Dead Even Part 2

"Genna Snow."

"The boss sent his wife wife?" Aidan's brows lifted in surprise.

"Who better to look into a phony religious movement led by a bunch of self-appointed apostles who seem to be attracting a lot of runaways and street kids? All adolescent girls, many of whom seem to have disappeared into thin air?" Both agents knew Genna Snow's story. As a child, she'd been abused by a pedophile who masqueraded as a man of the cloth. Twenty years later, he'd been released from prison and had tracked her down. She'd taken him out with one shot through the heart, but not before he'd engaged in a b.l.o.o.d.y business that had left few survivors. "We think some of these kids are being sold over the Internet. It's a very ugly business they're running out there. Valley of the Angels, my a.s.s. More like the Valley of Lost Souls."

"Why don't we just go in and shut it down?"

"So far, the Bureau is apparently long on suspicion and short on facts. We've been trying to get into their computers, but someone inside has been remarkably good at erecting firewalls around firewalls." She toyed with her hair. "Funny, but we originally started looking at Prescott because we'd traced Jules Douglas to him in Colorado. Then, the agent who went in noticed all of these messed-up young girls coming in, staying for a while, getting their acts cleaned up, then just disappearing. When he asked, the only thing he was told was that the girls had been 'cleansed' and sent on their missions."

"Cleansed?"

"A lot of them come in drugged up, dirty, sick, right off the streets. The movement promises them a new life, new hope. They get them clean, perhaps brainwash them a bit, then sell them to willing buyers." She made a face that spoke volumes of her disgust. "G.o.d only knows what happens to them after that. It's no secret that there's a huge market for underage kids. From your basic pedophile to the p.o.r.n industry, there's a long line of hungry buyers just waiting for the right girl to come along. Reverend Prescott is getting very, very rich making sure that everyone finds the right girl to suit his-or her-needs."

"Genna's found Jules and Julianne in there?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Miranda raised one eyebrow. "Could you know and not tell her if she asks?"

Aidan mulled the question over.

"I knew as soon as I got the call that you were on your way that we must be very close this time."

"Closer than you know, pal." Miranda leaned back in her chair and watched his face.

He sighed deeply.

"It's been more than seven years since Mara's ex-husband took their daughter and disappeared with her. It's ripped her apart. She won't stop searching for Julianne until she finds her. I promised I'd follow every lead with her, do whatever it took to find her daughter and bring her home. I didn't figure on having to withhold information from her."

"How do you feel about outright lying to her? If she asks you point-blank if you believe that Julianne is not in the compound, what will you say?"

"I don't like the idea of lying to her. I hope it doesn't come to that. I don't know if I could do it. On the other hand, if she knew for a certainty that Julianne was in there, she'd walk right into the compound herself."

"That is precisely what we're afraid of."

"Let me ask you this. How much danger is Julianne in?"

"My guess is that her daddy has been able to shield her so far. Which makes me think that old Jules is performing some big service to Prescott. We suspect he's found a way to launder some of those dirty dollars," Miranda said softly, even as she smiled gently at Mara's approach, "But we're still trying to build the case."

"Hungry?" Miranda asked as Mara sat back down.

"Not really." She shrugged.

"Well, I am ravenous." Miranda caught the eye of the tall blonde waitress who was leaning against the counter, watching them. "As long as we're here, we might as well eat. Then, if it's okay with you, I'll hitch a ride to the airport with you."

"We'll need to check on a flight, I suppose," Mara said, grim defeat drawing down the corners of her mouth.

"Taken care of." Miranda patted her bag. "Compliments of the federal government."

"You knew we'd leave with you?" Mara asked suspiciously. Her sister was a profiler with the FBI, and Mara knew sometimes things weren't exactly as they seemed.

"I picked them up when I made my own flight arrangements. I figured . . ." Miranda paused and smiled as the waitress approached, paper menus in hand, which she distributed silently.

"Thanks, Jayne," Miranda said, noting the waitress's name tag. "We'll let you know when we're ready to order."

"Not very friendly, is she?" Mara frowned when the waitress had disappeared into the kitchen.

"Oh, I'm sure she has her good points." Miranda skimmed over the menu."Anyway, as I was saying, I figured you'd be wanting to go back east. I mean, why waste precious vacation time on a dead lead, when a live one might pop up later on?"

Mara pondered the logic. It did make sense.

"Okay, if you're sure." Mara turned to Aidan. "You're sure, right? That it's the right thing to do? You're convinced that Julianne is not with Reverend Prescott's group?"

"I am absolutely convinced it's the right thing to do," he told her, choosing his words carefully. "Miranda wouldn't have come all this way to turn us in the wrong direction."

"Okay." Mara sighed, shaking her head slowly. "You know, I felt so sure this time-"

"I know, baby." Aidan rubbed her shoulders. "Maybe next time."

"It's been maybe next time maybe next time for seven years now," she reminded him. for seven years now," she reminded him.

Aidan looked at Miranda through guilty eyes, and appeared about to say something when Miranda's phone began to ring.

"Cahill."

"Cahill, it's John. Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner. I just got out of a meeting and heard your message." John Mancini, head of a special crimes unit within the FBI, sounded uncharacteristically tense. "Are you still-what was the phrase you used-hoofing it down Route 387?"

"No, right now I'm sitting in Ye Old b.u.mf.u.c.k Falls Cafe with Aidan and Mara, about to order lunch. Then, because my car rolled over and played dead about six miles back, I'll be getting a ride to the airport with them. You might want to have someone pick up the car and return it, by the way. It's charged to the Bureau."

"Mara's agreed to leave?"

"Not a problem." Miranda studied the chipped polish on one of her fingernails.

"Have you told Shields the truth?"

"I didn't have to." She rested the phone on her shoulder and motioned to Aidan to order her a roast beef sandwich by pointing to the specials board. The sandwich was the only special.

"Good, good. Well, try not to miss your flight, Cahill. You need to be in Fleming, Pennsylvania, by noon tomorrow."

"What's in Fleming?"

"An old friend of yours was just released from prison."

"Old friend of mine?" She frowned.

"Archer Lowell. Ring a bell?"

"Sure. Amanda Crosby's stalker. What's he up to?"

"That's what you're going to find out."

CHAPTER TWO.

At precisely the stroke of noon, the little red sports car pulled into the first available parking spot accompanied by a flourish of pebbles kicked up by braking hard on the gravel surface. The driver's door opened even as the engine shut down, and Miranda Cahill stepped out, pausing to take in the surroundings. The old hotel on the edge of town was just this side of shabby. Paint a few years past its prime. Shutters a wee bit crooked. Even the sign that hung from the wooden post out near the edge of the parking lot-THE FLEMING INN ~ EST. 1741-needed a sprucing up. But in spite of its obvious need of updating, the place did possess a certain charm. There were pumpkins marching along the hand railing at the front steps and clay pots holding an abundance of brightly colored chrysanthemums nestled in a corner of the porch. 1741-needed a sprucing up. But in spite of its obvious need of updating, the place did possess a certain charm. There were pumpkins marching along the hand railing at the front steps and clay pots holding an abundance of brightly colored chrysanthemums nestled in a corner of the porch.

On the whole, it wasn't bad for a hole-in-the-wall town like Fleming, Pennsylvania, she nodded. Not bad at all.

She checked the other cars in the lot. As she'd expected, the compact belonging to Bureau profiler Anne Marie McCall was already there. Next to Anne Marie's car sat a dark blue Pa.s.sat with D.C. tags. No idea who that belonged to. An SUV with Pennsylvania tags, again, no clue. Five other cars, all with Pennsylvania license plates, were parked at the far side of the lot. Maybe staff, Miranda thought as she slammed the car door and headed up the cobbled walk to the front door, which she found standing open.

She stepped into an entry that was decorated somewhat prematurely for both Halloween and Thanksgiving, with a cornucopia on a wide sideboard and several more mums in huge pots at the base of a wide staircase, and a wooden bowl filled with candy corn on the receptionist's desk. Small fabric ghosts and orange pumpkin lights draped the newel post.

"Hi." Miranda greeted the middle-aged woman who appeared from the room on her right. "I'm to meet some friends here."

"Ms. McCall's group?" The blonde woman asked.

"Yes."

"Right this way. Your group is meeting in a small side room so you can have some privacy. Not," she grinned wryly, "that we're overcrowded here for lunch today. But Ms. McCall did say that privacy would be appreciated."

The woman led Miranda through a large dining room on their right to a smaller room beyond. Only three of the eight chairs that flanked the long refectory table were occupied. A warm fire glowed from a small corner fireplace, and lace curtains hung from the two windows. An oddly genteel place, Miranda mused, for a discussion such as the one they were about to have.

"Sorry I'm a little late," she apologized as she removed her jacket. She draped it over the chair next to that of the only other woman in the room and sat down.

"You're right on time. We were just sitting here, enjoying the atmosphere before we have to get down to business," Anne Marie told her. "Besides, we still have one yet to arrive, so let me pour you a cup of this excellent coffee"-she did so as she spoke-"and you can just have a minute or two to relax."

"Evan, it's good to see you again." Miranda sat and accepted the cup Anne Marie offered her.

"Always a pleasure." Evan Crosby, a detective from nearby Avon County with whom Miranda had worked on several cases over the past year, greeted her with a smile.

"And Jared, I'm guessing you're the man in charge here today?" Miranda leaned forward to address the man on Evan's left.

"Just standing in for John." Jared Slater sipped at his coffee. "He had a previous commitment. Since Philly is the closest field office, I got the call."

"I spoke with John briefly yesterday." Miranda's eyes met Evan's from across the table. "He mentioned that an old friend of ours is no longer a guest of the commonwealth."

"Footloose and fancy free, as of Monday." Evan nodded.

"How'd he get out so soon?" Miranda frowned.

"First offense plus good behavior equals a light sentence. Eight months in the county prison, three years probation."

"And he is where now?"

"In a trailer park about four miles from here."

"Really?" She mulled this over. "Explains why we're meeting in beautiful downtown Fleming."

"Never could put a thing past you, Cahill."

Miranda's cup froze momentarily midway between her mouth and the saucer. She'd know that voice anywhere.

s.h.i.t.

"h.e.l.lo, Will," she said to the newcomer without looking up. "I wasn't aware you'd be in on this powwow."

"We've invited Will to join us because of his computer skills as well as his insightful investigative ability," Jared explained.

"My charm, wit, and dashing personality had nothing to do with it." Will Fletcher took the seat next to Evan, seemingly oblivious to the flash of annoyance that crossed Miranda's face.

"Aren't you lucky to have those computer skills to fall back on," she murmured.

"How about if we get Mrs. Duffy back and put in our order for lunch so we can get started." Jared went off in search of the owner.

"You're looking well, Cahill." Will faced Miranda from the opposite side of the table.

"Thank you." She chose not to return the compliment, though he did, in fact, look pretty good. He always did. Dark hair, dark eyes. Great body.

Forget it, she cautioned herself. That game has been played out.

"I can take your orders if you're ready." The blonde woman Miranda met out front had followed Jared back into the narrow room.

"Let's make this quick." Jared trailed after her. "We have a lot to cover today."

Orders were hastily placed, gla.s.ses of water replenished by a young man wearing a white b.u.t.toned- down shirt and khakis, and the door separating the small dining room from the larger one was pulled partially closed.

"Alrighty, then, folks." Jared removed a folder from the briefcase that rested on the vacant chair next to the one in which he sat. "Time to get down to business. If I recall correctly, everyone here-except for Agent Fletcher and me-has had some contact-direct or indirect-with our subject, Archer Lowell."

Anne Marie, Evan, and Miranda all nodded.

"Archer Lowell, age twenty years, ten months, first child and only son of Lionel and Sissy Lowell. Father left home when the boy was three. Graduated from Fleming Regional High in 2001, ranked three hundred twenty out of three hundred seventy-three students. Worked as a driver for All-County Auctions from June of 2001, until he was arrested for stalking and a.s.saulting Amanda Crosby in 2002." Jared looked up from the sheet of paper that lay before him on the table. "Your sister, Detective."

"Correct." Evan's jaw tightened.

"He entered a plea, accepted a reduced sentence at the strong urging of his lawyer." Jared folded the sheet of paper neatly in half. "So much for past history."

"So what's he done since he's been released?" Will asked.

"Nothing yet. At least, nothing that we know of," Jared said.

"It's what he's expected to do that's the problem," Miranda told him.

"What's he expected to do?" Will frowned.

"Murder three people," Anne Marie replied.