Page 81 of The Captive Missing

“Val. Or is it Kelly Martin? Maybe you prefer Kelly Riggs or even Val Riggs.” He listed her names, then held out a hand. “I’m Clay Montgomery.”

Glancing down at his offer of a shake, Val was momentarily at a loss. No one had ever listed her various identities out before. Just hearing all the names threw her off, made her mentally back up a step, caught her off guard. She wondered briefly at Mr. Montgomery’s background, but then shook it off. Whoever he was, he was good. Like really, really good at reading people.

Composing her features deliberately, Val chose to fight his fire the only way she knew how. With equal heat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Val purred.

As she clasped his hand in her own, she let her eyes drift up his body. She started with his stomach and chest, then up over his mouth before finally settling on his eyes. Briefly, she nibbled on her bottom lip before pulling her hand away. To her surprise, he laughed. The sound was full and robust and without any malice whatsoever.

“You really are impressive,” he chuckled. “You make a man’s jacket and crappy jeans look like lingerie. Please, come in.”

Stepping to one side, he gestured to the front door. It was painted a dark red. Nodding once, Val let herself be shown inside. They were in a parlor. Walnut hardwood floors ran the length of the narrow room. Glancing to the side, she noted a series of old-style chairs and an ornate wood sofa positioned to take in the view from a bank of bay windows. Straight ahead was another closed door.

Clay moved easily in front of her and pushed it open to reveal a massive living room. There was a staircase off to their right. Its steps were made up of the same walnut wood, but the railing and risers were all painted bright white. It was clean and appealing, with watercolors of rich farmland gracing the walls.

Leather recliners, brown couches, coffee tables, end tables, ornate lamps, and Persian rugs dominated the space. There was a flat screen television blaring out news and an empty granite fireplace with a black iron grate.

More men sat inside. Val saw their flash of interest as they spied her, but then with a measure of reserve, they glanced at Clay. He bobbed his head as he led her past, but said nothing. Before they’d made it halfway across the room, all eyes had refocused on the television.

Through a far doorway they entered a commercial size kitchen. Val gawked at the double wide stainless-steel oven and two hulking refrigerators. Granite counters swept around three walls, all clean and shining. An older woman hovered over an apron style sink, filling a pot with water.

“Hey, Connie.” Clay paused, spreading his palms over the counter top. “Any chance we could get a couple of sandwiches or something?”

“Sure thing, Clay.” Connie gave him a warm smile, her eyes shifting to take in Val. “You like ham?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Val bobbed her head before wondering about the pigs outside.

“Oh, please don’t Ma’am me,” Connie scolded. “Makes me feel old. Even though… I guess I am.”

“Yes, Connie.” Val kept her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, though something about the woman made her want to reach out and squeeze her arm.

Clay withheld any comment and instead spun on his heel and headed out through yet another door. With Val on his heels, he cruised down a hall that bordered the back side of the house. Window after window stood open. Pale green curtains floated casually in a soft breeze.

Val tried to keep up with his purposeful stride but found herself staring out, mouth hanging slightly. The pasture fence wrapped around the side of the house, then disappeared into a mass of thick trees. Up the side of the mountain, the forest climbed.

Towering pines bursting with needles and flowing green leaves from trees Val didn’t know the name of. They were so thick you couldn’t see the ground, so thick you couldn’t hardly make out their trunks or where one started and one stopped. Up and up, they stretched on forever. So imposing and beautiful that it stole her breath. This was a wondrously harsh and wild place.

Ahead of her Clay ducked into a room and finally came to a stop. It was an office of sorts, with a wide mahogany table and padded leather chairs. One wall was filled entirely with books, another with flat screen televisions, all of them switched off.

Behind the desk was a framed map of the entire country. At first glance it appeared to be filled with red dots, but upon closer inspection, Val realized they were actually push-pins. The moveable place markers were everywhere, though it was unclear what exactly they marked because they weren’t major cities, or even cities at all.

Clay took a seat behind the desk and gestured for Val to sit opposite him. She complied, surveying the tidy organization that spanned its smooth surface. There was a closed laptop, a coffee mug filled with pens, and a series of manila folders laid out one on top of the other. With a sigh, Clay leaned back in his chair and let his eyes meet her own. She cocked her head to the side and let him look, keeping her face clear, but open.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Clay began. “Why don’t I start by answering some.”

“What is this place?”

“This is a survivalist training center,” Clay replied.

“A what?”

“Our members come here to learn basic skills for off-grid survival. Farming, animal care, butchering, tactical defense, stuff like that.”

“Members? What members?”

“This facility is owned by the Constitutional Militia.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

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