There was nothing wrong with enthusiasm, but it was the man who garnered the reactions that disturbed him, he decided. Court couldn’t quite label his suspicions just yet, but a bad scenario was forming in his mind.
Anybody around when that scenario reached fruition would likely be caught in the fallout.
The taste of Sabrina, sweet and warm, abruptly filled his mind, startling Court. The kiss he’d stolen from her had haunted what little sleep he’d managed last night. He had purposely forgotten how pretty she was. Even as a kid, all arms and legs with a honey-brown ponytail that hung to her waist, Sabrina had been too appealing for her own good. She and Court had grown up together on the Double K, and she’d spent most of her days following him around. By age twelve she’d had herself a serious case of hero worship. Only a year older, Court hadn’t minded. Even now the sound of her laughter, the memory of the way those dark chocolate eyes twinkled made him want to smile…made him regret.
Court snapped himself from that pointless line of thinking. That was a different life and he wanted no part of that past. Without success, he tried to blink away the image of how she’d looked when she found him at her door. Flushed, her skin glistening with perspiration from the work she’d obviously been doing in the barn. Though she was still tall and thin, there was something different about Sabrina. Court frowned, trying to pinpoint the subtle change. She was softer somehow, but every bit as lean and strong as before. Sabrina Korbett was only a couple of inches shy of his height of six foot two. He smiled at the thought that he’d never known her to be afraid of anyone or anything. Not even when she should have been…afraid of him, that is.
Court passed a hand over his face and swore at his inability to keep his mind off the woman he’d spent half a lifetime trying to forget.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, Court.”
Court pushed to his feet as Joshua Neely, followed by his first lieutenant, entered the office. “No problem, Joshua.” He accepted the man’s hand and shook it. “I’ve been reading.” Court gestured to the framed newspaper articles.
Neely nodded, his expression grave. “A sad history of the oppression. I fear it will take extreme measures, perhaps even terrorist-type activities to ever make the government understand that we will no longer lie down and allow them to march over us.” He indicated the man at his right. “Have you met Thad Ferguson?”
Court extended his hand in Ferguson’s direction. “Raymond introduced us last night.”
Ferguson squeezed Court’s hand in blatant challenge but said nothing. Court smiled and returned the gesture twofold, then released the other man’s hand and turned back to Neely. Court felt Ferguson’s glare on him for several more tense seconds. If the man wanted a pissing contest, Court was ready to oblige.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.” Seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two men, Neely settled into the high-backed swivel chair behind his desk. “We need to get to know one another a little better.”
Adrenaline stung as it flowed swiftly through Court’s veins, putting him on alert. Forcing his tense muscles to relax, he settled back into his chair. “What would you like to know that you don’t already?” No point in beating around the bush. Neely had questions. Court could only hope that his cover remained intact.
“I spoke to Mr. Cornelius in Richmond,” Neely began, then rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers.
Slipping into anti-interrogation mode, Court forced all thought from his mind. He leveled his gaze on Neely’s. “Has Mrs. Cornelius recovered from her bout with pneumonia?”
Neely smiled. “Fully.” He leaned back into his chair, his hands clasped in front of him. “Mr. Cornelius was most impressed with your horseman talents…as well as your marksman skill.” Neely lifted one dark brow. “He raved about your ability to size up a situation and take quick, decisive action. Said he’d never seen anyone track the way you could. Apparently the two of you went hunting quite regularly.”
“As often as possible,” Court agreed noncommittally. Elmo Cornelius was an uncle to a fellow agent Court had worked with for years. Elmo had jumped at the chance to play a part in Court’s cover.
“Mr. Cornelius was rather distressed with your sudden decision to leave his employment. He’s still looking for a worthy replacement,” Neely offered, his gaze expectant.
“After the Falls Meadow incident, things changed,” Court explained. “I realized when the feds murdered those folks for simply standing up against unfair gun control that I had to do something. I hadn’t forgotten the ideals of the Sons and Daughters, and I felt compelled to come home to my roots. To stand up for what was right.”
Neely glanced at the framed article that retold, from the media’s point of view, the bloodbath of Falls Meadow, Virginia. The feds were the bad guys as usual. No one cared that antigovernment elements were springing up everywhere these days. Most were harmless, but some represented a danger to themselves and the surrounding community. It was those few who made it tough for everybody. The unfortunate incident at Falls Meadow had coincided time and locationwise for Court’s cover.
“You want to fight back? To avenge the wrong done to those people?” Neely prodded.
Court pinned him with a look that alluded to much but gave nothing conclusive. “I want to make a difference.”
One of those practiced smiles spread across Neely’s face. “You feel it, too, don’t you, Court?” He nodded his approval. “I thought as much. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I feel very strongly.” About bringing you down, Court added silently. Every instinct warned him that Neely was dangerous. A snake in the grass, Court decided, coiled up and hissing a tune that mesmerized its victims.
“We need you, Court,” Neely said with quiet determination. “These people need you. You’ve received the calling, and I’d like the honor of guiding your journey. You have something special to offer us, I can feel it. We invite you to serve our cause in a position of leadership, Court Brody, as destiny has so clearly chosen.”
“I’m ready.” Court stood and stretched out his hand to the man behind the desk. “I accept your invitation, Joshua.”
Neely rose, clasped Court’s hand and shook it firmly. “Amen, Brother Brody, welcome to our cause.”
AFTER A MORE EXTENDED TOUR of the facilities the compound offered and two and one-half hours on the firing range to observe training procedures, Court lagged behind the rest as they headed toward the dining hall. Yet another surprise had awaited him on the firing range, a large number of recruits were young boys. Most were accompanied by their fathers, some were with their mothers. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised by the sheer number of kids involved, but he was just the same. It rattled him clear to his bones. Those kids could have been him and his brothers.
Stalling in the middle of the quadrangle, Court surveyed his militant surroundings. This was no place for children. The idea of any of the children he’d seen today being hurt or worse made him sick to his stomach. He had to put a stop to Neely. Whether the man was connected to the Black Order, a multi-national terrorist group, or not, Neely was a danger to these people. Court felt pretty confident that these folks only wanted to stand up for their beliefs.
“Court! Court Brody!”
Court whipped toward the adolescent voice that called out to him. A boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with brown hair clipped high and tight, and dressed in camouflage fatigues, sprinted in Court’s direction.
Did he know this kid? Grinning widely, the boy skidded to a stop directly in front of him.
“I’ll betcha don’t remember