A Father's Quest (15 page)

Mama would be proud of her.

“So, Ms. Remy Bouchard of Baylorville, Louisiana, what do you do for a living?”

They’d reached the walkway where sand met sidewalk. A conveniently placed bench allowed her the chance to relace her sandals. “Well, I’m between jobs at the moment. In addition to my teaching degree, I have a minor in human services. I thought I might make a good headhunter—using my ability of reading people to find the right person for the right job.”

“That makes sense. How come you’re not working for some big company?”

She shuddered. “Do you have any idea what a jungle business can be? Too many people want too much without really doing the work.” She looked up and caught him staring at the neckline of her dress. She was glad now she’d brought her white dress. Not only did it pack well, it was made of a soft jersey that clung to her rounded parts in a very flattering way. “So, I took a job in geriatric care, instead.”

“You opted out of the jungle in favor of a more serene environment.”

She stood. “Serene? Is that code for boring? Because if that’s what you think, then you’ve never spent any time with old people. The ones who still have their wits about them are some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

“I didn’t mean to sound judgmental. I was picturing the work as less competitive, not a snooze-fest.”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t be the first to accuse me of hiding out from life. My older sisters constantly email me articles about how to meet eligible men. Unfortunately, the dating pool at ShadyBrook is seniors only.” She grinned. “Not that the place isn’t rife with romance, but I’m not part of it.”

He pointed to his eyes. “Those old men need glasses.”

She pretended to blink coquettishly. “Why, don’t you say the sweetest things,” she said, laying on the drawl. “I do believe you have intentions of the lascivious kind in mind.”

They’d reached the door of their room and in the shadow of a huge, flowering bush, he turned, trapping her between his arms. “If you mean that in a good way, then, yes, I do. Most lascivious indeed.”

To prove it, he kissed her, full on the mouth in that ravishing way she once loved—still loved. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with all the passion she’d stored up over the years.

A sudden and loud applause from the nearby bar where Remy procured her delicious cocktail that afternoon made her shrink back in embarrassment. “That’s not for us—the band’s starting up,” he told her. “Come, my love. Let’s check out the privacy of our room.”

Not an appropriate endearment for a one-night stand, but she didn’t scold him. Even if this affair—for want of a better word—could go no further, she planned to make the most of her opportunity.

“That’s a pretty serious frown on your face. You’re not facing a firing squad, I promise. And if you want to call this off, just say the word.”

She took the key card from his fingers and ran it through the electronic lock. “The only word I plan to say is ‘Yes, yes, yes,’” she said, putting a little
When Harry Met Sally
urgency in her tone.

He followed her into the room. She sat on the bed to remove her shoes. She hiked up her hemline a few inches and crossed one leg over the other. “So where’s that bag with the condoms?”

He looked at the ceiling, a bemused grin on his face. “If you had any idea how close I came to throwing them away…” He walked to his suitcase and unzipped it. “I know how this looks, but I really didn’t plan…”

Remy laughed to let him off the hook. “Don’t worry. I’m not appalled. And if it makes you feel any better, I have some in my cosmetics bag.”

His jaw dropped. “No way.”

“Way. Jess and I made a pact when we moved to Nashville that we’d always carry ECs—emergency condoms.”

He tossed the box on the bed, shaking his head. “You two always did speak your own language.”

She walked to him and casually brushed back a lock of his hair. Then leaned in and kissed him. Slow and methodically, so she’d be able to remember every moment later on.

He pulled her closer, linking his hands across the base of her tailbone. “Do you know what I remember most about kissing you? Your crooked tooth.”

She pulled back slightly to run her tongue across her eyetooth, which sat slightly off center. “Why?”

“Because even though you looked perfect to everyone else, you had one tiny little flaw that only I knew about.”

His confession warmed her. Well, actually, it did more than warm. Or maybe that spark of heat ignited when he tightened his arms around her and buried his face between her breasts.

She rubbed her cheek across the top of his head and closed her eyes with a sigh. There was no denying how right this felt—even after so many years of believing it was wrong.

“I put on a few pounds since high school,” she warned, reaching behind her to unzip the fitted bodice of her dress.

“I lost ten pounds in Iraq.”

“Braggart.”

“No. I simply meant we’re not the same people we were fifteen years ago. Living in this crazy world has changed us. I’m not expecting you to be the same Remy, and I don’t want you to be disappointed, because I sure as hell am not eighteen.”

She slipped out of her dress, letting it drop to the floor. She’d packed her nicest undies and matching bra. She felt pretty, sexy and so nervous she thought she might throw up. Until she looked in his eyes and saw Jonas. The old Jonas. The boy she’d loved forever.

The lines around his eyes softened; his smile was boyish and filled with glee—as if he’d rubbed a lamp and she was his genie about to grant his most heartfelt wish.

She unsnapped her front-closing bra and tossed it aside. She knew she looked pretty good. Not as fit and trim as Jessie, but she’d always had more curves than her twin.
Does my tan line look too obvious?
she wondered, glancing down.

Jonas stepped closer and caught her chin in his fingers, urging her face upward. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Remy Bouchard. I can’t believe you’re here. With me. I swear, I must be dreaming. Maybe those pain pills I took had a hallucinogenic agent in them.”

She placed his hand on her breast, molding his fingers to her warm flesh. “You’re not hallucinating, Jonas. I’m real. I’m here. And we’re going to live this dream together.”

He undressed with speed and surprising grace, despite her mostly inept attempts to help. She was so past any ability to fake coolness. She was excited, happy, giddy and a bit scared. Not of what would happen later. No, she was afraid she’d built this up in her mind to something so big, so perfect no man could possibly meet her expectations.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I need to warn you, Remy. I haven’t been with a woman in a long time. And, even though I’ve made love to you a million or so times in my mind, there’s a good chance I’ll blow it this time.”

She plastered herself against his naked body, wrapping her arms tight across his back. “No,” she said, rubbing her cheek flat against the finely toned muscles of his chest. “This is too right to go wrong. There’s no performance review, I promise. Just love me, Jonas. Now. Please.”

That one plea proved a trigger. He swept her into his arms and turned to lower her carefully to the bed. He kissed her from each extremity inward, fingertips to breasts, toes to her aching, heated core. She limited her attention to his skin, licking the wonderful curve of his collarbone, nipping and teasing each taut little nipple. She loved the taste of him, salty and slightly spicy. She couldn’t explain it, but her memory said, “Yes. This is your Jonas.”

“Kiss me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough.

She opened her mouth to him the same moment his fingers found her central core. He swallowed her moan of need and desire. They let their tongues wrangle, revealing the old friends they were, remembering and at the same time forging new memories.

“Now, please, Jonas. Now,” she whispered, ready—oh, so ready—to climb to the next plane of pleasure.

It took him a moment to locate and open the condom he’d tossed on the bed. But she used the time to touch the part of him that would soon be inside her. She’d never been quite this bold in high school. A few tentative caresses in the backseat of his car. Enough to form an image in her mind. An image that didn’t do justice to the body she now held and stroked.

“Damn, that feels good,” he said with a gravelly groan. “Your touch is so you. But any more and I’m not going to get us where we need to go.”

She dropped back to the pillow and watched as he prepared. This was it. The moment she’d waited half her life for. When he slipped between her legs, she closed her eyes to savor every wonderful sensation. They fit together like two halves of a whole.

And when he moved, that missing piece—the part that never seemed quite right with some other man—fell into place. Or rather, rose to the occasion, pulsing with life and heat and a power that took her straight out of her mind and into a level of awareness she never knew existed.

Oh. Of course. This is it.

And when Jonas joined her in that unique and wonderful space a moment later, collapsing into her arms with a cry of something male and real, it was all she could do to keep from saying the one thing that would ruin everything.
I love you, Jonas.

Now, he’d made the biggest reconnection of his life. The girl who not only got away, but was driven away by a lie. That both their mothers were to blame for this lie did little to ease his anger and hurt. He’d loved Remy with every ounce of his teenage body and mind.

And now she was here. In this bed. Beside him. She was still beautiful, still sweet, but with a new and surprising dose of her sister’s mouth and backbone.

He could imagine what their first time would have been like if they’d “gone all the way” in high school. Fast, for sure. Sweaty and cramped considering the lack of space in the back of his car. Nervous and worried about being found out or getting pregnant. An embarrassment of youthful trial and error ending with a big bang for him and an “Isthatallthereis?” for her.

But the one thing that hadn’t changed was how he felt about her. He still loved her. He probably always would.

A fact that made this night all the more poignant. It was their one and only. Birdie would need him when she got back, and who knew what would happen with Cheryl? Any way he peered into the dark crystal ball of the future, he couldn’t see even a hint of personal fulfillment.

He rolled over and sat up, the covers bunching around his waist. He’d done as the P.I. instructed—he’d taken the night off and recharged his batteries. With Remy’s help. Had he used her? Again? He didn’t want to think about that.

He started to stand but a warm hand laid flat against the middle of his back stopped him. “No. Stay.”

He turned and nuzzled her cheek, soaking up the scent of her. His love. “I need to go over those files Leonard sent. There might be a clue or two I missed. The man has resources a small-time insurance investigator like me can only dream about.”

Dream.
The word made him shiver. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

He pulled on his sweatpants and grabbed his computer bag. As quietly as possible, he heated up a cup of instant coffee in the microwave, then set up an impromptu desk at the glass-top table in the living area. His plan was to cross-reference his facts—and assumptions—about the GoodFriends with Leonard’s findings. Anything that didn’t jibe was a red flag worthy of a follow-up call.

He stumbled across the first such situation a few minutes later. “How did I miss that?” he muttered under his breath.

He re-read the police report from the first interview with the woman who escaped from the GoodFriends. A name he’d never seen in this context seemed to jump off the page straight into his brain.

No. It wasn’t possible, he thought. A bizarre coincidence, maybe? But he’d been in the insurance business too long to believe in coincidences of this magnitude.

He made several notes then continued reading, but his inner investigator hummed with curiosity and he couldn’t let go of the idea that what he’d circled wasn’t a mistake. Remy’s laptop was resting on the sofa a few feet away. He debated the ethics of snooping without permission for about a minute. He’d broken half a dozen laws and more than a few moral codes since this investigation began. What was one more? Besides, Remy would be the first to offer any help if he asked her. Which he couldn’t do because he needed her to dream.

So, what you’re saying,
his conscience griped,
is
you’ve figured out how to use her two ways—three, if you count sex.

He snatched the computer and opened it, praying the files weren’t password protected. They weren’t. He clicked on her email icon and a minute later had his hands on the file Jessie’s future husband had sent.

He skimmed the page until he found what he wanted. A date of birth. A date that matched the one on the GoodFriends’s website.

“Interesting.” But he didn’t see how the fact that Brother Thom changed his name had any bearing on his case. Unless he could find out why a guy who followed in his late father’s well-established footsteps would want—or, perhaps, need—to distance himself so irrevocably.

He returned to his laptop. He’d give the name to Leonard in the morning to do a thorough background search. In the meantime, he decided to check his company’s database to see if anything popped up. A recent claim? Any sort of anomaly associated with either of the guy’s names.

He typed in the URL for his company’s mainframe computer in Memphis and, when prompted, supplied a password he wasn’t authorized to have. He prayed the code hadn’t changed since the last time he hacked his way in.

Ten seconds never seemed so long, but finally the menu he was looking for popped up on the screen. His company had an extensive record of criminals and repeat offenders—people who had made a habit of trying to cheat insurance companies out of money that wasn’t due them. In addition to that list, there was a collateral file. Names of everyone who ever settled a claim or accepted a check for a death benefit.

He quickly set up the parameters of his search and hit Enter. The results were instantaneous. He sat back as if hit solidly in the chest by an iron fist. The coffee he’d drank a few minutes earlier nearly made a return trip up his throat.

In the past eighteen years, Jonas’s company had written six checks to the good reverend. Six deaths. A sad coincidence? Not very damn likely.

Brother Thom was more than just an opportunistic evangelist who traded on people’s faith, fears and generosity to make a living. Somehow he’d contrived a way to supplement his income by convincing members of his congregation to take out insurance policies that named Brother Thom as the sole beneficiary.

Jonas had no problem seeing how such a heinous crime could take place. A respected and revered spiritual guide, the man had easy access to the disenfranchised, the easily swayed. Society’s lost and most vulnerable members who didn’t have close friends or family to look after them.

Once indoctrinated into the cult, the chosen soul would be convinced to leave all their worldly possessions—including a life-insurance policy the church would pay for—to help the good work continue after he or she was gone. The chosen would be an honored guest of the cult for a year—until the policy was vested. After that, all Brother Thom had to do was figure out a way for that member to die—an accident, suicide, a health condition in keeping with the person’s age or physical problems.

Jonas didn’t have access to cause of death. But he knew his suspicions had merit. Brother Thom was a murderer at the very least, and possibly, a serial killer.

I wonder if the bastard calls each death “divine intervention.”

Jonas surveyed what he’d found. Circumstantial evidence spread over several states. Murder would be difficult to prove without exhuming a body. If there were any bodies left. The man was probably smart enough to pay for his victims’ cremations.

Jonas tried not to let his imagination probe too far into Brother Thom’s psyche. The man might have gotten caught up in an easy way to make money. Wrong. Vile. Reprehensible. That didn’t mean he was serial killer, per se. The kind who thrived on human sacrifice. Who got off on murder. It was one thing to be broke and make a really horrible choice; it was another to lust for blood.

Jonas didn’t see any way of convincing a D.A. in one of the cases to go hunting for foul play. Nor did he care at the moment. His main concern was whether or not Brother Thom was poised to cash in on Cheryl’s accidental death.

He quickly typed in his ex-wife’s name. Nothing. There was no record of a life-insurance policy being issued in Cheryl’s name. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she wasn’t a target. There were hundreds, possibly thousands, of insurance companies worldwide that sold life-insurance polices. That this asshole used Jonas’s company more than once seemed sloppy. Although, Jonas had to admit, no red flag had surfaced to date. The guy was undoubtedly counting on a big company being too large to notice a few relatively small payouts.

He didn’t have a printer handy, so he picked up his pen and quickly made a list of the payouts his company had made to Brother Thom, starting at the first check he’d received twenty years earlier. Forty thousand dollars for the loss of his father, Reverend Thomas Goodson, Sr.

Jonas stared at the name with a heavy heart. If Jonas’s mother was right, he was looking at the name of Remy’s birth father. Which meant the man behind this cult, Brother Thom, aka Thomas Goodson, Jr., was Remy’s real half brother.

Bizarre. Incredible. Freaking messed up, no matter how you tried to spin it.

He had no idea how to break this news to her.

He started to turn off his computer but paused, his gaze falling on the date of Brother Thom’s last claim. Four years earlier. He did a quick calculation. The woman who escaped from the GoodFriends claimed her life had been in danger. She’d just celebrated her first anniversary with the group. If she’d been Brother Thom’s next victim, that might explain the group’s current lack of funds.

A thought hit him. Cheryl wasn’t the only one who joined the cult a few months after Jonas left the country. He frantically typed in another name: Brigitte Leann Galloway.

The search result flashed on the screen. Pain as swift and intense as a bullet strike ricocheted through his body. “No. God, no.”

He pawed through the papers he’d printed from the GoodFriends’s website until he found a head shot of Brother Thom. “You hurt her, you bastard, and I will kill you. You have my word.”

Before he could decide what to do—or even get his head back in the game and out of the deep pit of terror—his phone rang. It wasn’t quite 5:00 a.m. “Hello.”

He hadn’t had time to check the caller I.D. but he knew who it was.

“It’s Leonard Franey. I think I’ve found your cult. By
found,
I mean a general location based on recent credit-card sales to one of the core members. One Reuben G. Baker.”

“Where?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“You’ve found something, haven’t you?” Leonard deflected the conversation to Jonas.

“Yes. I’ll tell you after you bring me up to date. Did your associate talk to the woman who ran away from the cult?”

Jonas looked toward the kitchenette and wasn’t surprised to see Remy standing there in the pretty yellow cover-up she’d worn on the beach. Her hair was a sexy, messy tumble and she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes like a child.

“I’ll make coffee,” she whispered.

“He did. She confirmed—”

“Excuse me, Leonard. Remy just came into the room. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”

“Sure. No problem. Good morning, Remy.”

“Hi, Leonard,” she called out. “You’re an early bird.”

“Very true. Now, as I was saying, the gal who got away was very happy to talk about these people. She was madly in love with the good reverend—even had a kid with him. Apparently the boy died in an accident. I haven’t been able to track down a police report, but she pointed the finger at the whole lot. Even accounting for bias, she gave us a lot of inside information that seems valid.

“For instance, she said the operation has been going downhill. Lower attendance means fewer donations. The faithful have been dropping like flies, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?” Jonas asked sharply. Dead flies? And what kind of accident was to blame for a young child’s death?

“Attrition. Infighting. Petty politics that caused a serious division. Apparently, they bought a big hunk of swampland for more than it was worth and when the economy tanked, they couldn’t afford to pay the taxes, much less make the necessary improvements to provide for a growing community.”

“So, people dropped out.”

“Right. And, the remaining followers went back to traveling again, doing the one-night or weekend tent revivals to raise money. They never stay in one place very long. A day or two at most, usually long enough fill up their vehicles with gas and hit the road again.”

“How many are with him, now?”

“When she left the group, they were down to three men, counting Brother Thom, and six women—all mothers with young children. The other men appear to be drivers. There’s the reverend’s high-end motor home, along with a truck and fifth-wheel combination. They pitch a couple of tents when they stop.

“The drivers park the campers then head off and do advance work for the gospel meetings. You know, put up flyers and hand out free tickets.”

Jonas didn’t want to bring up his unproven theory—not with Remy listening, so he kept his questions general. “Which vehicle do Cheryl and Birdie travel in?” The farther away from Brother Thom, the better.

“I can’t say. It would appear the social dynamics are in a constant state of flux. Some nights Brother Thom invites one lady to stay with him, some nights another. I don’t know where your ex-wife falls in the hierarchy.”

Jonas looked at Remy who reappeared, a mug in her hand. She motioned to it, asking if he wanted one. He shook his head.

“We do have one piece of good news,” Franey said. “One of my researchers found a video posted by someone with a screen name of JCSBaby. Apparently this person is a loyal fan of the GoodFriends. I’ve sent you the link. There’s a little girl who looks like your daughter dancing with the other children. We think it was taken about two months ago.”