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Chapter Sixteen

Christian glanced around the area as he and Kayne approached the church doors. A few people were filing in, and all the men dressed much like they were, so they blended in. Both slouched and shuffled their feet as they entered. A man with a buzz cut, wearing a starched white shirt, sat at a table. His name tag read Denny.

"Welcome. Are you here for Pastor Chet's leadership and guidance meeting?"

"Uh, yeah," Christian muttered. "Heard he shares our views."

Denny looked them over. "Well, I don't know what those are, but Pastor Chet is very knowledgeable and wise. You will be inspired. How did you hear about us?"

"Met a guy about a week ago. Zikes. Said to check it out."

"Oh, yes. Byron is one of our loyal foot soldiers."

Interesting choice of words. "He here tonight?"

"I haven't seen him yet, but I'm sure he'll be here. He never misses a meeting." Denny placed a hand beside his mouth to whisper, "He's kinda obsessive about it," like it was a big secret.

Christian doubted Denny was a good enough actor to pretend he didn't know Zikes was dead. Either his murder had nothing to do with Pastor Chet, or Denny wasn't part of the inner circle. Christian bet on the second scenario. He was a minion. He did the grunt work, salivating at the chance to impress the boss, but he held no actual power.

"Was Pastor Chet responsible for organizing the protest at Crystal Galaxy last week?"

Denny smiled deviously. "Sure was. We came out in force."

It had been a wild guess that the incident Charlotta mentioned was conducted by the Church of the Enlightened.

"Are there just meetings, or can we get more involved if Pastor Chet motivates us with his speech?" Kayne wanted to know.

"Well, that's up to Pastor Chet," Denny replied carefully. "Everyone wants to be involved, but he hand-picks his team. He's in high demand, so his time is limited."

Sounded like Denny was bitter about being a glorified receptionist. "Zikes is part of that group?" Christian wondered. When Denny hesitated to answer, he added, "It might pay to have a connection with an insider, if you know what I mean."

Denny shook his head. "Again, it's up to Pastor Chet. I'm not privy to that information."

In other words, a lackey.

"What are your names?"

Denny had clammed up, probably realizing he wasn't one of the chosen ones. "Darrel, and this is my brother, Gerald."

Denny scribbled their names on self-adhesive tags and handed one to each of them. Christian removed the backing and slapped it on his chest.

"No phones are allowed, so I'll need you to leave yours here." Denny held up a basket already full of devices.

Christian hesitated. He wasn't worried that anyone could tamper with his cell. CObrA Securities phones were fundamentally tamper-proof. He wanted to take pictures of the others in the group. Kayne elbowed him and subtly tipped his head to the side. Christian followed his gaze to see a metal detector. Shit. They were loaded down with weapons. "Not that I don't trust you, Denny, but we're going to put our phones in the truck."

Denny shrugged. "Your choice, but we're not responsible for items left in vehicles, so don't try to sue us."

"Got a theft problem, Denny?" Kayne drawled.

"Doesn't every city in America?" Denny shook his head. "We need stronger leadership, like what Pastor Chet preaches. Then, people would be terrified of breaking the law. Hurry back. The session will start soon."

That was an ominous statement if Christian had ever heard one.

Christian and Kayne headed outside to stash their accouterments. Going into a meeting with a possible hostile without a gun wasn't ideal, but he and Kayne had their fists, and those were pretty damn effective weapons.

When they approached the vehicle, they found Presley digging in the back of the SUV. She stood and held out her palm—American flag pins.

"Perfect. Thanks," Christian said as he affixed it to the pocket of his plaid shirt. The microscopic camera hidden inside was undetectable. Though it wasn't as convenient as pictures on the phone, it would still do the job.

After they'd stashed their guns, knives, and phones, they returned to the church and waved at Denny as they stood in line to enter the meeting room. A bald man wearing a white shirt, black sports jacket, and sunglasses worked the metal detector. Kayne went first, followed by Christian. They passed through easily since they'd removed anything that would've set it off.

Christian and Kayne entered the room where the workshop would take place. Coffee and donuts were arranged on a side table. The occupants looked like a recruitment office for the greater Norfolk/Virginia Beach neo-Nazi club. One guy even sported a swastika tattoo on his forehead.

No wonder Pastor Chet insisted on a metal detector with this kind of clientele.

"I don't like this," Kayne mumbled.

"Yeah, me either."

Thirty or so seats were arranged in front of a dais, most of them filled. The front rows were occupied, so they had to take seats in the back. A few minutes later, three men walked in. One was clearly the leader, as he strode inside like he was God's gift to the world. He stepped up to the microphone and twisted his lips into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming tonight. I'm Pastor Chet."

Pastor Chet was of medium height and build, wearing a crisp white dress shirt and pressed black pants with shiny loafers. He was clean-shaven, including on his head. Eyes the color of a stormy sky, devoid of kindness or compassion, raked the crowd.

He looked like a stone-cold killer.

The other two men sat in chairs behind him, appearing to be bodyguards. One was the guy who had worked the metal detector. They watched the crowd like hawks, looking for threats, Christian assumed. Their bulk suggested hours at the gym, augmented by a healthy dose of steroids. They wore dress shirts with sports coats, and like Pastor Chet, their heads were smooth as a baby's bottom. They hadn't passed through the detector since each one was carrying. The bulge beneath their arms was unmistakable.

"You're here because you sense a larger purpose in your life. It's not enough to sit on the sidelines. You need to take an active role. As men, it's up to us to be the leaders."

He went on to spew hate and bigotry for an hour, all cloaked in the name of religion. Christian was ready to go up there and beat the ever-loving crap out of him. By the clenching and unclenching of his fists, Kayne felt the same way. The others in the room ate up his hateful rhetoric with a spoon, agreeing with his moronic points and even cheering at times.

"This is frightening," Kayne muttered.

No kidding. The men in the room hung on Pastor Chet's words, almost cult-like. It was easy to see how loner and outcast Byron Zikes had become radicalized. Pastor Chet vocalized their thoughts, giving credence to their beliefs.

Finally, Pastor Chet wrapped up his Nazi manifesto. Kayne and Christian stood and clapped with the others, but their hearts weren't in it. Most of the sheep started for the exits. He and Kayne stuck around, mingling by the refreshment table. Christian kept an eye on Pastor Chet, waiting for a chance to speak with him.

"Wasn't that, like, the best speech ever?" a man said to Christian as he grabbed a donut. "I'm ready to take the fight to the streets now. Are you with me?"

Heaven help us all. He was saved from answering when Pastor Chet meandered over.

"Pastor Chet, that was, like, the most awesome talk ever," donut man enthused. "You're a god."

"I'm just a man," he said, probably hoping for humility, but everything about the guy was smarmy. He turned to Christian and Kayne and pinned them with his stormy gaze.

"I haven't seen you two here before. Is this your first meeting?"

"Yep. My brother and I heard about you and wanted to listen to what you had to say." Not a lie—except for the brother part.

Pastor Chet smiled, but it didn't reach his cold, dead eyes. "And?" He looked expectantly from Christian to Kayne.

"You spoke our language," Kayne drawled, and Christian silently applauded him. It was the perfect response. Much better than the I can't wait to see you arrested, psychopath response that almost spewed from his lips.

"Yeah," Christian chimed in, oh so eloquently. It took all his restraint to refrain from wrapping his hands around the man's neck and squeezing until his head popped off.

Pastor Chet steepled his fingers. "Tell me what part inspired you the most."

Christian's mind spun, trying to conjure an answer when Kayne elbowed him. Hard. "Wha—"

"Chet Harris, we'd like to ask you some questions."

Oh shit. Detective Herbert.

Christian ducked his head and slowly backed away. "The cops?" he growled. "Really, Presley? A heads-up would've been nice."

"Sorry. They must've parked on the other side of the building."

"Stop."

Christian sighed, and, with great reluctance, looked up at the detective. One of her brows was raised knowingly. She'd made him and Kayne with one glance. Damn, she was good.

"Going somewhere?" Her smirk told him she enjoyed this.

"Uh, yeah."

"Care to tell me where?"

"Outside?"

She gaped at him. "That's the best you can come up with?"

He shrugged. With a roll of her eyes, she said, "Stick around. I will talk to you two later."

Okay. Not. "Sure."

Her pinched mouth told him she knew they would cut a rusty dusty as soon as possible.

"Go."

She didn't have to tell them twice. He and Kayne booked it for the exit. They bypassed cops in uniform questioning some attendees and jogged to the SUV. As soon as they slid inside, Kayne started the engine and zipped out of the lot.

"I can't believe Detective Herbert showed up," Aja Blue said.

"She recognized us."

Presley turned in her seat. "You're kidding. Those disguises were stellar."

Christian ripped off the wig that made his head itch. "I don't know how, but she did."

"She's good," Kayne agreed. "But her timing is terrible."

"No kidding. We didn't get to question the pastor about his association with Byron Zikes."

"I did some snooping while you were inside," Presley told them.

Christian spun around to glare at her. "You did what? You left Aja Blue alone?"

Aja Blue slapped the back of his seat. "Hey. I'm not a baby that needs a sitter."

He glanced at her. "I know, but—"

She poked him hard. "No, I don't think you do. I'm a grown woman."

"I know that." He rubbed where she'd stabbed him and would've given her a heated look that reinforced his words if Presley wasn't watching him.

Much like Detective Herbert had, Aja Blue rolled her eyes at him.

"Anyway," Presley cut in, "I found something interesting. Pastor Chet drives a McLaren 750S."

Kayne glanced in the rear-view mirror and whistled. "Sweet ride. That had to set him back, what, three hundred thousand?"

"At least," Presley agreed. "His gig is very lucrative."

"That's a given for a pseudo-preacher slash cult leader," Christian remarked. "That's all you got?"

For the third time in less than ten minutes, a woman rolled her eyes at him. He decided he didn't like it one bit.

"No, Chrisitan, that's not all. I was leading up to the big reveal."

"And?" he prompted.

"Guess what I found in the garage."

Kayne glanced at her and barked, "For God's sake, tell us. We've spent the last hour listening to a minion from hell spout nonsense garbage about an uprising that had me wanting to take out my Sig Sauer and kneecap him."

"Might I remind you we heard the same thing?" she retorted.

"Presley!"

She tossed up her hands. "Fine. So much for drama. I'll spit it out. The Church of the Enlightened owns a white-panel van."

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