Fight Dirty (9 page)

CHAPTER 16

A
s angry as Jenna was, it wasn’t difficult to play the sullen, frumpy wife as Greene drove them out to ReNew. She hated changing plans so abruptly, hated even more the reason why: Andr
e’s
so-called gut feeling.

She didn’t even have the satisfaction of blaming it on Morgan. Andre had wanted to cancel the undercover op before she told him the truth about Morgan. He would come around to her way of thinking, she was certain, but she couldn’t let their clients see his discomfort, so sh
e’d
arranged this field trip to buy some time. And hopefully regain Green
e’s
confidence. Who knew, maybe she could ferret out some overlooked piece of intel that unraveled the entire ReNew setup?

The thought cheered her a bit. The Greene Energy headquarters were between her office and ReNew, so she and Greene had driven there in separate vehicles and sh
e’d
left her Tahoe behind since his Lexus SUV fit their cover story better. It wasn’t often that she had the opportunity to sit doing nothing in the passenger seat, staring at the mindless scenery. She hated it. Hills and cows and trees filled the horizon in every direction. Barely any homes—more barns than houses, in fact. How did people live like this? So out of touch with civilization?

“I’m not paying extra for this little field trip, if tha
t’s
your game,” Greene said, his first words since the
y’d
left the office.

Jenna flipped down the sun visor and adjusted the scarf sh
e’d
tied around her head, hiding her red hair as much as possible. She wiped off most of her makeup as well, smudging what was left to make her appear a bit haggard. Even her own mother wouldn’t recognize her, she thought with satisfaction. Anyway, she intended to let Greene take the spotlight. Her role was the mousy partner, watching from the shadows.

“We don’t intend on charging you extra.” It wasn’t about the money, she knew. It was about her usurping his control. From the start, Greene had wanted to drive this investigation at his pace and in his direction. Now he was upset his plans had hit a bump in the road.

Maybe it was for the best. After all, h
e’d
come to her for her expertise. If she was going to win his trust enough to gain the Greene Energy corporate contract, she needed him to respect her and accept her authority. Ruffling feathers and delivering the goods would both be required.

“What do you intend?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

“I intend on evaluating the situation and providing you with the best plan of action to achieve your goals. You want to bring ReNew down, this is the first step.”

He frowned, staring out through the windshield. “I still want the girl to go in. I need to know what my daughter went through. What those bastards did to her.”

“We can definitely discuss that option.” Maybe it wasn’t taking down ReNew that he wanted so much as a reason to blame them—instead of his and Care
n’s
inept parenting—for BreeAnn
a’s
death. If so, sending Morgan in and recording her experiences might achieve that.

Or it could result in hours of boring footage that wouldn’t answer any of the Greenes’ needs. Maybe Andre was right; she should meet the people involved and evaluate ReNew for herself before risking sending Morgan inside.

They reached a single-story building surrounded by a tall fence. Greene slowed, then pulled into the gravel drive, stopping before a gate and giving his fake name into the intercom. “James Renshaw and wife to see Reverend Benjamin. We have an appointment for ten o’clock.”

There was a pause before a ma
n’s
voice answered. “Please wait.”

Greene sat, not fidgeting. Now that they were here, he seemed more relaxed.
A good thing
, Jenna thought. Less likely to say something stupid and blow their cover. A car, a late-model Cadillac ATS, approached them from the school. The gate slid open, and it pulled up alongside.

The driver, a man in his midtwenties wearing a navy-blue suit with a crisp white shirt and conservative tie, rolled down his window and gestured for Greene to do the same. “I’m Sean Chapman, the director of the ReNew Treatment Center. Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw. If you follow me, I’ll take you to the good Reverend Doctor.”

“No. We were told to meet him here. So we could see the facility for ourselves. We were promised a tour,” Greene protested. Jenna touched his arm in a calming, wifely manner, her gaze directed downward.

Chapman didn’t rattle, despite Green
e’s
bluster. “Of course. We’ll answer all your questions and concerns. But the good Reverend Doctor was detained at the church, and he would very much like to meet you in person. When he heard about your daughte
r’s
circumstances, he felt your case warranted his personal attention.”

He made it sound as if Reverend Benjamin was granting them a papal boon.
Guess they liked “Rensha
w’s
” credit report
, Jenna thought with satisfaction. If ReNew was more about profit and less about saving souls, sh
e’d
created a fake persona the
y’d
find irresistible.

“I
t’s
okay, honey,” she said, adding a hint of cower to her tone. “Please, maybe he can help.”

“Not like anything else we’ve tried has,” Greene said, playing along. He nodded to Chapman, who drove past, then reversed the Lexus to follow.

They returned to the highway and drove west into a forested area. “If we don’t get a look inside,” Greene muttered, “this entire trip will be a waste of my time.”

His time, not Jenn
a’s
, she noted. “Don’t you want to meet the man you hold responsible for your daughte
r’s
death?”

That earned her a grunt. The trees gave way to allow room for a large sign with a brightly colored sunrise logo, inviting all to turn right to “ReNew” their souls. Chapman took the turn, and they followed.

This two-lane drive was well maintained as it curved through the forest. Then, at the top of a hill, the trees ended and a spacious meadow was revealed. At the center was a large white building. Its shape, with a sloped metal roof, resembled the barns the
y’d
passed on the highway more than a church, but at the center of the roof was a wide steeple with a tall cross on top of it, reaching to the sky.

Despite the fact that it was the middle of a weekday, there were several cars in the parking lot, but Chapman didn’t bother with it. He led them up the circular drive and parked directly in front of the main entrance. Greene parked as well and exited the SUV. It was Chapman who came and opened Jenn
a’s
door for her and helped her down from her seat.

“Welcome to ReNew,” he said, waving his arm as if unveiling a work of art. “We know i
t’s
not as grand as other religions’ cathedrals, but we enjoy the quiet simplicity of it.”

He ran up the steps and across the porch to swing one of the wide doors open for them. “Besides,” he continued with a grin as they crossed over the threshold, “i
t’s
paid for. Not many churches around here can say that.”

Inside they were greeted by the sweet, if off-key, tones of a childre
n’s
choir rehearsing. The cynic in Jenna wondered if the performance had been staged for their benefit.

“This is our worship hall,” Chapman told them as they entered a wide open space surrounded on all sides with large windows. No stained glass or fancy iconography. Just whitewashed walls and plain windows except for one large arched window at the far end that featured the ReNew sunrise logo. Below it was a simple wooden cross suspended above a raised stage.

No pews, instead there were plain wooden chairs—very much like Jenn
a’s
own kitchen chairs—arranged in a semicircle around the stage. Some of them had been pulled to the corner where the children sang to accommodate several beaming mothers.

“Our services can be rather informal,” Chapman explained. “After the good Reverend Doctor concludes his instruction and all testimony has been heard, we often break up in smaller groups to discuss the Bible passages. It makes worship become a true community event instead of an empty ritual.”

A thin blonde woman appeared from a door behind the stage and hurried to greet them. She wore a gossamer-thin dress that reached her ankles, and Jenna wondered that she wasn’t freezing—it was only fifty degrees outside, and the church felt drafty and chilly.

“This is Deidre, our student leader.” Chapman made introductions as Deidre arrived, her cheeks flushed and appearing a bit out of breath. She ducked her head and made a tiny movement that was almost but not quite a curtsy.

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Mr. Renshaw, Mrs. Renshaw,” she said. “Your daughter isn’t with you?” She sounded disappointed, but Greene took it as a challenge.

“No,” he snapped. “Ther
e’s
no way in hell
I’d
trust my only child to total strangers.”

Jenna placed her hand on his arm, a subtle warning. “I
t’s
my fault,” she explained. “I was so desperate. She was so out of control yesterday that when I called, I didn’t think we could wait.”

“Is she okay?” Deidre asked, concern filling her voice. “So many of these children, when they feel out of control—”

“Sh
e’s
fine,” Greene said.

“We can’t trust her in school,” Jenna put in. “But my mother is watching her today.” She sighed dramatically. “Morgan is too much for any of us to handle. We hope your program—”

“Le
t’s
not keep the good Reverend Doctor waiting,” Chapman said, steering them down the aisle to the door Deidre had come through. “He can answer all of your concerns, I’m sure.”

They skirted the stage and came to a simple whitewashed door. Chapman knocked and opened it. “The Renshaws,” he announced them. He positioned his body so that he and Greene entered first. Jenna wondered if it was intentional, placing the men before the women. Either way, it suited her plans. She hoped to keep the focus on Greene, so she could observe without notice.

She entered the room—an office, furnished with a large wooden desk, nothing fancy or expensive, several mismatched chairs, and bookshelves overflowing with religious texts. The closest thing to a vanity wall were the framed photos of the Reverend surrounded by smiling parishioners of all ages, digging in a community garden, painting a mural with children, earnestly discussing a Bible passage with a group of teens.

The photos were nothing compared to the man who rose from his chair behind the desk to greet them. He wasn’t tall or broad-shouldered, yet he dominated the space, commanding attention as he beamed at them, the light from the window behind him making his salt-and-pepper hair gleam. He reached out a hand to Greene, shook it, and nodded to the chairs. Greene took the one in front while Chapman held the chair behind it for Jenna.

She sank in it, unable to tear her gaze away from Reverend Benjamin. She found herself leaning forward, not wanting to miss a word or gesture he made. It was a familiar feeling, one that sh
e’d
missed and yearned for for years—ever since her grandfather, the Judge, died.

H
e’d
been the center of her universe as a child—she lived to please him, to earn the slightest glance or smile. Reverend Benjamin looked nothing like Jenn
a’s
grandfather, but she couldn’t fight the wave of emotion that overwhelmed her. Being in his presence made her want to do more than please him—just like with her grandfather, she felt herself wishing h
e’d
look at her, favor her with a request, give her the chance to serve him, to earn his praise.

Charismatic
, that was the word people used to describe her grandfather.
Men wanted to be him; women wanted to be with him
, sh
e’d
once heard her mother say.

The Reverend remained standing, relaxed, arms open in greeting. Without speaking a word, he dwarfed Greene, conquering the younger ma
n’s
innate alpha male nature and establishing himself as the dominate force. She glanced at Greene, expecting him to be bristling with challenge. Instead he leaned forward in his chair, chin tilted down, waiting for the Reveren
d’s
lead.

Jenna sucked in her breath, long-buried memories snaring her like weeds whose roots survived a blaze. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She pushed back in her chair, crossing her arms and legs. The feelings she had for her grandfather, the things sh
e’d
done to earn his love, sh
e’d
fought long and hard to keep those buried, a secret from everyone—especially herself.

The Reverend sensed her vulnerability. And her shame, she was sure. Because he turned his attention away from Greene to focus on Jenna. Then he smiled.

“Mrs. Renshaw,” he said, his voice a sinuous chord that echoed throughout her body. “I’m so glad you came to us. I read the information you gave Director Chapman, and I truly believe we can help your child. Trust her with me, and she’ll leave here with her spirit ReNewed.”

Then he smiled, and it was as if the room filled with warm sunshine. Jenn
a’s
posture relaxed, almost against her will. “I promise you, I will save your little girl.”

CHAPTER 17

A
t first Morgan had been furious to return from her discussion with Andre to find that Jenna had absconded with Greene, leaving her to escort Caren home.
Better that than being stuck in the office with Andre
, she thought as she gathered Care
n’s
coat and purse—the woman seemed incapable of even these simple tasks. Morgan decided it was a good thing Caren hadn’t driven herself to the office as she led her to Morga
n’s
borrowed Audi.

“I’m glad h
e’s
going out there himself,” Caren murmured as Morgan maneuvered them through the city traffic. “He’ll see that I made the right decision. It wasn’t my fault.”

Morgan rolled her eyes at Care
n’s
recurring theme and changed the subject to something she actually cared about. “I saw Bre
e’s
piano. She must have been very talented.”

Caren shrugged. “Her teachers thought so. Of course, they also insisted that she wasn’t fulfilling her promise.” She turned to face Morgan. “Tha
t’s
what private instructors being paid two hundred dollars an hour say when they want to keep their job but also want you to know a child is too lazy to ever improve.”

Lazy? Morgan thought of all the carefully composed scores and notations that filled the wall of Bre
e’s
music room. “Maybe she wasn’t lazy. Maybe there are limits to talent. Not everyone can be a genius.”

“Tell that to my husband. He bootstrapped his way up from the West Virginia coal mines, digging coal by hand at times. First in his family to go to college and own his own home. He doesn’t believe in limits.”

Sounded like Greene. No wonder the man acted as if he was the sun and the rest of the world revolved around him.

They left the city and traffic thinned. A short time later, Morgan pulled up in front of the Greenes’ mansion. The house looked even less welcoming now than it had last night, despite the clear skies surrounding it.

She walked Caren up the steps. “Won’t you come inside?” Caren asked as she opened the front door.

Morgan took a step back as if the oppressive atmosphere sh
e’d
felt last night was trying to force her away. “I really should be getting back,” she lied.

Care
n’s
balance wavered, and Morgan wondered, not for the first time, if she was already drunk. Or popping pills. Maybe both. Not even ten in the morning and the woman could barely walk. She clung to the heavy brass doorknob and turned to face Morgan.

“Please, I don’t want to be alone.” She squinted at Morgan, struggling to focus. “Come inside. I’ll tell you a secret.”

Probably where she hid her liquor and pills. But Morgan played along. “What kind of secret?”

Caren smiled and pulled Morgan over the threshold, closing the door and leaning against it as if preventing Morga
n’s
escape. “A secret about BreeAnna.” Her voice echoed through the high ceilinged foyer, and she put a finger to her lips. “Follow me.”

She staggered up the stairs, Morgan following, one hand braced against Care
n’s
back to keep her from falling. “What about BreeAnna?”

Caren said nothing until they were inside her suite of rooms. She dropped her coat and purse to the floor, kicking them to one side, then collapsed onto a love seat. The entire room was filled with skinny French furniture, pieces that tried to appear like antiques but Morgan could tell they weren’t. Froufrou wallpaper and drapes, crystal vases with fake flowers, and other knickknacks designed to evoke a feeling of a cultured world traveler.

She almost snorted in derision at the contrast between the studied decor and the woman slumped on the love seat, eyes closed. Morgan was about to leave, thinking Caren had fallen asleep, when the older woman spoke.

“It was his idea to bring her home,” she said in a singsong, her words slurred. “He blamed me for sending her. Said I needed to control her. As if.” She opened her eyes and made a grab for Morgan, missing by inches. “I could never control her. No one could. He made her come home, made me bring her home.”

Morgan stopped. Listened and thought about the meaning behind Care
n’s
words. “Robert didn’t want Bree at ReNew.”

Caren shook her head vigorously. “No. No. No. He did not. He. Wanted. Her. Home. ASAP
.
” She punched the air with her index finger. “But her
e’s
the secret. Not even Robert knows.”

She drifted into silence, eyes closing once more. Morgan knelt beside her, gripping her hand. “What didn’t you tell Robert, Caren? Wha
t’s
the secret?”

She squeezed her eyes tighter, as if denying Morga
n’s
presence. Morgan changed her tone and caressed Care
n’s
forehead.

“I
t’s
okay,” she crooned. “You can tell me. You’ll feel so much better. Tell me, Caren.”

“I
t’s
all my fault. All my fault,” Caren said, eyes still closed tight.

Morgan kept soothing the older woma
n’s
forehead, stroking her hair. Waiting. She was afraid Caren would drift asleep before saying anything more, but finally her eyes fluttered open.

“I
t’s
all my fault. I made her come home. Because tha
t’s
what Robert wanted. And Robert always gets what he wants. Always.” A strangled sob choked her to silence. She swallowed hard and continued, “BreeAnn
a’s
dead because I made her come home. She didn’t want to come. She wanted to stay. There. At that awful place.”

“Did Bree say that?” Who would want to stay locked up rather than return to freedom? Morgan couldn’t even imagine it. Maybe ReNew was a cult, had brainwashed her.

“No. Bree didn’t say a word. Not to me. Not when I came for her, not on the ride home, not before she, she—” She choked up, her inhalation gurgling with tears.

“Why do you think she wanted to stay at ReNew?” Morgan asked after Caren had recovered enough to blow her nose and speak clearly.

“Horrid place. While I was waiting for them to get her, I overheard a girl in the hallway, arguing with Mr. Chapman, the director. The girl was screaming. In a rage. Said Bree had to stay, that he shouldn’t take her away. Said Bree hated me, hated her life here.”

She stared into Morga
n’s
eyes with a sudden ferocity and gripped her hands tight. “My baby girl would rather stay locked up in that hellhole than live with me. I drove her away, and when I made her come home—”

She released Morgan and collapsed back against the cushions, curling up into a fetal ball, sobbing. “All my fault. I made her come home and now sh
e’s
dead. Sh
e’s
dead. Because of me.”