“Group?” Truman prompted, tamping down the anger that threatened to distract him.

“Antigovernment, living on an isolated compound,” supplied Bolton.

The hair rose on Truman’s arms. “Where?” he choked out.

It can’t be the same.

Bolton frowned and gave him an odd look. “Darrell’s not sure. Somewhere east of here. Closer to Pendleton or John Day.”

“What does this have to do with your brother’s murder?” Truman asked Darrell.

Discomfort flashed. “I talked to Stephen about a month ago. He told me about the place he was living in. He sounded cocky and pleased, and said this group was going to stand up to the government and get what they wanted—”

“What did this group want?” Truman cut in.

“I don’t know exactly,” Darrell said. “Stephen was being secretive and smug about it. I think the only reason he called me was to sell me some rifles. Said he had access to several and asked if I was interested. Promised me a fantastic price and rattled off a half dozen different types he could sell me. When I asked where the weapons came from, he got defensive. ‘What kind of brother do you think I am?’ and that sort of bullshit. He said he was trying to raise money—that his friends were legitimate dealers. I didn’t believe him and told him so. His records as a minor are sealed, but he was arrested a few times for breaking and entering, and the only thing he stole was weapons.” Darrell shook his head. “Even when he was young, he was always after a fast buck.

“Then he talked again about how his group was going to get the government off their backs and make the US a better place for Americans. More cocky crap I didn’t need to hear. So I threatened to call the police—I wouldn’t really. I just wanted to shake him up a little bit. It sounded like a stupid place to be, and it was the only thing I could think of that might make him leave. He’s always been one to protect his own ass. Anyway, his demeanor and tone changed when I mentioned the police. He sounded scared. He warned me not to, saying the last guy who’d gotten shit from his family back home had disappeared.”

Our first John Doe?

“What happened to the last guy?” Truman asked, steel in his voice.

“Stephen said he didn’t know, but he’d heard a rumor that the man’s body had been used as a message to warn his family to back off.”

Truman met Bolton’s eyes. “The first unidentified male?”

“Possibly.”

Looking back at Darrell, Truman asked, “So your brother was murdered and dumped as a message for you not to report this antigovernment group? That doesn’t sound right.”

Darrell pulled at the sleeves of his shirt, his hands unable to hold still. He plunged them back in his pockets. “I think he tried to get out,” he admitted. “By the end of our call, I felt like he was listening to me.”

“They killed two birds with one stone. The murder was a threat to keep you quiet, and they got rid of a member who was causing problems.” Truman narrowed his eyes at the brother. “What made you finally speak to us?”

Darrell lifted his chin. “I decided, ‘Fuck them.’ They can come after me if they want. But I’m going to keep hounding them and demand they be investigated until the police take notice.” Fury flashed in his red-rimmed eyes. “He was an idiot, but he was my brother. No one deserves to die like that. Now are you guys going to do something about that group?”

Truman’s lips lifted at the corners, but it wasn’t a smile. Too much shit had happened that day for him to smile. And it kept piling on.

“Would you believe the FBI and ATF are already on it?” Truman pointed at the group across the lot.

To what lengths will this group go to protect themselves?

He prayed it wasn’t too late for Mercy.

Truman arrived home to pack an overnight bag and realized he was already prepared. Thanks to Mercy’s influence, he had a small GOOD bag ready to go in his vehicle and a larger one at home. He grabbed the big one and added additional heavy clothing. He told Ollie he was needed out of town, and that he’d be back in a few days. “Order a pizza and take it to Kaylie’s,” he told the teen. “Mercy’s been gone four days, and I think she’d like someone to hang out with.” He made an excuse to his officers and promised Lucas to check in the next day.

Bolton had gone back to the Deschutes County office to take another look at the first murdered John Doe. If Darrell Palmer was correct that the group had killed another man as a warning to his family, then there was a good chance that the first John Doe’s family was staying under the radar, terrified to identify their relative in case the group turned on them. Bolton strongly suspected that his family lived on the property where the first body had been dumped. Or at least nearby.

The ATF had jumped on Darrell Palmer’s story. Now they had a reference from outside the compound that America’s Preserve was planning something big. Based on Darrell’s conversation with his brother, the theory that the group was selling the stolen guns to raise money gained traction.

But the nature and location of the big event were still a mystery.

Truman made the four-hour trip with Jeff and Eddie to Ukiah, and then they turned south to head into the national forest. As they gained elevation, patches of snow started to appear along the road. By the time they reached the base camp near 6:00 p.m., the ground had a five-inch layer of snow, and more was in the forecast for the next several days.

It was still light out when they arrived, and the base camp setup was in progress. The Portland FBI had flown in a point team to choose a clearing for the base of operations, and the negotiators were expected to arrive soon. Within half an hour, a large SWAT RV rumbled up the road: a high-tech rolling center from which the negotiators would hopefully mediate a peaceful surrender.

The primary objective was to have all the members in America’s Preserve walk out, leaving their arms behind. If that wasn’t possible, then getting the children out was next. Obtaining Mercy was also a top goal.

Jeff had spent most of the ride on his phone while Eddie drove. The main topic of discussion was whether or not the men in the compound already knew Mercy was an agent. The FBI was worried about accidentally exposing her and placing her in danger. The other concern was whether or not to mention the murder of ATF agent Tim O’Shea. No one knew how his cover had been blown, and it was possible the compound members had killed him on suspicion, not facts. The ATF didn’t want to reveal that O’Shea had been an agent if the compound didn’t know—Mercy would become the compound’s next logical target.

The final decision was to not mention Mercy or O’Shea in negotiations unless America’s Preserve brought them up first. The FBI and ATF would present the case of the ATF’s stolen weapons and concern for the safety of the children as the reasons for their arrival.

But the two reasons were weak. There was no solid supporting evidence.

Agents Aguirre and Gorman had turned up the heat on the stolen-weapons investigation. A concrete link between the ATF robbery and America’s Preserve was needed. The casual mention of the robbery to a local rancher was not sufficient to trigger this massive response from the government. The compound’s role in the deadly heist was still a theory. Darrell Palmer’s brother hadn’t stated the weapons he had attempted to sell were from the robbery; it was an assumption.

Agent Aguirre was stressed. She’d already worked the investigation of the ATF robbery and the deaths of their two agents for eight months. Now she was expected to produce supporting evidence within a matter of hours.

Truman helped the Portland FBI agents set up their lighting and huge tents. His role was muscle, to be of use wherever was needed. That was fine with him. He kept his ears open as he worked alongside the agents, soaking in their discussions and plans. As he mechanically followed orders, letting his mind drift, he weighed what he’d learned that day about America’s Preserve.

Undercover agent O’Shea had reported nine children lived in the compound, two of whom were toddlers. As Truman grabbed another giant tub of equipment, he thought of Rose and her infant son, wondering how she would have handled living in the rural camp with no help from her family or access to medical care.

What does the compound do if someone breaks a bone or accidentally chops off a finger?