Читать книгу Soldier's Promise - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 9

Chapter One

Jake Lohmiller raised the binoculars to his eyes and studied the group of women who moved along the rim of the canyon. Wind sent their colorful cotton skirts fluttering, so that they reminded Jake of butterflies, flitting among the wild roses that perfumed the air. The women were gathering rose hips and wild raspberries, the murmur of their voices drifting to him on the wind, their words indistinct.

He shifted his elbow to dislodge a pebble that was digging into his flesh and trained the glasses on a dark-haired woman. Her long, straight black hair, high cheekbones and bronzed skin set her apart from the mostly fair-skinned redheads, blondes and brunettes around her. She seemed out of place, not just because of her appearance, but because of the way she carried herself. She moved slightly behind the other women, her movements both deliberate and graceful, her bearing wary. Jake sensed a tension in her, like a cat poised to spring.

She stopped at the corner post of a falling-down fence that ran alongside the path the women were following, and turned to stare across the high desert landscape of rock, cactus and stunted trees, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. Jake ducked down behind the rock outcropping he had chosen as his vantage point, though he knew she couldn’t see him. Not at this distance. Not when he had been so well-trained to not give away his position.

He had been in the Curecanti National Recreation Area in southwest Colorado for three days, watching the women, learning their routines and habits, and planning his next move. The dark-haired woman turned away and hurried to catch up with the others, and Jake shifted his attention to the oldest woman in the group—a slight, very fair blonde with almost-white hair and light blue eyes. She went by the name Phoenix these days, the latest in a string of names and nicknames she had gone by over the years. He tried to read her mood, to guess what she was thinking or feeling, but at this distance he could tell nothing except that she looked fairly healthy—something that hadn’t been the case the last time he had seen her. He clenched his jaw, struggling against the mixture of love and anger that warred in him whenever he thought about her.

He shifted again, focusing this time on the youngest member of the group, and his jaw relaxed. Sophie was growing up to be a pretty young woman, her long brown hair plaited in a single braid that hung to her shoulder blades. She laughed at something one of the others said, and Jake’s heart clenched, aching at the sound. The last time he had seen her, she had been ten and crying. Four years had changed her in so many ways, but it cheered him to see her looking so happy, especially since he hadn’t expected it—not here.

The women moved on until they were out of the visual field of his binoculars. The silence of the wilderness closed in around him, with only the rattle of the wind in dry tree branches reminding him that he hadn’t suddenly gone deaf. He put away the binoculars, then stretched out on his back, the shadow of the boulder keeping the sun off his face. He ignored the hardness of the dry ground and focused on reviewing all the information he had gathered so far. It was time to complete his mission. He had to make contact with Phoenix and Sophie and persuade them to leave with him. But he had to do it without raising alarm. And preferably without attracting any attention from the local cops.

A shadow fell across his torso, and the crunch of a leather sole on gravel had him lurching to his feet, reaching for the weapon at his side. “Keep your hands where I can see them!” a woman’s voice commanded.

He held his hands out from his sides and stared at the dark-haired woman. Obviously, she had left the group and circled around, but how had she managed to sneak up on him? Had he gotten so rusty in the months since he had left his unit in Afghanistan? He must have, because, in all the time he had been watching her, he had never noticed the handgun she was aiming at him now.

* * *

CARMEN REDHORSE KEPT her weapon trained on the man who stood opposite her, thankful that he was cooperating with her orders. He was a big, powerful-looking man, young and strong, and he seemed at home here in this rugged environment. He held his hands at his sides, and his gaze remained focused on her, his manner calm, though it struck her as the calm of a predator who doesn’t feel a threat from a weaker opponent rather than that of a man who has nothing to worry about. “Who are you, and what are you doing out here, spying on us?” she asked.

“Who are you, and why should I answer your question?” His expression and the tone of his voice betrayed nothing. She judged he was about six feet tall, lean and muscular. His erect posture, close-cropped hair and deep tan pegged him as a military man—either still on active duty or only recently discharged. An officer, she guessed—he had the air of a man who was used to being in charge.

“I’m the woman who has a gun trained on you,” she said. “Trust me, I know how to use it.” Until she knew more about him and what he was up to, she wasn’t going to let him distract her. “I need you to very slowly remove your weapon from the holster and place it on the ground in front of you.”

He hesitated, then did as she asked, his attention focused on her, though she couldn’t see his eyes clearly behind the dark aviator sunglasses he wore. He straightened, some of the stiffness gone out of his posture. “What is a cop doing way out here?” he asked.

“What makes you think I’m a cop?” she asked.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Everything from your choice of weapon to the way you handle it—not to mention the way you bark out commands—says law enforcement. And not a rookie, either.” He shifted his weight, still keeping his hands in view. “So what are you doing in Daniel Metwater’s cult?”

His word choice—cult instead of group or, as Metwater preferred, Family—told her he wasn’t a fan of the trust-fund millionaire turned itinerant preacher, who was camped with his followers on public land. The women she had been foraging with were part of Metwater’s faithful. “What I’m doing here isn’t your concern,” she said. “And you haven’t answered my question—what are you up to? And I’ll need to see some ID.”

“My wallet is in my back pocket,” he said.

“Take it out slowly, and hand it over.”

He did as she asked. She studied the Texas driver’s license. “Jacob Lohmiller,” she read. Twenty-seven years old, with an address in Houston. She glanced across at the Veteran ID. Army—so she had been right about that. And he had been discharged only four months before. “You’re a long way from home, Mr. Lohmiller.”

“Are you conducting some kind of undercover operation with Metwater’s bunch?” Lohmiller asked, accepting his wallet from her and returning it to his pocket. “Are they involved in something criminal?”

The Ranger Brigade—a multidisciplinary task force charged with law enforcement on Colorado’s public lands—had suspected Daniel Metwater’s involvement in more than one crime, but so far they had found little evidence to support their suspicions. Carmen was ostensibly with the group now, posing as a new convert in order to verify that the group’s women and children were not subject to any kind of abuse. She had lobbied hard to take a closer look at the group after a young woman who had been associated with them had died. Her commander had agreed to give her a week, all the time he could spare from the Rangers’ other duties. Four days of that week had passed, and Carmen was just beginning to win the other Family members’ trust. She couldn’t afford to have Lohmiller blow her cover.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again. “Why were you watching us just now?”

“As you said, this is public land. Maybe I came out here for a hike.”

She glanced at the pack that lay in the shade of the boulder he had been stretched out beside. “So you were hiking, and you saw a group of women and decided to take a closer look.”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“How long have you been in the area?” she asked. “Where are you staying? Do you have a vehicle, and where is it parked?”

“Why all the questions?” he asked.

“A man focused on a group of women, a man who refuses to account for himself, makes me suspicious. I wonder what I would learn if I brought you in for questioning.”

“I flew in to Montrose four days ago,” he said. “I’ve been hiking and camping out here ever since. I have a truck parked at my campsite not far from here.”

She nodded. “So, again—why were you watching us?”

“How did you know I was watching you?” he asked.

“I had that sensation of being watched,” she said. “I saw a bird startle from your hiding place and decided to take a closer look.”

He looked away and mumbled what might have been a curse word. She waited, the gun pointing toward the ground now, but still in her hand.

“I came here to check on a couple of Metwater’s followers,” he said. “To make sure they’re all right.”

“Which members?” she asked.

“A woman who calls herself Phoenix and a girl, Sophie. I don’t think she’s taken one of their loopy nicknames yet.”

“You know Phoenix and Sophie?” She knew of a couple of families who had sent private detectives to check up on their loved ones at the camp, but the forty-something blonde and her fourteen-year-old daughter had never mentioned any other family to Carmen.

Lohmiller squared his shoulders. “Phoenix—her real name is Anna—is my mom. Sophie is my half sister.”

It was Carmen’s turn to be surprised. “Phoenix is your mother?” The woman looked scarcely old enough to have a son Lohmiller’s age, and he didn’t resemble her at all.

“She had me when she was sixteen.”

“There’s nothing to prevent you from walking into camp and visiting your mother and sister,” Carmen said. “Why skulk around in the wilderness?”

“I needed to assess her situation, determine the lay of the land and formulate a plan for getting them away from here.”

Again, his choice of words was telling. He spoke like a man on a mission. “What exactly did you do in the service, Mr. Lohmiller?” she asked.

“Army Rangers.”

She might have guessed. “Your mother is an adult, free to make her own decisions and, by extension, decisions for her daughter,” she said. “I’ll admit, a wilderness camp with no running water or other facilities is not my first choice for a place to live, but it’s her choice. Neither she nor Sophie are in any danger that I’ve been able to determine. Or are you aware of something I’m not? Some circumstance you believe puts them in danger?”

“No particular circumstance, no. But my mother doesn’t have a history of making wise choices.”

“Wise and dangerous are two different things.”

“As you said, my mother is free to make her own decisions, but my sister is not. And the so-called wilderness paradise Daniel Metwater likes to brag about is no place for her.”

Carmen thumbed the safety on her weapon and shoved it into the waistband of her skirt. Later, she’d replace it in the holster strapped to her thigh beneath the long, loose skirt. For all his obvious agitation and coiled energy, she didn’t sense that Jake Lohmiller was any threat to her. “I’ve talked to Sophie, and she’s not unhappy. She’s being homeschooled, she’s healthy, and she seems to have a great relationship with her mother.” So far, nothing Carmen had learned in her time with the Family had pointed to any abuse or neglect, though she couldn't shake the feeling that life in the camp wasn’t as rosy as Metwater and his followers liked to paint. The truth was, a week probably wasn’t long enough to get a real picture for what was going on. She didn’t look forward to returning to her commander with nothing to show for her efforts.

Lohmiller scowled. “What about that creep, Metwater?”

“What about him?”

“I’ve checked him out. I’ve read his blog and newspaper articles about him—everything I could find online. And I’ve been watching him for a few days now. He collects beautiful women the way some men collect cars. How long before he starts eyeing Sophie?”

His words sent a shiver through Carmen. “I’m sure your mother would never let anything happen to Sophie.”

“You don’t know my mother like I do.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Four years ago. Sophie was ten.”

“People can change a lot in four years.”

“My mom is still making poor decisions. Bringing Sophie out here proves it.”

Carmen couldn’t argue with that. Though Sophie seemed content enough, following an itinerant preacher didn’t seem the best way to bring up a child. But before she could think of a reply, Lohmiller said, “You don’t strike me as the typical Daniel Metwater follower.”

Knowing that he had been spying on her long enough to feel qualified to make such an assessment annoyed her. “Who do you see as his typical follower?” she asked.

“Disconnected, discontented, idealistic. Young, white and, as far as I can tell, mostly well-off and well-educated. I’m not questioning your education, but the people who flock to someone like Metwater are searching for some idealistic world that he’s promising them.”

Okay, so he had done his homework. But she couldn’t resist goading him. “You don’t think I’m those things?”

“You have a job and a purpose. I doubt if most cops stay idealistic for long, even if they start that way. You seem too down-to-earth and practical to fall for all his mumbo jumbo.”

“And I’m not white.”

She ignored the pleasant tremor that swept through her as his gaze assessed her. “That, too. Are you Native American?”

“You got it in one.”

“So, if you’re not one of his followers, that means you’re here as a cop. Possibly undercover. What are you investigating?”

Time to get her head back on the job. “I’m not going to discuss my purpose here with you.”

“Fine. You don’t have to. You can at least give me your name—or whatever name you’re going by out here.”

Fair enough. “My name is Carmen. Carmen Redhorse.”

“Well, Officer Redhorse, the fact that you’re here means something is going on in camp that has the cops suspicious. And that means my sister and my mother don’t belong there.”

“Then you need to talk to your mother and stop lurking in the wilderness,” she said. “Some people might get the wrong idea.”

“You’re the only person who knows I’m here. I can’t control whether your ideas about me are wrong or not.”

Had he meant the comment to sound vaguely sexual? Was he trying to provoke her, or was it just his nature? She glanced toward the canyon rim. The other women were long out of sight now. She had told them she wanted to walk back alone, to think about some things, and had promised to catch up with them later. But how long could she stay away before someone came looking for her? “Are you going to talk to your mom?” she asked Lohmiller.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said. “And what do you think she’ll tell me?”

“I have no idea.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve been hanging out with her for at least three days. You must have made some judgments about her. So, tell me what you think she’ll say when I ask her to leave Metwater’s little cult and come live with me?”

“She’ll tell you she and Sophie are happy here, that Daniel Metwater changed her life and she doesn’t want to go with you.”

He nodded. “Exactly. So talking to her isn’t going to be enough. I have to find a way to convince her to leave—with Sophie.”

“That’s between you and your mother. I can’t help you.” She started to turn away, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“I think you can help me,” he said. “In fact, I insist.”

She pulled away from him, resisting the urge to rub the place on her arm where he had touched her, where she imagined she could still feel the heat of his touch. She might have known he was the type who thought he could boss her around. “You can insist all you want, but I’m not going to help you.”

“One thing I learned reading Metwater’s writings is that he hates cops,” he said. “What do you think he’ll do if I tell him he’s got one living with him, lying about who she is and spying on him?”

Metwater would be furious if he learned she was a cop, but that didn’t mean he would do anything more than kick her out of his camp. But even though she didn’t have any proof that he was involved in anything illegal, everything she knew about him told her he was capable of violence. Still, she was a cop. She knew how to look after herself. “I could have you arrested for interfering with an investigation,” she said.

“You could. But you’d have to deal with Metwater first.” He removed his sunglasses, and she found herself held by the intensity of his sapphire-blue eyes. His voice was a low, sexy rumble she was sure was intentional. “I’m thinking maybe you would prefer to deal with me.”