Page 59 of Wyoming Cowboy Undercover

She didn’t answer. Didn’t dare. He was offering everything she wanted. But deep down she couldn’t shake the niggling fear that he was smoothing things over with her only to help sell their cover story once they got to the camp.

A man dressed in camo stepped out of the tree line into the middle of the road. He held a rifle aimed at their windshield.

Movement off to the left drew their gazes.

A second man with a full beard, also wearing head-to-toe camo, approached the driver’s-side door with a rifle slung over his shoulder. “You two lost?”

Rocco rolled down the window. “We’re here to see Cormac McCoy.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

Mercy leaned over, giving him a full view of her face. “I’m Mercy. Marshall McCoy’s daughter. Can you tell my uncle I’m here?”

Eyeing them, the guy stepped back and pulled out a handheld radio. A squawk resounded as he keyed it, but he was too far away for them to hear what he said.

“Tight security,” Rocco said. “At least we know the directions are solid.”

The man came back to the car. He held out the radio and keyed it. “Go ahead, sir, they can hear you.”

“If you’re really my niece,” a deep male voice said over the other end, “what did you used to call me when you were little?”

Panic fogged her brain, her thoughts stumbling together. “It was nineteen years ago. You can’t expect me to remember that?”

“But I do. My little nugget wouldn’t forget. Whoever you are, get gone before you get shot.”

Nuggetstirred up a memory. Taking her back to a time when she’d only eat chickpea nuggets and macaroni and cheese. In her head, she heard her voice, like a child, calling him something that sounded silly. “Wait, please,” she said. “Uncle Mac and cheese.” That wasn’t right. “No, no. Uncle Macaroni.”

“Let them through,” Cormac said.

The guy holding the radio whistled to the other one and he moved out of the road, letting them pass.

Rocco drove down the single lane dirt path about a mile until the camp came into sight. Another armed man opened a tall wooden gate that was made from logs the size of telephone poles and waved them in.

There were seven trucks parked on one side near the entrance and some horses corralled on the other side.

Men carrying weapons, ammo and cases of something she couldn’t identify were loading them in the backs of four of the larger vehicles. They were definitely in the middle of preparing for something big.

Trepidation trickled through her at the attention their presence garnered. Wary glances and narrowed eyes.

“This is the place,” Rocco said, “where my informant must’ve been.”

“How do you know?”

“The men who killed my CI and ran him off the road were driving that truck.” He gestured with a subtle hike of his chin to a heavy-duty black one that had dual rear wheels.

Two stickers were plastered on the rear bumper.

Both depicted images she recognized. “Those symbols are from our teachings.”

“What do they mean?”

“The iridescent silver tree represents enlightenment, but through toil and struggle. The bolt of lightning slicing through the red block signifiesvis major. An overwhelming force that causes damage or disruption. Like an act of God.”

He parked the car. “Are you ready for this?”

“Let’s get it over with and get out of here.” She reached into the back seat, grabbing her duffel and pulled out a sweater. Putting it on, she looked around.

The camp was in a valley encircled by peaks and trees. The surrounding mountains probably did a good job of protecting them from the icy wind in the winter.

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