Page 2 of Once Removed (Blackhawk Security)

“Maybe ten minutes.” He gestured toward the bench seat of his truck. “You want a ride back to your car?”

The woman took a half-step backward. “No thanks. But if you have cell service, you could call me a tow truck.”

“Don’t have to do that. I can winch you out of that mud in about five minutes.”

“Really?” The woman tilted her head. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would. We help each other out in these parts.” He took a breath. “I’m Brody Jones. I own a ranch about ten miles down the road. I was heading into Helena.”

“I’m Mel,” the woman said.

Brody nodded, aware she hadn’t given him her last name. A very cautious woman. “Nice to meet you, Mel. I’ll meet you back at your car.”

She stepped to the side, and he turned his truck around. Drove back to the red SUV. By the time she’d loped down the road to her car, he’d attached the winch to the ring beneath her bumper.

He looked up and smiled at her. “Gotta love a Subaru,” he said, standing and brushing off his hands. “They have a ring that can hold a winch hook. Hop in and put the car in neutral, then I’ll get you out of that muck.”

Five minutes later, her car was back on the pavement, smeared with mud but free. “Thanks so much,” Mel said. “I wish there was some way I could repay you.”

Brody smiled. “Help the next person you see stalled on the side of the road.” His smile disappeared. “Don’t get out of your car if it’s a man. Roll down the window just enough to talk.”

Her face darkened, and Brody wondered what had made her so cautious. “Don’t worry, Brody. No chance I’d get out of my car.” She smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “But I’ll definitely help the next stranded traveler I see. Thanks so much for stopping.”

“Safe travels, Mel,” he said as the woman rolled up her window. As she drove off, she raised her hand in farewell. In a few moments, she’d disappeared around a curve. Brody put his truck into gear and followed her toward Helena.

* * *

Lainey gripped the steering wheel of her car as the secretive compound outside Helena came into view. As she eased her foot off the gas pedal, wooden buildings appeared, their windows reflecting the surrounding mountains. A tall fence topped with razor wire glinted in the sunlight. The blue, blue Montana sky made it look like a peaceful mountain resort.

From the little her husband Ron had said about the place, peaceful was the last word she’d associate with it. It had been awhile since she’d seen her husband, thank God, but everyone in Helena had whispered about the mysterious place ten miles out of town. A training camp for terrorists, some had said. A paramilitary group, others had conjectured. White nationalists, the paranoid had whispered.

No one really knew what the compound was all about or what they were doing inside its fences. But despite the rumors and their fears, her fellow citizens of Helena had welcomed the money the compound brought to their town. The wages paid to the men and women who’d done the construction work. The supplies ordered from local businesses. The cooks, guards, janitors and office people who’d been hired to work there.

The young guys in their camo fatigues and polo shirts who’d spent their money in the bars and restaurants every weekend.

No, this compound had put money into a lot of pockets in Helena. Enough cash to make people look the other way.

Lainey included. She’d gotten new clients for her accounting practice from local businesses that were suddenly more profitable. She’d benefitted along with everyone else in town.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lainey turned into the driveway. Frowned when she saw the gate ajar. Every time she’d driven past this place, the gate had been fastened with a huge padlock. So why was it open today?

She steered her car onto the shoulder of the road, then got out, her purse slung across her chest. After locking her car, Lainey tucked the keys inside her purse, her fingers brushing the cold barrel of her new handgun. A Glock 19. She’d bought the weapon after she’d filed for an order of protection, hired a divorce attorney and changed the locks.

Ron Martin would never lay a hand on her again.

Ron worked here, as a guard. He’d started several months ago, after being fired from the Helena Sheriff’s Department for excessive force. He’d been roughing up suspects for years, bragging about how he could do anything without being caught, until someone had taken a video of him beating a suspect.

He’d found a new job out here at the compound. And she assumed he’d moved in here after she’d kicked him out of the house.

She’d driven here today because her divorce attorney’s process server hadn’t been able to find Ron. She needed to verify that he still worked here. She wanted to avoid Ron -- she only needed to talk to his boss. Simple. Quick. Easy.

It didn’t feel so easy now.

Swallowing, she pushed open the gate and stepped inside the fence. All she wanted was confirmation of Ron’s employment. A quick, easy visit. But she saw no one. Faced only emptiness. Heard nothing but silence.

A cold finger crept up her spine, and she shivered. There should be some signs of life inside this fence. Every time she’d passed by, she’d seen young men on the grounds. Exercising. Practicing what looked like martial arts. Running around the track circling the compound.

The emptiness was eerie. Disturbing.

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