Chapter Thirteen

At midnight on the dot, having caught only an hour of sleep after a breath-defying lovemaking session, Emma climbed behind the wheel of her trusty pick-up truck and began driving into the unknown. Purring loudly, Gaucho curled into a ball on Bronco’s lap, and fell asleep. Before long, his owner’s head began to nod, giving her ample privacy and the opportunity to reflect on recent events.

The sex was amazing. Ethereal, possibly supernatural. So what’s the problem? The very reason she was attracted to him should have been her first warning. Like a too stupid to live heroine in a horror movie, she’d not only gone into the house, but down into the pitch black cellar without a flashlight. The man was a loner, a trickster, an adrenaline fueled drifter whose only desire was to live on the edge. He was so used to working undercover, she wondered if any of his emotions were real. In the moonlight drenched hotel room, magic lit up every corner with love. In the front seat of a dusty old truck, however, the magic was gone, along with the irresistible combination of adrenaline, lust, and dancing with death.

The man had no clue, not a single shred of knowledge when it came to Native Americans. In her world, language, culture, history, and relationships were the glue that bound the family clan and the tribe together. He was an interloper, an outsider, uninterested in any culture outside his own—whatever the hell that was. While Bronco didn’t appear to be a misogynistic racist, he could be keeping that under wraps—along with any other antisocial tendencies not worn on his inked sleeves.

Beautiful had it all wrong. For one thing, she’d been dead over a hundred years. For another, even when she was alive, she’d been one of four wives—all sisters. Emma was not the least bit interested in playing second, third, or fourth fiddle to other women. That era was long gone. Plus, Beautiful had been a shape-shifter, which had its own set of rules. Why did Beautiful have to stick her nose into Emma’s love life, anyway? Seriously, no one else she knew in the tribe had this much interference from those who’d gone to the other camp.

Regardless of her ancestor’s opinion, Bronco was wrong for her and she knew it. The sex was great, but there was no need to go any further. She would never allow herself to be some man’s appendage. No, she was an independent woman with her own home, her own business, her own life, and her place within her tribe with all her cousins, aunts, and uncles. Just like Woman Chief, she would never give that up. As soon as this mission was over and the bad guys were caught, she was sending his adorable outsider’s ass packing. She’d be firm, polite—wait—what if he didn’t want to stay with her?

Slamming her palm on the steering wheel, she cursed herself mentally. Stupid woman. Aside from the impromptu roll in the hay, what made her think for even one nanosecond that he was that interested in her? Here she’d been thinking about how she’d give him the tip of her cowboy boot, when in fact the man was probably just going to hop on his bike and ride into the sunset—alone. Well, that made things easier, didn’t it? No need to get her tail feathers in a bunch, after all. The man had all the reliability of a coyote, a master trickster. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror, gave herself a grim smile, and nodded her head. All’s well that ends well, and soon enough, this little romance would be over and done.

A loud gasp from the passenger seat startled her. Reflexively, she jerked the wheel. The truck wobbled, and the bike jounced in the back.

“Stop!” Bronco shouted, and Gaucho growled and hissed.

Heart trip hammering in her chest, she slowed the vehicle down to ensure the bike wouldn’t launch itself out of the bed of the truck and into the cab. At last, she pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Without looking at the man beside her, she yelled, “What the hell’s going on?” When she turned the dome light on, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Sweat poured down Bronco’s face, and he shook so hard his teeth chattered. Clearly distressed, Gaucho yowled and put his paws on his partner’s shoulders. Yellow eyes like twin searchlights, the cat looked at Emma as if to say, “A little help here, please?”

Dabbing his forehead and temple with the bandana from her neck, Emma tried to assess him. Pulse bounding and strong, skin cool and clammy. Hand on his chin, she turned his head to see his eyes. Pupils dilated. “Hey, can you hear me?”

No response, just a dazed expression and glassy-eyed stare.

“We’re two hours away from the compound.” She glanced at her watch. “Bronco, what do you need me to do? Should I turn around and go back home?” Giving his chin a gentle shake, she said in a low voice, “Lover boy, I need you with me. Now.”

Bronco shook his head and wiped his face with his hands. “Things are much worse than I thought. Terrible.”

“What’s terrible? Tell me? Where did you go?” Pulling the thermos up from the floor, she poured him a half cup of the strong brew. “Drink this, then talk.”

“Dream—not a dream. Remote viewing in my sleep.” He put his hand on top of hers. “They killed people this time.”

Frozen in place, she held her breath. “Who? Where?”

“Bighorn Canyon. They were after the mustangs—found some high school kids camping. Shot their teepees up. Killed them all.” His eyes went flat. “Six kids. All Crow.”

Numb, Emma dropped the coffee cup. “My tribe. My people. My family.” Her vision blurred. “That’s where I was when Jessica was attacked by the bear—” Unlike when she went up against a bear armed with her knife, the kids didn’t stand a chance against a flying AR-15. If she had any lingering wisps of doubt about the importance of and need for this mission, they were blown out with the gulp of air she took to keep from bursting into tears.

“You don’t have to do this.” Bronco took her hand in his. “I’ll go in alone, say we had a lover’s quarrel, you were worried about not being accepted. I’ll need the truck with the weapons. Take the bike, go home. Please. We’re dealing with dangerous psychopaths. I don’t want you to get hurt. This was my mission, not yours. Go home. Your family, your community needs you. I have no family, no real friends outside of work. Like a Pony Express rider, I’m an orphan, and I’m expendable. You’re not.”

Emma shook her head. “Now, more than ever, this is my fight. I’m not going home. Remember the women warriors I told you about? If they could ride into battle against their enemies armed only with a stick and a rifle, the least I can do is to honor their memories. I have guns, knives, you, Gaucho—and the Crow Nation and the U.S. government behind me. Semper fi!” She put the truck in gear. “I’m not giving up until every last one of these bastards is in jail or dead.”

****

Bronco dared not voice what he’d seen. Past and present had blended together along with dream sharing with another person—his brother, Jack. His first emotion had been to rejoice that his fraternal twin was still alive, because where there was life, there was hope. After spending time in Jack’s dream world, seeing his brother’s past and present through his twin’s eyes, Bronco’s optimism faded to grief and fear.

Heartbroken, Jack watched his mother take his brother and drive out of the compound in her husband’s beater pickup truck, leaving him behind. Running after the truck, he screamed, “I’m telling Daddy.” Jack collapsed to his knees sobbing. A hole ripped in his heart because his other half was gone. Over time, he filled that hole with hatred and swore vengeance on his mother, brother, and any group that opposed his father’s group. Time passed, and Jack watched his father’s underlings bring a drunk and high chubby blonde, named Pam, back to the compound.

His father kept Pam as his slave, showing Jack how to treat women with his brutal and controlling behavior. He beat the woman when dinner was late, or not to his taste, when she didn’t say “Sir”—basically for any small infraction. One day, she refused to obey. He killed her.

His father found out about the CIA’s mind control experiments, MK Ultra, and used the same drug and torture techniques on volunteers in his group—including Jack. The boy almost died from an overdose of LSD. When revived he told his father he saw everything they were doing. He also told his father he traveled outside of the compound in his mind and moved objects with his thoughts. His father assumed the LSD was talking and didn’t believe him.

When Jack turned eighteen, he enlisted in the army and became an unmanned aircraft systems repairer. He left the army after he learned all he needed to know about drones. Jack became the leader of the American SS. He used slaves to build the compound. A gifted tinkerer, Jack ultimately built his own unmanned drone from parts purchased from hobby shops and electronic stores. Over time, he built bigger drones with greater remote capacity, a visual guidance system and weapons—which he controlled with his mind.

Still cold and clammy from the vision, Bronco said in a shaky voice, “The attack on the kids is his latest victory. It was a practice run against human targets. He has a fleet of drones, and he’s ready to go after a town, to begin to bring America to its knees. Not just any town, but a symbolic one—Helena, the capitol of Montana. He’s practicing for his ultimate target—Washington, D.C.”

Gaucho moaned and head-butted his partner.

One hand on the wheel, the other on Bronco’s thigh, Emma asked, “Who are you talking about? Did you see who’s in charge? Is it the guy you said saw you when you went in last?”

Sucking in a deep shuddering breath, Bronco nodded. “Yes. He was asleep, so I was able to get in under his psychic radar.”

“Who is he? What’s his name?”

“My twin brother—Jack.”

Emma hissed. “Your identical twin?”

“Fraternal. He’s fair haired, with brown eyes, like my mother.” He covered his face and shook off the last vestiges of the dream. “He’s a remote viewer, too.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She pounded the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “Could this get any worse?”

“Yes.”

Gaucho yowled.

“Tell me before I have to pull this truck over and beat it out of you.”

“He can control objects with his mind.”

“Telekinesis?” She let out a low whistle. “That would explain why the things can’t be jammed. No satellite or radio signals required. He’s the remote viewer and the remote controller.”

“Exactly.” He stroked Gaucho’s head and rubbed his ears to calm the cat—and maybe himself, if he was lucky.

“You never told me you had a brother.” She glanced at him, her eyes wary. “You said you were an orphan.”

“I thought I was. I didn’t know my twin was still alive.” He shook his head. “I—I didn’t want to tell you about my family. I have feelings for you—wanted to see where this relationship would go.”

“Really?” Her tremulous voice held a hopeful note. “I thought if we survived, you’d be on the next road out of town.”

“You read that right. That was me.” He grabbed her free hand and kissed it. “Not anymore. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m part of a huge, caring network. I never had a big family. My mother didn’t have any more children—and we were in the witness protection program. So no one in our extended family knew where we were. They were told we died at the compound, no bodies retrieved, no funerals.”

“Good God. If I didn’t have my family, every crazy one of them, I’d feel like I’d lost my arms and legs—not to mention my heart.”

“You and your family have begun to fill that hollow part of me. I hope what I’m about to tell you won’t ruin my chances with you.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He took a deep breath and told her all about his father, his job loss, his descent into hate and attraction to the survivalists in remote rural Idaho. When he described how his mother escaped after attempting to persuade Jack to come with them, he stopped. Raw with emotion, he needed to take a breath.

“That’s what you were afraid to tell me? That your father was a maniac and your mother escaped taking you with her? Your mother is a heroine. She rescued herself and you. Jack was clearly confused and didn’t understand the consequences. If she had stopped—”

“My father would have killed her,” he said in a flat voice. “He demanded blind obedience. She knew he’d not only murder her, but probably make her boys watch to ‘teach us a lesson’.”

“She did the right thing, a terrible choice, but the right decision,” Emma stated. “I’m sure it haunted her to the end of her life.”

He nodded, recalling his mother’s deathbed request. “If you ever find Jack, please tell him I’m sorry and I miss him every day. Tell him I love him.”

“It did,” he said out loud. “She married the ATFE agent who helped her escape. Special Agent Thomas Winchester adopted me, raised me as if I was his real son. I joined the ATFE as soon as I could, started as an analyst, tracking hate groups.”

“How appropriate.”

“Yes, I was highly motivated and had personal insights on the brainwashing techniques. I was an excellent computer nerd employee. When Thomas died in the line of duty, I applied to be a field agent.”

“And the biker persona?”

“They thought I was too close to the hate groups I studied, so they decided to put me undercover to get Intel on arms trafficking. I found Gaucho and discovered I had a latent talent—remote viewing. No drugs required.”

She shot him a quizzical look. “Drugs? What’s that got to do with it?”

“For my brother, everything.” Relieved to be sharing his nightmare with someone, he told her about his visions.

She blew out a long breath. “Change of plans?”

He shook his head. “No. At dawn, we knock at the front door, just as we planned. If I read the scenario correctly, they won’t bring us to him immediately. Jack has layers and layers of people between him, including slaves.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Slaves?”

“When I was an analyst, we thought it was only an urban myth. But it’s true. The American SS not only runs guns and drugs to raise money, it also traffics humans. Smugglers recruit desperate people from Asia, bring them in through Canada—some in seafood containers—then tell them the price of the trip has quadrupled. If they don’t agree to be indentured servants, paying off their huge bills, they tell them their gang will kill their family back in Asia.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She squeezed his hand. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you. You got that? One pissed off warrior woman coming up.”

“Thank you for not pushing me away. I was ashamed to tell you the truth about who I was, where I came from. It’s an ugly seam of my life, one I wish I could erase, but it’s part of me and who I am.”

Guilt, shame, and outrage battled within his chest. Guilt and shame for leaving his brother behind to the devices of his sociopath father. Outrage at being accused of abandoning his other half, the brother born two minutes before him, the one who taught him how to climb a tree, catch a frog, and cross his eyes. The brother who cried with him and bandaged his cheek when his father decided his son should learn how to spar with a knife, the real source of his scar. The brother he missed every day when he woke and when he went to bed at night. Once again, his rational brain reminded him that he had been a child of seven when they escaped from the compound. His mother had tried to save Jack, too, but the boy’s emotions were in control that day. He craved his father’s love and refused to leave. As a child, he had no control over the circumstances or the events leading up to Jack’s abandonment. But as an adult, maybe he could save Jack from his own burning rage and hatred—if it wasn’t already too late.