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 me, do ya, Court?” His brown eyes twinkled, vaguely familiar. A sprinkling of freckles fanned over his nose and cheeks.
One corner of Court’s mouth quirked up at the kid’s unabashed enthusiasm. “You got me.” He chucked the boy’s shoulder…the same way he used to do to Sabrina when they were kids. “Want to give me a clue?”
“I’m Charlie Korbett, Sabrina’s brother,” he replied, as if Court should have known without any reminders. “I remember you from the funeral. My sister told me all about you. She said y’all used to ride horses, climb trees and do all kinds of things together.”
A twinge of unease pricked Court. Had Sabrina told her kid brother about the FBI? It sounded as if she’d told him most everything else. He snapped his fingers and made a sound of disbelief. “Man, I should have known that. I guess you’ve just gotten so grown up that I didn’t recognize you. And I have been gone a long time.”
“Yeah, I know,” Charlie put in quickly. “Sabrina told me you were off doing some important job.”
Court tensed. “She told you about that, huh?”
Charlie nodded with the same vigor that he spoke. “Uh-huh. But she doesn’t talk much about you anymore.” His expression clouded. “Not since the funeral.”
One by one Court’s muscles relaxed from their fight-or-flight stance. “It’s good to see you again, Charlie.”
His freckled face brightened. “I’m glad you’re here, Court. Maybe you can get Sabrina off my back.”
Across the quadrangle Sabrina stopped dead still. Her worst fears were realized when she saw Charlie talking to Court. She hadn’t had a moment alone with her brother to warn him to keep his mouth shut about Ryan. And now it was probably too late. She had to think of something and do it—fast.
Charlie grinned up at Court, his face beaming with pride.
Really fast.
“Charlie Korbett,” Sabrina said in her sternest voice as she marched toward the two. “Why didn’t you come home last night?” She refused to look at Court. She’d seen far too much of him yesterday. Enough to keep her hot and bothered all night long. Enough to make her downright steamy today.
Charlie glared at her, a flush rushing up his neck and across his cheeks. She’d embarrassed him. Sabrina swore silently. That sure wouldn’t win her any points with her little brother. But keeping her secret was the most important thing at the moment.
“What do you care?” He hurled the words at her like missiles intended to wound. He hit the mark.
“Charlie, I—”
“You don’t care about anything but Ryan. Why don’t
