problem with marijuana. But she associated it with him, and the smell would always make her sick.

  Lyra tensed, her arms shook, and she almost flung the hunk of ceramic across the tent.

  She steadied her hand, lowered the bong, and set it back beside the altar. To have something to do with her hands, she clasped them together and continued her pacing.

  What could she do? The fact that not as much light was coming through the canvas told her it was getting darker. Was it that late into the afternoon? Her heart beat faster. She had to do something before Neal forced the wedding on her.

  But what?

  A plopping sound came from above her head and then another. She looked up at the tent’s peak, wondering what it was as another plop hit followed by multiple ones.

  It’s raining, she thought with satisfaction. Maybe Neal would be forced to hold off on the “marriage” until at least tomorrow. The People would have to bring all that food back into their tents, and the cook fires would be extinguished.

  Drops fell harder until they were pounding on the canvas. The clean smell of rain and pine slipped in through a small gap in the tent flap. Her hope grew as the rain came down in torrents, splashing outside the tent, louder and louder yet.

  She paused in her pacing and picked up the bong. Her thoughts turned to her mother. Had she been too harsh in judging Sara? Had Neal kept her drugged, threatened her, or done any number of things?

  The rustling of the tent flap startled Lyra into dropping the bong. When it hit the floor, the ceramic broke into several pieces at her feet.

  Lyra slowly looked up into Neal’s face that reddened with anger and his eyes filled with fury. Rainwater dripped down his face, and his robe was soaked and clung to his body. “I ordered you to rest,” he growled. “Instead, I find you breaking tools of the Light that you have no business touching.”

  “I—I’m sorry, Prophet.” Lyra lowered her eyes. “I—”

  His backhand came so fast it caught her by surprise. Pain slammed into her cheekbone and eye, and she fell onto her back. Her head struck one of the iron stakes at the foot of the mattress and she screamed.

  God, the pain.

  Through the fuzz in her head, she saw that Neal had his hand raised, ready to strike her again. Instinctively she rolled onto her belly to protect her face. She braced herself for the blow, but instead Neal’s robe brushed her and when she opened her eyes she saw his knees at her side.

  Fingers prodded her scalp and she cried out again. It hurt so bad she couldn’t help the tears pouring from her eyes like rain poured on the canvas tent. She felt stickiness at the back of her head as he touched her, and she realized it was blood. The thick fluid started to creep down her neck.

  “Bitch,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “First I have to punish you for not remembering your place. But this—now your hair will have to be cleaned and the bleeding stopped.”

  He shoved her as he stood, and she bit her cheek to hold back a groan. It hurt so bad she couldn’t stop the tears. She was so pissed at Neal she could claw his eyeballs out, but right now she didn’t have the strength to stand, much less attack him.

  His wet robe whirled and brushed her face as he stood. She heard the clank of ceramic and she was sure he’d picked up the broken bong. The slap of his sandals was loud as he crossed the tent, and the rain was louder when he lifted the flap. It muffled the rain when the flap closed.

  Lyra lay where she was, pain spreading across her scalp from the wound, and her face from where he’d backhanded her. More blood dribbled down her nape, and it trickled around her neck to her throat. How badly was she injured? She knew she’d hit the stake hard enough to damn near crack her skull. Head wounds tended to be bloodier than other types of injuries, from what she remembered.

  She tried to relax and force the dizziness in her head to stop. Was Neal going to leave her there? Maybe he’d have to call off the “wedding.” At least that thought gave her some comfort.

  The tent flap opened behind her, sweeping in the smell of rain and a sudden chill that caused her to shiver.

  “Lyra,” a voice said, and she recognized her mother at once. Lyra tensed, then relaxed at Sara’s presence as she knelt beside her. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so very sorry,” Sara said as a soft cloth pressed against the wound.

  “Mom.” Lyra gave a shuddering sob but didn’t try to turn to look at her mother. And then the anger Lyra had held so tightly in her chest started to slip away. “I missed you,” she whispered. And with those words she knew it was true. She had blamed her mom, hated her even, but Lyra still loved her.

  “God knows I missed you,” Sara said as she lifted Lyra’s short hair and dabbed another cloth around her neck, wiping away more of the blood. Lyra noticed her mother said “God” and not “the Light.” Sara continued to wipe away the blood. “I was so happy when you escaped. Your fate isn’t to be Neal’s wife. I’ve always believed that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Lyra hiccupped, then swallowed. “I thought you believed him.”

  Sara gave a loud sigh. “Not once he claimed you. Then I knew everything was all wrong. I tried to tell him that, but the next thing I knew I was walking around seeing lights and stars and mindlessly doing everything I was told. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without help.”

  “He drugged you?” Lyra sniffled. “All this time I thought you supported him and that you believed in the stupid Prophecy.”

  There was a rustling sound behind Lyra before a cool cloth was pressed to the side of her face where Neal had backhanded her. It gave her the tiniest bit of relief, and she blew out her breath in a hard rush.

  “I regretted bringing you into the Temple of Light nearly from the time we’d arrived. At first being with The People helped me. It gave me a feeling of belonging and comfort, and being surrounded by friends as I grieved for your father.”

  “I miss him so much.” Lyra hiccupped again. “And leaving you—I’ve always felt a sense of loss beyond Daddy’s death. It was you. I missed you.”

  “I don’t know what to do now.” Tears were in Sara’s voice as she removed the pad from the back of Lyra’s head and replaced it with another. “I don’t know how to save you from Neal.”

  Lyra couldn’t answer as she gritted her teeth against the pain when her mother started to wash the blood from her hair.

  “You’re twenty-three now.” Sara’s voice had a smile to it. “I’ve thought of you every day. Every year on your birthday I’ve had my own private celebration. A celebration that you were free.”

  Lyra blinked back a new rush of tears. “Not anymore.”

  Sara leaned over and kissed the wetness on Lyra’s cheek. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered.

  Lyra’s head hurt so bad she could hardly
sit up. When she finally rose, her head felt woozy, but she turned so that she faced her mother. They studied each other for a long time before Lyra flung her arms around Sara’s frail frame. “Mom,” Lyra sobbed, “I’m so sorry about everything.”

  “Shhh, baby.” Sara embraced Lyra and slowly rocked her. “None of this was your fault. It was mine. I was so lost without your father, and Neal was so…attentive. He appealed to that part of me that was always needy.”

  “I know.” Lyra sniffled again. “But don’t blame yourself. There’s just something about Neal that makes people believe in him.”

  Her mother squeezed tighter, then pulled away. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and Lyra’s anger grew at the sight of her mother’s battered face.

  Sara reached up and wiped Lyra’s tears from her eyes with her fingers. “Something deep in my gut tells me you’ll be free again.”

  “What about you, Mom?” Lyra took her mother’s hands in her own. “Do you want to be free, too?”

  With a smile, Sara said, “I’d kill to use a real bathroom and take a hot shower.”

  Lyra couldn’t help a sniffly laugh and wiped more tears away with the back of her hand. “Then you’ll leave with me.”

  Her mother sighed. “Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s in the cards for me.”

  Lyra touched her mom’s graying hair and looked into her green eyes. “We’ll make it happen.” Lyra dropped her hand to her side and looked around the tent. “Since we’re together now, we could figure something out to escape.”

  Her gaze landed on one of the slender iron stakes buried in the earth beside the mattress. Despite the spinning feeling in her head, she crawled over to the spike and clasped her hands around the smooth metal. The thing didn’t budge. She gritted her teeth and pulled again. This time it gave a little. She scooted away just far enough so that she could ram her bare heel against the middle of the stake. It moved several inches sideways and Lyra smiled. When she got back on her knees and jerked on the stake, it came out easily.