time to feel like crap.”
“Did you get the uh, clog taken care of?”
“Nope,” she said, leaning back in her chair. She raised a hand to the baby she’d somehow strapped to herself with the carrier. “I had to nurse her on my hands and knees, with my boobs just dangling there.”
“Now, that I’d like to see,” I said with a chuckle.
“Oh, I bet.” She rolled her eyes.
Suddenly, I was transported to the past, Cecilia staring up at me.
“I seriously love that bikini,” I said, looking down between us at the triangles just barely covering her tits.
“This is the last time I’m wearing it,” she huffed, pulling at the strap. “I let them convince me to jump off the rope swing one last time before I left, and the entire thing came undone when I hit the water.”
“Now, that I’d like to see.”
“Oh, I bet.” She rolled her eyes as I leaned down to kiss her.
* * *
Late that night, I sat in the communications room with the team. Ephraim and Josiah had called in to touch base, but they hadn’t had anything to report. Everything was quiet back in San Diego, which made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
“I’ve spent hours searching through public records,” Wilson said, tilting back and forth in his computer chair, making it squeak. “Free America Militia doesn’t own a damn thing.”
“Great,” Eli muttered.
“However,” Wilson said smugly, “I did uncover some properties that were owned by Mr. Cane Warren, one of which is a large tract of land near the Oregon border.”
“We knew that,” Eli said.
“Furthermore,” Wilson said with forced patience, “I cross referenced that with the owners of land that abut Mr. Warren’s property. That’s where things became slightly more interesting.”
“Good call,” Lu said.
“As always, your praise is effusive and heart warming,” Wilson told her. “I realized that Warren’s property wasn’t nearly as large as we’d anticipated, which got me wondering who owned the property surrounding it. Friends, meet Richard Campbell, Cody Howser, and Benjamin Morris.”
He clicked a key on his computer and three mug shots popped up larger than life on the screens. “Richard, here, was arrested for domestic violence, but lucky for Dick, the charges didn’t stick. Probably because less than a month later, he and his wife and children dropped off the face of the earth. Wonder where they went?” he asked sarcastically. “Cody Howser, arrested for assault in a bar fight, did two years in the pen, and somehow had the funds to buy the property within a year of his release. Interesting, no? Last, but not least, we have Benjamin Morris. Benny, here, is a real peach. He found Jesus while doing six years in federal prison for robbing a bank. His rap sheet is quite the novel. Robbery, assault, attempted murder, drunk driving, intent to distribute—meth, I believe—and various other misdemeanors. He also fell into some cash and was able to buy a large tract of land bordering Warren’s property.”
“Well, aren’t they the picture of Aryan health,” Lu grumbled, staring at the photos. Each man was pale, blue eyed, and handsome. Each had absolutely nothing behind their eyes.
“Warren and his wife obviously never met Cecilia’s parents,” Forrest said, glancing at me. “Hard to miss that her daddy ain’t white.”
“You see her face when she found out Warren was a card carrying racist asshole?” Eli asked. “Shit. I’ve never seen someone’s face pale that quickly.”
“It’s fucked up,” I said with a sigh. “She had no fuckin’ clue—but I’m not surprised. Livin’ and workin’ in southern California, doubt Cane advertised his shitty world view.”
“So what are we lookin’ at here?” I asked Wilson. “What kind of resources do they have?”
“A lot of them,” Wilson said simply. He spun back toward his computer and started typing. “I looked into the son, and he’s a real fuck—a rich one. He got kicked out of so many schools, his father must have paid a fortune to get him to graduation. His accounts are mostly overseas, and they’re hefty and diversified.”
“Shit.”
“And they’re nothing compared to Cane Warren’s,” Wilson said darkly. “He’s set to inherit millions.”
“Which he’s not going to split with a baby,” Lu said.
“I’ve been looking at missing persons databases, narrowing it down to only Caucasian families, then cross checking those with fathers who’d been in the California prison system in the past fifteen years. There’s… a lot.”
“How many?” I asked.
“Hundreds,” Wilson replied. “So, I cross checked it again with those who would’ve been inside with our terrible trio up there.”