Dying for Love (16 page)

“Because you and your militia group were teaching boys to be guerilla soldiers,” Nick said bluntly.

Another shrug from Roper, his lips thinning into a straight line. “Soldiers, yes. Not terrorists.”

John crossed his arms. “There’s a difference with your group?”

Roper slanted a devious look toward him. “There’s a difference.”

Nick made a cynical sound. “Enlighten us.”

Roper blew air between his teeth. “Soldiers protect and defend our country. Terrorists attack, killing targeted groups and innocents to make a point.”

“And your teams were strictly trained to defend and protect?” Nick asked, a note of derision in his voice.

Roper leaned forward, the tattoo on his forearm snaking down to his wrist. “Yes.” He gestured toward the photograph of a college kid with his leg blown off, the medics working to keep him alive. “We don’t support terrorists.”

Nick traded skeptical looks with John. To hear Roper talk, you’d think he’d been doing his country a service, which meant he really believed the crap spewing from his mouth.

“How did you recruit your soldiers?”

Roper smirked. “Each member solicited his own recruits. Friends. Family. Everyone had to be read in and agree.”

“Or be brainwashed by your group.”

Roper didn’t respond.

John displayed pictures of the missing boys he and Coulter had been looking for, going back six years. “Have you seen any of these kids?”

Roper’s thick brows bunched together in a scowl as he examined them. “Don’t think so. Why?”

“All of them are missing. All from troubled homes and foster families. Kids no one might look for very hard.”

Roper rolled his shoulders. “You think I had something to do with kidnapping them?”

“Did you?”

“No, I didn’t have to steal kids.”

“Then how did SFTF build its army?” John asked.

“I told you. Each man recruited his own followers.”

John’s lips curled into a snarl. “Who is abducting these boys?”

Roper shot daggers at him. “Are you deaf? I said I don’t know.”

John yanked the man by his shirt collar. “If you don’t give me something, I’ll spread word in this prison that you kidnapped children and used them for yourself.”

Hell, they all knew pedophiles were the lowest vermin in prison.

“You wouldn’t,” Roper said through clenched teeth.

John snatched the pictures and crammed them back in the envelope. “Watch me.”

Roper shot up from his seat, chains clanging. Nick glared at him. “Talk, Roper. Tell us what you know.”

Roper spit out a string of curse words, then dropped his big body into the chair like a rock. “I told you we didn’t kidnap kids or make terrorists out of them.”

“Then who does?” John asked. “Because we suspect this teenager wasn’t acting alone.”

Roper flattened his scarred hands on the table, then pounded it with one fist. “Look in the foothills of the Smokies. Word is there’s a crazy son of a bitch who might be doing what you said.”

“His name?” John asked.

“I don’t know and that’s the damn truth.”

“What about their camp?” Nick asked.

Roper hissed between his teeth. “I can draw you a map.”

John removed a pad from inside his jacket and shoved it at Roper along with a pen. “Get started. And if you’re lying or setting us up to be ambushed, you’ll be sorry.”

Ice from the trees pinged off the roof, startling Amelia. Then her phone buzzed, indicating a text from John.

Be there in ten minutes to go to The Gateway House
.

Amelia cleaned up the kitchen table from her visit with Sadie. Anxious to visit the children’s home, she tugged on her coat and gloves, then her boots, preparing for the bad weather.

Her doorbell buzzed, the wind chimes tinkling from the front porch. She grabbed her purse and hurried to meet John. He looked so handsome and strong that for a second she could barely breathe.

His dark look locked with hers, the memory of their heated kiss making her body hot with need and desire.

But his rejection stung, a reminder that she didn’t belong with him. Not with anyone.

“Let’s go,” he said in a gruff tone.

He didn’t bother to wait on her, but turned and strode toward his SUV, the wind whipping his hair into a mess.

“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked as she settled into the passenger side.

He shot her an irritated look. “Nick Blackwood called earlier about that suicide bombing. There was another one.”

Amelia’s heart hammered. She’d faintly heard the story on the news. “Another teenage bomber?”

“Yeah.” He started the engine, flipped on the defrost, and cranked up the heat, then pulled down the drive. “Nick has a theory that there’s a group behind these bombings similar to SFTF.”

Amelia’s mind raced. “Did the teens know each other?”

He exhaled. “I don’t know yet. The coroner is working on IDs, then we can determine if they were connected.”

They lapsed into silence as the storm kicked up. The black ice forced John to drive slower. Abandoned cars had been left on the side of the road, obviously from drivers who’d been caught in the mess overnight.

Amelia wanted to broach the subject of the kiss again, but now didn’t seem like the best time. How could she ask for love when she had nothing to offer John?

John was focused on the road, clutching the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. A sigh rumbled from him, fraught with emotions Amelia didn’t understand.

Still, need and hunger taunted her every time she looked at his strong face. She desperately wanted him to hold her again. It was almost as if she knew his touch, as if her body had learned it a long time ago and had been deprived of it for years.

As if she’d never really forgotten, as if she’d only stored those memories away so she wouldn’t have to miss him so much while he was gone.

Good heavens, if she told him that, he would think she was insane.

John veered onto the turn that led to The Gateway House.

The wind swirled leaves and twigs across the road, gray skies creating a haze on the mountain, a thick fog swelling over the creek.

John swerved around a tree branch that had fallen, then veered onto a side road.

But just as they rounded a curve, Amelia saw thick plumes of smoke swirling in the air and flames shooting into the sky.

“Oh my God, John. The Gateway House is on fire.”

Chapter Sixteen

A
melia threw the SUV door open, jumped out, and ran toward the burning building, her feet digging into the sludge.

John chased her and caught her around the waist to keep her from charging inside. “Wait, Amelia, it’s too dangerous.”

Amelia pushed at him, trying to get away. “But there could be children inside!”

John gripped her tighter, and turned her to face him. “I’ll check. Stay here and call 911.” He shoved his phone into her hands and rushed toward the building.

Wind beat at her as Amelia fumbled with the phone, her fingers trembling as she punched the emergency number. The wind could make the fire spread, though hopefully the snow and ice would stop it from reaching the trees.

“911 operator speaking. What’s your emergency?”

“A fire at The Gateway House on Old Salter Road. Hurry!”

“I’ll dispatch the fire department. Is anyone hurt, ma’am?”

“I don’t know,” Amelia said, choking on the words. “Just hurry!”

She jammed the phone in her pocket and approached the building. Heat seared her face and hands, the flames inching higher into the sky, the smoke so thick she could barely see the doorway or windows.

She ran to the side of the house where John had gone, hoping it wasn’t completely engulfed. But flames were eating the walls. Wood crackled and popped, splintering, as the blaze consumed it.

She headed around back, searching for John, but he was nowhere to be found.

She screamed his name just as a board sailed toward her. She ducked sideways to avoid getting hit.

A noise sounded, and flames burst from the windows, glass exploding and flying. Then the roof crackled as it began to cave in.

Terror seized her, and she tried to move closer, but the heat was too intense and she doubled over, choking on the smoke.

John beat at the flames licking at him as he ran through the house. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief as he leapt over patches of fire and burning wood.

Smoke thickened the air as the roof caved in.

He ducked into the hallway to miss being hit, then looked toward the stairs. Half of them were on fire.

Heart pumping, he jumped over a burning step and climbed the staircase, praying they lasted long enough for him to make it back down. Flames crawled along the walls in the hall upstairs and slipped into the bedrooms. He dodged more debris, heat scalding his arms as he checked the rooms.

They were empty. Thank God.

Another crashing sound, more wood splintering, glass shattering. He had to get out.

He exhaled into the handkerchief and made it back to the staircase, but it was engulfed. Dammit.

He glanced around for another way out. Not the window . . . the drapes . . . they were just starting to catch at the bottom.

He ran the other way and found a second staircase. The flames were starting to move up them, but he raced down anyway, dodging falling debris.

Sweat poured down his back and neck as he dove through the back door. He dropped to the ground and rolled in the snow to extinguish the fire.

“John! Where are you?”

Amelia’s voice sounded far away, distant, terrified.

“John!”

“I’m here,” he shouted, hoping she heard him over the thunderous roar of the house collapsing. Heat scalded the back of his neck and hands, the flames shooting outward from the burning wood.

The fog lifted slightly, and he spotted Amelia running toward him. He pushed to his feet and jogged toward her.

She fell against him with a sob.

“The children?”

His throat was so dry he had to swallow twice to make his voice work. “The house was empty,” he whispered against her ear.

A siren wailed, and seconds later the fire truck squealed down the drive. The truck screeched to a stop, and firefighters jumped down, springing into action.

Amelia extracted herself from John’s embrace as one of the firemen sprinted over to him. But her hopes of finding her baby crumbled with the destruction of The Gateway House. The place lay in ruins, the burning embers snapping and popping.

If her son had been there at one time, she might never know. All the records had likely burned in the blaze.

The head firefighter approached them.

John identified himself. “The house was on fire when we arrived.”

“Anyone inside?” the fireman asked.

John shook his head. “No.”

The firefighter ordered them to stay put, then hurried to join the crew, who’d rolled out hoses and were working to extinguish the blaze.

Amelia clutched John’s arm. “John, if the kids weren’t in the house, where are they?”

“I have no idea. But I don’t like this. It seems awfully suspicious that The Gateway House burned down the day we came to ask about your son.”

The flames looked bright against the dark clouds. The house collapsed in a deafening roar, embers glowing orange as they hit the pristine white, burnt wood scraps dotting the ground.

“Let’s get you out of the cold,” John told Amelia. He took her arm and gently led her to the SUV. She slid inside, a look of despair on her face.

“We’re not giving up, Amelia. This is just a setback.”

She nodded, although her eyes looked glazed, pained, shocked as she watched the firemen hosing the blaze.

Damn. It looked like someone wanted to cover up the past and would do whatever was necessary to keep them from finding the truth.

He checked his messages, hoping to hear that Nick had located the group Roper had mentioned.

And he wanted news about Ronnie Tillman. Nothing there either. But he did have a message from the social worker Liz Lucas had contacted.

He punched the social worker’s number. On the third ring, a woman answered.

“Helen Gray.”

John explained the reason for his call.

“Yes. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but it took a while to look into your request about male infants born on July fourth.”

“You have something for me?”

“A couple of names. The first is a couple from Chattanooga. They adopted a baby boy through a private agency shortly after July fourth of that year. The other couple lives near Slaughter Creek. They were foster parents who agreed to foster a baby, then later decided they wanted to keep him.”

“I thought there were rules against that.”

“There are, but this child has special needs, and the family argued that he most likely wouldn’t be adopted so the judge agreed.”

A special-needs child? If Amelia had been drugged during the pregnancy, her child could have been born with complications.

“Agent Strong, I must caution you though. Both of these families have raised these children since birth. And this information is confidential.”

“I understand. But you also know that since the missing child may be related to the Arthur Blackwood case, a judge will issue a warrant to obtain that information.”

Anxiety stretched between them. “All right, please use discretion. These people haven’t done anything wrong. They love their sons and consider them their children. Tearing apart their lives and the security of the boys’ lives could be a mistake.”

“I’m aware of that,” John said, his defenses rising. “But Miss Nettleton did not willingly give up her baby, and she deserves to know whether he’s alive and if he’s being taken care of.”

“Are you sure she’s stable enough to handle it if this is a dead end? Or if the adoptive parents refuse to let her see the boy?”

John gritted his teeth. He hoped to hell she was. Because from what he’d uncovered so far, she might not find the happy ending she wanted.

“One more thing,” John said. “Have you ever worked with The Gateway House?”

A pause. “Yes. They do a good job of providing temporary homes for children until adoptive parents can be found.”

“Do you know the house parents?”

“The Ellingtons? Yes, a nice couple. They care about what they’re doing.”

John rubbed his temple. A migraine was starting, gripping him at the base of his skull as if a jackhammer were starting to beat inside. “I’m at the house now. It just burned down.”

“Oh my heavens! Was anyone hurt?”

“No one was inside. Do you know if they moved?”

“Not that I know of.” Helen’s voice broke off. “But I’ll see what I can find out.”

The stench of rotting garbage and urine clogged the air as he shoved the kid into the alley by the dumpster. He tossed the bag with his inhaler in it into the kid’s lap. By God, he’d considered just leaving the boy in the Smokies, but he wasn’t a kid killer.

He saved unwanted boys and gave them brothers. He made them heroes.

At least the boy would probably be found.

Yanking his ski cap down over his ears, he climbed back into the sedan he’d stolen an hour before, having ditched the other vehicle to throw the cops off his trail. The news said police were looking for his white van, but he was smarter than they’d thought. He’d traded cars twice now.

No one knew what he was driving or where he was going. Or that he’d been building his group for years. Plotting and planning, biding his time until the boys were ready. Committed to making a stand.

Leaving the kid behind, he wove through the small town of Slaughter Creek, smiling to himself. He was right under their noses and they’d never know.