Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce) by Misty Evans

the bust last night. My UC identity is still intact, but my girlfriend bailed me out this morning. I’m sure someone in the organization is checking on me. Watching my moves to see where I go and what I do. They’re looking for the mole inside their organization.”
    “So you go to a cult with me and then to the gun range?”
    No hesitation. “Yep.”
    Ronni dug in her purse for her candy apple lipstick and made a production of putting some on in the rearview mirror. The car was parked in shadows, but she knew— knew —there was a man in that car. “You’re sure it’s not someone from iChurch?”
    “Could be.” Without warning, he stepped out of the car. “I’ll go find out.”
    “What? Wait!” His long legs were already eating up the space between them and the street. “Thomas!”
    She shut off the engine and climbed out her side, ready to go after him. The car on the street pulled out, doing a U-turn and taking off down the road.
    2CTA —that’s all she got off the plate. Dust and grime covered the last few digits. Thomas calmly walked into the street and watched the car drive away, probably memorizing the plate as well.
    He turned, raised his hands in an oh, well gesture, and went to the spot where the car had sat. Ronni quickly followed.
    “No cigarette butts or gum wrappers,” he said without preamble. Leaning down, he ran a finger through a dark spot on the street, rubbed his finger and thumb together, and sniffed the ends. “But he’s leaking oil.”
    “Did you get the last three digits on the plates?”
    “Nope. Got enough with the make, year, and model of the car to narrow it down, but my guess is it’s stolen.”
    “Sandoval’s minions don’t drive Caddies?”
    “None I’ve seen. They prefer flashier stuff. What about Adam’s minions?”
    She sighed. Had it been a church follower? She’d never get any sleep tonight. “Guess we better find out.”

 
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    The license plate number came back as owned by one Calvin Carrera. A guy who’d been dead for six months.
    “Identity theft.” Thomas stared at the computer, looking through multiple screens filled with Carrera’s information. “Whoever’s using that car also maxed out three credit cards opened with Calvin’s social security number.”
    The two of them had returned to Thomas’s apartment, where Ronni had started the coffee pot and Thomas had entered the partial plate into the California DMV database.
    Ronni now had her feet propped up on his coffee table, a cup in her hands. She looked strung out. “Sandoval?”
    “Possibly, but I never heard about or saw any identity theft operation while I was undercover with his organization. Drugs and guns. That was it. How about Adam?”
    She stared at the cup, not seeing it. “Not in any of the files I have on him.”
    Thomas set the laptop on the table and sunk deep in his recliner. “Could have been the Yank’s Militia. The kid I nabbed yesterday in the airport was stealing phones. Maybe they sent someone to hunt me down and give me a warning.” He shook his head. “Lotta work for them over a few phones.”
    “And wouldn’t a warning involve more than tailing you?”
    “With that militia? A warning would involve buckshot in my ass.” He felt as strung out as Ronni looked. “Could you see the driver?”
    “Too dark.”
    “I saw some reflection from the dashboard light but not enough to identify features.”
    They sat in silence, processing.
    Ronni sunk deeper into the sofa. Closed her eyes. “Dead end.”
    At least for tonight. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep an eye out in case the Cadillac shows up here.”
    No answer. Just an even rise and fall of her chest, the coffee cup in her hands tipping as it sat on her stomach. Yep, she was beat. He was too. At the shooting range, she’d let down her guard for a few seconds and he’d seen the old Ronni. She’d given him a dose of his own medicine, manipulating him into not teasing her. What