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Undercover Husband
Cindi Myers
The marriage is fake. The danger is real.A child is all scientist Hannah Dietrich has left of her late sister…a child possibly kidnapped by the mysterious cult her sister had joined. To discover the truth about Emily's death and find her infant daughter, Hannah turns to BLM Special Agent Walt Riley. Posing as a married couple, they infiltrate the "Family" as devoted followers of the Prophet.But delving into the cult's dark secrets proves harder than expected…while their roles feel disturbingly easy for the fiercely independent Hannah and the no-nonsense lawman. Has their charade become a real relationship? And if they find the infant, how will they escape the Prophet's murderous wrath?


The marriage is fake. The danger is real.
A child is all scientist Hannah Dietrich has left of her late sister...a child possibly kidnapped by the mysterious cult her sister had joined. To discover the truth about Emily’s death and find her infant daughter, Hannah turns to BLM Special Agent Walt Riley. Posing as a married couple, they infiltrate the “Family” as devoted followers of the Prophet.
But delving into the cult’s dark secrets proves harder than expected...while their roles feel disturbingly easy for the fiercely independent Hannah and the no-nonsense lawman. Has their charade become a real relationship? And if they find the infant, how will they escape the Prophet’s murderous wrath?
The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets
“Why did he come after us?” she asked. “I thought you shot him back at the camp.”
“Obviously it wasn’t enough to stop him.”
“But he won’t stop us.”
“No, he won’t.” He started out of the culvert, but she took hold of his arm, turning him toward her.
“What—” She cut off the question, her lips on his, her body pressed against him. All the fear and anxiety and the giddy relief of being alive at this moment coalesced in that kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. Every kiss touched some vulnerable part of her, coaxing her to let go a little bit more, to surrender. To trust.
He rested his forehead against hers. “This isn’t the best time for this,” he said.
“I know. We have to go. I just... I wanted you to know how I felt.”
“I got the message, loud and clear.” He wrapped both hands around her wrists and kissed the tips of her fingers, a gesture which set her heart to fluttering wildly.
Undercover Husband
Cindi Myers


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.
Contents
Cover (#u35cb5810-ccc5-577e-a532-83ce67d32cee)
Back Cover Text (#u8876a89d-5235-5bc5-9956-ab4ee90f4e5f)
Introduction (#u28b31db2-179f-5e5c-bf1e-0c51cc470d59)
Title Page (#u52a195f4-0df4-5da6-880d-4e582c2cafa9)
About the Author (#u3a09e2c9-cea5-5af6-8900-1dce8f5f79ec)
Chapter One (#u2ddeadd7-9dfe-5b0a-b3bc-6cb32e867a60)
Chapter Two (#u97720238-762b-5b43-9f81-da571ef9e384)
Chapter Three (#u41c593e7-7693-54a7-a262-8804a505441d)
Chapter Four (#u42ce2e2b-967b-5463-a06e-e6ba152e033d)
Chapter Five (#u2d2a4cf9-3845-52e9-b918-04cb5f20b491)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#udf15ee20-19a1-5f6e-846e-9a09572cd058)
“I was told you’re the ones who can help me.”
The soft, cultured voice as much as the words caught the attention of Bureau of Land Management special agent Walt Riley. The Ranger Brigade headquarters in Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park didn’t get many visitors, and certainly not many women as beautiful as the one standing on the opposite side of his desk now. Slender, with blond hair worn piled on top of her head, she spoke with an air of command, as if she was used to overseeing a corporation or running board meetings. Everything about her—from the designer sunglasses to the diamonds glinting at her earlobes to the toes of her high heels—looked expensive, and out of place in this part of rural Colorado, where jeans and boots were the most common attire for men and women alike.
Walt stood. “What do you need help with?” he asked. He selfishly hoped she wasn’t merely a lost tourist or someone who needed a camping permit or something that was better handled by the park rangers in the office next door.
She opened the sleek leather satchel she had slung over one shoulder and pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed it to him. At first glance, it appeared to be some kind of legal document. “What is this?” he asked.
“It’s a court order awarding me custody of my niece, Joy Dietrich.” She removed the sunglasses and he found himself staring into a pair of intensely blue eyes, their beauty undimmed by the red rims and puffy lids, evidence that Miss Cool and Collected had, very recently, been crying. “I need your help getting her back from the people who have kidnapped her,” she said.
This definitely was more serious than a camping permit. Walt dragged a chair over to his desk. “Why don’t you sit down, Ms.—?”
“Dietrich. Hannah Dietrich.” She sat, crossing her long legs neatly at the ankles. There was nothing particularly revealing about the gray slacks and matching jacket she wore, but she still managed to look sexy wearing them. Or maybe it was only that Walt had always had a thing for blue-eyed blondes.
“Wait here, Ms. Dietrich,” he said. “I’m going to get my commanding officer and you can tell us your story.”
He strode to the back of the building and poked his head around the open door of Commander Graham Ellison’s office. The FBI agent, who still carried himself like the marine he had once been, broke off his conversation with DEA agent Marco Cruz. Elsewhere in the office or out in the field, officers from Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Customs and Border Protection, and Colorado State Patrol worked together to fight crime on thousands of acres of public land in the southwest corner of Colorado. Walt, one of the newest members of the Ranger team, had jumped at the opportunity to be involved in the kind of high-profile cases the Rangers were becoming known for. A kidnapping would definitely qualify as high-profile. “Something up, Walt?” Graham asked.
“There’s a woman out here who says she needs our help recovering her kidnapped niece,” Walt said. “Before I had her run through the whole story, I thought you might like to hear it.”
“Who does she say kidnapped her niece?” Marco, one of the senior members of the Ranger Brigade, had a reputation as an expert tracker and a cool head in even the tensest situations. Walt hadn’t had a chance to work with him yet, but he had heard plenty of stories from others on the team.
“We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Walt said.
“Let’s hear what she has to say.” Graham led the way back to Walt’s desk, where Hannah Dietrich waited. If the prospect of being confronted by three lawmen unsettled her, she didn’t show it. “Ms. Dietrich, this is Commander Graham Ellison and Agent Marco Cruz.”
“Hello.” She nodded, polite but reserved. “I hope you’ll be able to help me.”
“Why don’t you tell us more about your situation?” Graham pulled up a second chair, while Marco stood behind him. Walt perched on the corner of the desk. “You say your niece was kidnapped?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What manner would that be?” Marco crossed his arms over his chest.
“I think it would be best if I began at the beginning.” She smoothed her hands down her thighs and took a deep breath. “I have—had—a sister, Emily. She’s six years younger than me, and though we have always been close, in temperament we’re very different. She was always carefree, impulsive and restless.”
Nothing about Hannah Dietrich looked restless or impulsive, Walt thought. Even obviously distressed as she was, the word she brought to mind was control. She controlled her feelings and she was used to being in control of her life.
“About a year ago, Emily met a man, Raynor Gilbert,” Hannah continued. “He was working as a bouncer at a club in Denver that she used to frequent, and they became lovers. She found out she was pregnant, and they had plans to marry, but he was killed in a motorcycle accident only a week after Emily learned she was expecting.” She paused a moment, clearly fighting for composure, then continued.
“My sister was devastated, and acted out her grief with even more impulsive behavior. I wanted her to come live with me, but she refused. She said she wanted a different life for herself and her child. She attended a rally by a group that calls themselves the Family. Their leader is a very handsome, charismatic man named Daniel Metwater.”
“We know about Metwater.” Graham’s expression was grim. Metwater and his “family” had a permit to camp in the Curecanti National Recreation Area, adjacent to the national park and part of the Rangers’ territory. Though Metwater had recently been eliminated as the chief suspect in a murder investigation, the Rangers continued to keep a close watch on him and his followers.
“Then you are probably aware that he recruits young people to join his group, promising them peace and harmony and living close to nature,” Hannah said. “His message appealed to my sister, who I believe was looking for an excuse to run away from her life for a while.”
“When was the baby—Joy—born?” Walt asked.
Her eyes met his, softening a little—because he had remembered the child’s name? “She was born a little over three months ago. Emily sent me a letter with a photograph. She said the baby was healthy, but I know my sister well enough to read between the lines. I sensed she wasn’t happy. She said things had been hard, though she didn’t provide any details, and she said she wanted to come home for a visit but didn’t know if the Prophet—that’s what this Metwater person calls himself—would allow it. I would have gone to her right away, but her letter gave no clue as to where she was located. She said the Family was moving soon and she would write me again when they were settled.”
“Did she usually contact you via letter instead of calling or texting or emailing?” Walt asked.
“Apparently, one condition of being a part of this group is giving up electronic devices like computers and cell phones,” Hannah said. “I don’t know if all the members comply with that restriction, but Hannah was very serious about it. Shortly after she joined the group, she wrote and told me we could only communicate through letters.”
“Did that alarm you?” Graham asked.
“Of course it did.” A hint of annoyance sharpened Hannah’s voice. “I wrote back immediately and tried to persuade her that a group that wanted its members to cut off contact with family and friends had to be dangerous—but that letter came back marked Return to Sender. It was months before I heard anything else from Emily, and that was the letter informing me of Joy’s birth. In the interim, I was worried sick.”
She opened the satchel once more and withdrew an envelope. “Then, only two weeks after the letter announcing Joy’s birth came, I received this.” She handed the envelope to Walt. He pulled out two sheets of lined paper, the left edge ragged where the pages had been torn out of a notebook.
“‘I’m very afraid. I don’t think anyone can help me,’” Walt read out loud. “‘If anything happens to me, promise you will take care of Joy.’” He looked at Hannah. “What did you do when you received this?”
“I was frantic to find her. I hired a private detective, and he was able to track down Metwater and his followers, but they told him there was no one in the group who fit my sister’s description and they knew nothing. Look at the other paper, please.”
Walt handed the first sheet to Graham and scanned the second sheet. “Is this a will?” he asked.
“Yes. It names me as Joy’s guardian in the event of Emily’s death. I was able to have a court certify it as legal and grant me custody.”
“How did you do that?” Graham asked. “Without proof of your sister’s death?”
“I was able to find proof.” She brought out another envelope and handed it to the commander. “Here are copies of my sister’s death certificate, as well as a birth certificate for her daughter.”
Graham read the documents. “This says she died in Denver, of respiratory failure.” He frowned. “Did your sister have a history of respiratory problems?”
“She had suffered from asthma off and on for most of her life, but it was well controlled with medication. She never had to be hospitalized for it.”
“Do you have any idea what she was afraid of?” Walt asked. “Did she specifically say that Metwater or anyone else threatened her?”
Hannah shook her head. “She didn’t. But I know my sister. Emily was a lot of things, but she wasn’t the nervous type and she wasn’t a drama queen. She was truly terrified of something, and I think it had to do with Metwater and his cult.”
Walt scanned the will again. His attention rested on the signatures at the bottom of the page. “This says the will was witnessed by Anna Ingels and Marsha Caldwell.”
“Marsha Caldwell was a nurse at the hospital where Joy was born,” Hannah said. “She left when her husband was transferred overseas, so I haven’t been able to talk to her. And I wasn’t able to determine who Anna Ingels is.”
“Maybe she’s one of Metwater’s followers,” Walt said.
“Except that most of them don’t use their real names,” Marco said. “It makes tracking them down more difficult.”
“But not impossible,” Graham said. He shuffled the papers in his hand. “This birth certificate says your niece was born in Denver. Have you talked with anyone there?”
“The hospital wouldn’t give me any information, and the PI wasn’t able to find out anything, either.” She shifted in her chair, as if impatient. “When I talked to the local sheriff’s office, they said the area where Metwater is camping is your jurisdiction,” she said. “All I need is for you to go with me to get Joy.”
“You haven’t tried to make contact with them on your own?” Graham asked.
She shook her head. “The private detective I hired paid them a visit. That’s when they refused to admit they had ever known Emily or that Joy even existed. He told me the conditions in their camp are pretty rough—that it isn’t the place for an infant.” She pressed her lips together, clearly fighting to maintain her composure. “I don’t want to waste any more time. I thought it would be better to show up with law enforcement backing. I know this Metwater preaches nonviolence, but my sister was genuinely afraid for her life. Why else would she have made a will at her age?”
“It doesn’t seem out of line for a new parent to want to appoint a guardian for her child,” Marco said. “Maybe she was merely being prudent.”
“One thing my sister was not was prudent,” Hannah said.
Unlike Hannah herself, Walt thought. He certainly knew how different siblings could be. “May I see the birth certificate?” he asked.
Graham passed it to him, then addressed Hannah. “Do you have a picture of your niece?”
“Only the newborn photo my sister sent.” She slipped it from the satchel and handed it to him. Graham and Marco looked at it, then passed it to Walt.
He studied the infant’s wrinkled red face in the oversize pink bonnet. “I don’t think this is going to be much help in identifying a three-month-old,” he said.
“We can go to Metwater and demand he hand over the child,” Graham said. “But if he refuses to admit she even exists, it could be tougher.”
“You can’t hide an infant for very long,” Hannah said. “Someone in the camp—some other mother, perhaps—knows she exists.”
“What makes you think Metwater’s group has her?” Marco asked. “It’s possible she ended up with Child Welfare and Protection in Denver after your sister’s death.”
“I checked with them. They have no record of her. I’m sure she’s still with Metwater and his group.”
“Why are you so sure?” Walt asked.
Her expression grew pinched. “Take another look at her birth certificate.”
Walt studied the certificate, frowning.
“What is it?” Marco asked.
Walt looked up from the paper, not at his fellow officers, but at Hannah. “This says the child’s father is Daniel Metwater.”
* * *
HANNAH HELD HERSELF very still, willing herself not to flinch at the awful words. “That’s a lie,” she said. “Emily was pregnant long before she ever met Daniel Metwater, and I know she was in a relationship with Raynor Gilbert. I have pictures of them together, and I talked to people at the club where he worked.” The conversations had been excruciating, having to relive her sister’s happiness over the baby and being in love, and then the grief when her dream of a storybook future was destroyed by Raynor’s death. “They all say he and Emily were together—that he was the father of her baby. A simple DNA test will prove that.”
“Yet the court was willing to grant you custody of the child?” Graham asked.
“Temporary custody,” she said. “Pending outcome of the DNA test. Believe me, Commander, Daniel Metwater is not Joy’s father. Her father was Raynor Gilbert and he’s dead.”
“Let us do some investigating and see what we can find out,” Graham said. “But even if we locate an infant of the appropriate sex and age in the camp, unless Metwater and his followers admit it’s your sister’s child, we won’t be able to do anything. If some other woman is claiming to be the infant’s mother, you may have to go back to court to request the DNA testing before we can seize the child.”
She stood, so abruptly her chair slid back with a harsh protest, and her voice shook in spite of her willing it not to. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get the child on my own.”
“How will you do that?” Walt asked.
“I’ll pretend I want to join the group. Once I’m living with them, I can find Joy and I’ll leave with her.”
She braced herself for them to tell her she couldn’t do that. Their expressions told her plainly enough that’s what they were thinking—at least what the commander and Agent Cruz thought. Agent Riley looked a little less stern. “You’ve obviously given this some thought,” he said.
“I will do anything to save my niece,” she said. “I had hoped to do this with law enforcement backing, but if necessary, I will go into that camp and steal her back. And I dare you and anyone else to try to stop me.”
Chapter Two (#udf15ee20-19a1-5f6e-846e-9a09572cd058)
Daniel Metwater and his followers had definitely chosen a spot well off the beaten path for their encampment. After an hour’s drive over washboard dirt roads, Walt followed Marco down a narrow footpath, across a plank bridge over a dry arroyo, to a homemade wooden archway that proclaimed Peace in crooked painted lettering. “Looks like they’ve made themselves at home,” Walt observed.
“They picked a better spot this time.” Marco glanced back at Walt. “You didn’t see the first camp, did you?”
Walt shook his head. While several members of the team had visited Metwater’s original camp as part of the murder investigation, he had been assigned to other duties.
“It was over in Dead Horse Canyon,” Marco said. “No water, not many trees and near a fairly popular hiking trail.” He looked around the heavily wooded spot alongside a shallow creek. “This is less exposed, with access to water and wood.”
“Their permit is still only for two weeks,” Walt said.
“There’s plenty of room in the park for them to move around,” Marco said. “And Metwater has some kind of influence with the people who issue the permits. They appear happy to keep handing them out to him.”
A bearded young man, barefoot and dressed only in a pair of khaki shorts, approached. “Hello, Officers,” he said, his expression wary. “Is something wrong?”
“We’re here to see Mr. Metwater,” Marco said.
“I’ll see if the Prophet is free to speak with you,” the man said.
“I think he understands by now it’s in his best interest to speak with us,” Marco said.
He didn’t wait for the young man to answer, but pushed past him and continued down the trail.
The camp itself was spread out in a clearing some fifty yards from the creek—a motley collection of tents and trailers and homemade shelters scattered among the trees. A large motor home with an array of solar panels on the roof stood at one end of the collection. “That’s Metwater’s RV,” Marco said, and led the way toward it.
Walt followed, taking the opportunity to study the men and women, and more than a few children, who emerged from the campers and tents and trailers to stare at the two lawmen. More than half the people he saw were young women, several with babies or toddlers in their arms or clinging to their skirts. The men he saw were young also, many with beards and longer hair, and all of them regarded him and Marco with expressions ranging from openly angry to guarded.
Marco rapped on the door to the large motor home. After a few seconds, the door eased open, and a strikingly beautiful, and obviously pregnant, blonde peered out at them. “Hello, Ms. Matheson.” Marco touched the brim of his Stetson. “We’d like to speak to Mr. Metwater.”
Frowning at the pair of officers, she opened the door wider. “I don’t know why you people can’t leave him alone,” she said.
Walt had heard plenty about Andi Matheson, though he hadn’t met her before. Her lover was the man murdered outside the Family’s camp, and her father, a US senator, had been involved in the crime. She was perhaps the most famous of Metwater’s followers, and apparently among those closest to him.
“We need to ask him some questions.” Marco moved past her. Walt followed, nodding to Andi as he passed, but she had already looked away, toward the man who was entering from the back of the motor home.
Daniel Metwater had the kind of presence that focused the attention of everyone in the room on him. A useful quality for someone who called himself a prophet, Walt thought. Metwater was in his late twenties or early thirties, about five-ten or five-eleven, with shaggy dark hair and piercing dark eyes, and pale skin that showed a shadow of beard even in early afternoon. He wore loose linen trousers and a white cotton shirt unbuttoned to show defined abs and a muscular chest. He might have been a male model or a pop singer instead of an itinerant evangelist. “Officers.” He nodded in greeting. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We’re looking for an infant,” Marco said. “A little girl, about three months old.”
“And what—you think this child wandered in here on her own?” Metwater smirked.
“Her mother was a follower of yours—Emily Dietrich,” Marco said.
Metwater frowned, as if in thought, though Walt suspected the expression was more for show. “I don’t recall a disciple of mine by that name,” he said.
Walt turned to Andi. “Did you know Emily?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“What about Anna Ingels?” Walt asked.
Something flickered in her eyes, but she quickly looked away, at Metwater. “We don’t have anyone here by that name, either,” Metwater said.
“I asked Miss Matheson if she knows—or knew—of an Anna Ingels.” Walt kept his gaze fixed on Andi.
“No,” she said.
“Asteria, you may leave us now,” Metwater said.
Andi—whose Family name was apparently Asteria—ducked her head and hurried out of the room. Metwater turned back to the Rangers. “What does any of this have to do with your missing infant?” he asked.
“Her aunt, Hannah Dietrich, came to us. She thinks her sister’s child is here in this camp,” Marco said. “She has legal custody of the baby and would like to assume that custody.”
“If she believes this child is here, she’s been misinformed,” Metwater said.
“Then you won’t mind if we look around,” Walt said.
“We have a number of children here in the camp,” Metwater said. “But none of them are the one you seek. I can’t allow you to disrupt and upset my followers this way. If you want to search the camp, you’ll have to get a warrant.”
“This child’s birth certificate lists you as the father,” Marco said.
Metwater smiled, a cold look that didn’t reach his eyes. “A woman can put anything she likes on a birth certificate,” he said. “That doesn’t make it true.”
“Are you the father of any of the children in the camp?” Walt asked.
“I am father to all my followers,” Metwater said.
“Is that how your followers—all these young women—see you?” Marco asked.
“My relationship to my disciples is a spiritual one,” Metwater said. He half turned away. “You must excuse me now. I hope you find this child, wherever she is.”
Walt’s eyes met Marco’s. The DEA agent jerked his head toward the door. “What do you think the odds are that his relationship with all these women is merely spiritual?” Walt asked once they were outside.
“About the same as the odds no one in this camp has a record or something they’d like to hide,” Marco said.
“It does seem like the kind of group that would attract people who are running away from something,” Walt said.
“Yeah. And everything Metwater says sounds like a lie to me,” Marco said. He turned to leave, but Walt put out a hand to stop him.
“Let’s talk to those women over there.” He nodded toward a group of women who stood outside a grouping of tents across the compound. One of them stirred a pot over an open fire, while several others tended small children.
“Good idea,” Marco said.
The women watched the Rangers’ approach with wary expressions. Walt zeroed in on an auburn-haired woman who cradled an infant. “Hi,” he said. “What’s your baby’s name?”
“Adore.” She stroked a wisp of hair back from the baby’s forehead.
“I think my niece is about that age,” Walt said. “How old is she? About three months, right?”
“He is five months old,” the woman said frostily, and turned away.
The other women silently gathered the children and went inside the tent, leaving Marco and Walt alone. “I guess she schooled you,” Marco said.
“Hey, it was worth a try.” He glanced around the camp, which was now empty. “What do we do now?”
“Let’s get out of here.” Marco led the way down the path back toward the parking area. They met no one on the trail, and the woods around them were eerily silent, with no birdsong or chattering of squirrels, or even wind stirring the branches of trees.
“Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?” Walt asked.
“I’m sure we are,” Marco said. “Metwater almost always has a guard or two watching the entrance to the camp.”
“For a supposedly peaceful, innocent bunch, they sure are paranoid,” Walt said. What did they have to fear in this remote location, and what did they have to protect?
Their FJ Cruiser with the Ranger Brigade emblem sat alone in the parking lot. Before they had taken more than a few steps toward it, Walt froze. “What’s that on the windshield?” he asked.
“It looks like a note.” Marco pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures, then they approached slowly, making a wide circle of the vehicle first.
Walt examined the ground for footprints, but the hard, dry soil showed no impressions. Marco took a few more close-up shots, and plucked the paper—which looked like a sheet torn from a spiral notebook—carefully by the edges. He read it, then showed it to Walt. The handwriting was an almost childish scrawl, the letters rounded and uneven, a mix of printing and cursive. “‘All the children here are well cared for and loved,’” he read. “‘No one needs to worry. Don’t cause us any trouble. You don’t know what you’re doing.’”
He looked at Marco. “What do you think?”
“I’m wondering if the same person who left the note also left that.” He gestured toward the driver’s door of the cruiser, from which hung a pink baby bonnet, ribbons hanging loose in the still air.
* * *
“I’M SURE THIS is the same bonnet that’s in the picture Emily sent me.” Hannah fingered the delicate pink ribbons, the tears she was fighting to hold back making her throat ache. “Whoever left this must have wanted to let us know that Joy is there and that she’s all right.” She looked into Walt Riley’s eyes, silently pleading for confirmation. The idea that anything might have happened to her niece was unbearable.
“We don’t know why the bonnet was left,” he said, his voice and his expression gentle. “But I agree that it looks very like the one in the picture you supplied us.”
“What will you do now?” She looked at the trio of concerned faces. Agent Cruz and their commander had once again joined Walt to interview her at Ranger headquarters. She had broken the speed limit on the drive from her hotel when Walt had called and asked her to stop by whenever it was convenient.
“We’re attempting to obtain a warrant to search the camp for your niece,” the commander said. “We’ve also contacted Child Welfare and Protection to see if they’ve had any calls about the camp and might know anything.”
That was it? When she had come to the Ranger office for help, she had expected them to immediately go with her to the Family’s camp and take the child. When they had insisted on visiting the camp alone, she had held on to the hope that they would return with Joy. But they had done nothing but talk and ask questions. They seemed more interested in paperwork than in making sure Joy was safely where she belonged. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” she asked. “Just sit and wait?” And worry.
“I’m sorry to say that’s all you can do right now,” Agent Riley said. “Rushing in there on your own won’t do anything but put Metwater and his people on the defensive. They might even leave the area.”
“Then you could stop them,” she said.
“On what grounds?” the commander asked. “So far we have no proof they’ve committed any crime.”
“They have a child who doesn’t belong to them, who isn’t related to them in any way. A helpless infant.” A child who was all she had left of her beloved sister.
“If they do have your niece, we don’t have any reason to think they’ve harmed her or intend to harm her.” Agent Riley reclaimed her attention with his calm voice and concerned expression. “The children we’ve seen in camp look well cared for, though we’ll verify that with CWP.”
“You’re right.” She clenched her hands in her lap and forced herself to take a deep breath. “Patience isn’t one of my strong suits.” Especially when it came to a baby. So much could go wrong, and could anyone who wasn’t family watch over her as carefully as Hannah would?
“Go back to your hotel now,” the commander said. “We’ll be in touch.” He and Agent Cruz left, leaving her alone with Agent Riley.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.
“You didn’t have to walk with me,” she said, after they had crossed the gravel lot to the compact car she had rented at the Montrose airport. A brisk wind sent dry leaves skittering over the gravel and tugged strands of hair from her updo. She brushed the hair from her eyes and studied him, trying to read the expression behind his dark sunglasses.
“I wanted to talk to you a little more. Away from the office.” He glanced back toward the low beige building that was Ranger headquarters. “Having to talk to a bunch of cops makes some people nervous.”
“As opposed to talking to only one cop.”
“Try to think of me as a guy who’s trying to help.”
“All right.” She crossed her arms over her stomach. “What do you want to know?”
“I’m trying to figure out what Daniel Metwater stands to gain by claiming your niece is his daughter,” he said. “Understanding people’s motives is often helpful in untangling a crime.”
“I imagine you know more about the man than I do. He’s been living in this area for what, almost a month now?”
“About that. Is it possible your sister listed him as Joy’s father without his knowledge?”
“Why would she do that?”
“You said she was one of his followers. He refers to himself as a father to his disciples. Maybe she was trying to honor that.”
She studied the ground at her feet, the rough aggregate of rocks and dirt in half a dozen shades of red and brown. She might have been standing on Mars, for all she felt so out of her depth. “I don’t know what my sister was thinking. As much as I loved her, I didn’t understand her. She lived a very different life.”
“Where do you live? I haven’t even asked.”
“Dallas. I’m a chemist.” The expression on his face almost made her laugh. “Never play poker, Agent Riley.”
“All right, I’ll admit I’m surprised,” he said. “I’ve never met a female chemist before. Come to think of it, I may never have met a chemist before.”
His grin, so boyish and almost bashful, made her heart skip a beat. She put her hand to her chest, as if to calm the irregular rhythm. “My job doesn’t put me in contact with very many law enforcement officers, either.” Impulsively, she reached out and touched his arm. “You’ll let me know the minute you know anything about Joy? Call me anytime—even if it’s the middle of the night.”
He covered her hand with his own. The warmth and weight of that touch seeped into her, steadying her even as it made her feel a little off balance. “I will,” he said. “And try not to worry. It may not seem like it, but we are doing everything we can to help you.”
“I want to believe that.” She pulled her hand away, pretending to fuss with the clasp of her handbag. “I’m used to being in charge, so it’s not always easy to let someone else take over.”
“Let us know if you think of anything that might be helpful.”
“I will.” They said goodbye and she got into her car and drove away. For the first time since coming to Colorado, she wasn’t obsessing over Joy and Emily and the agonizing uncertainty of her situation. Instead, she was remembering the way it felt when Agent Walt Riley put his hand on hers. They had connected, something that didn’t happen too often for her. She had come into this situation thinking she was the only one who could save her niece. Maybe she wasn’t quite so alone after all.
* * *
WALT SPENT EVERY spare moment over the next twenty-four hours working on Hannah’s case. Though he prided himself on being a hard worker, the memory of Hannah’s stricken face when he had last seen her drove him on. The afternoon of the second day, the Ranger team met to report on their various activities. Everyone was present except Montrose County sheriff’s deputy Lance Carpenter, who was on his honeymoon but expected back later in the week, and Customs and Border Protection agent Michael Dance, who was following up a lead in Denver. After listening to a presentation by veteran Ranger Randall Knightbridge on a joint effort with Colorado Parks and Wildlife to catch poachers operating in the park, and a report from Colorado Bureau of Investigation officer Carmen Redhorse on an unattended death in the park that was ruled a suicide, Walt stood to address his fellow team members.
After a brief recap of Hannah’s visit and his and Marco’s foray into Metwater’s camp, he consulted his notes. “I’ve gone over the documents Ms. Dietrich supplied us. We couldn’t lift any useful prints from the letter or the will. Nothing on the note that was left at the camp, or the bonnet, either. I contacted the Denver hospital where the baby was born—the hat isn’t one of theirs. They think the mother probably brought it with her, and they can’t give out any information on patients. We’re trying to reach the nurse who was one of the witnesses on Emily Dietrich’s will, Marsha Caldwell. She is reportedly living in Amsterdam now, where her husband recently transferred for work, but I haven’t gotten a response yet. We haven’t had any luck locating the other witness, Anna Ingels.”
“I talked to a contact at Child Welfare and Protection and she had nothing for me,” Carmen said. “They did send a social worker to visit the camp a couple of weeks after Metwater and his group arrived here, but they found no violations. They said all the children appeared to be well cared for.”
“And I don’t guess they noted any baby crawling around with no mother to claim her,” Ethan Reynolds, another of the new recruits to the Ranger Brigade, quipped.
“We got word a few minutes ago that the judge is denying our request for a warrant to search the camp,” Graham said.
The news rocked Walt back on his heels, as if he’d been punched. “What was their reasoning?” he asked.
“We didn’t present enough evidence to justify the search,” the captain said. “At least in their eyes. The judge feels—and this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this—that the Ranger Brigade’s continued focus on Metwater and his followers is tantamount to harassment.”
“This doesn’t come from us,” Randall said. “Ms. Dietrich came to us. She’s the one who made the accusations against Metwater. We weren’t harassing him. We were following up on her claim.”
“And we found nothing,” Graham said. He looked across the table and met Walt’s steady gaze. “As long as Metwater and his people deny the baby exists, our hands are tied. There’s nothing else we can do.”
Chapter Three (#udf15ee20-19a1-5f6e-846e-9a09572cd058)
Protests rose from all sides of the conference table after Graham’s pronouncement. “We need to go back to the judge and try again,” Michael Dance said.
“I can talk to Child Welfare and Protection,” Carmen said. “Ask them to take another look.”
“Unless we have CWP on our side, we’re not going to get anywhere with this,” Randall Knightbridge said.
Walt raised his voice to be heard over the clamor. “There’s still something we can do, even without a warrant,” he said.
Conversation died and everyone turned to look at him. “What do you have in mind?” Marco asked.
“I think we should do what Hannah suggested and infiltrate the group.” Walt said.
“You mean, send someone in undercover to determine if the baby is really there?” Carmen asked.
“And maybe find out what really happened to the child’s mother,” Walt said. “Hannah said her sister was afraid for her life—maybe there’s more to this story that we need to find out.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Graham said. “I’ve thought of it before, if only to get a better sense of what Metwater is up to.”
“It could backfire, big time,” said Simon Woolridge, tech expert and Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent. “If Metwater figures out what we’re doing, he could take it to the press and gain a lot of traction with his claims that we’re harassing him.”
“He won’t find out,” Walt said. “Not if we do it right.”
“By ‘we’ you mean who?” Graham asked.
Walt squared his shoulders. “I could go,” he said. “I’ve done undercover work before.”
“They’d recognize you,” Marco said. “We were just at the camp this morning.”
“I’d dye my hair and grown out my beard, and dress differently. They wouldn’t recognize me as the lawman they saw one time.”
“How are you going to know you found the right baby?” Carmen asked.
“Hannah Dietrich could come with me. I could say she’s my sister.”
“That won’t work,” Simon said. “You two don’t look anything alike.”
“Say she’s your wife,” Randall said. “From what we’ve seen, couples sometimes join Metwater’s Family together.”
“I could do that,” Walt said. “If she agrees.”
“You heard her,” Marco said. “She’ll do anything to save her niece.”
“Talk to her,” Graham said. “See what she says. But she has to agree to follow your lead and proceed with caution. And if you get in there and learn there’s a real danger, you get out. No heroics.”
“Yes, sir.” He didn’t want to be a hero. He only wanted to make things right for Hannah and her niece.
* * *
HANNAH HAD LOST the plot thread of the movie playing on the television in her hotel room an hour ago, but she left it on, grateful at least for the background noise that helped to make the room a little less forlorn. She glanced toward the porta-crib and the diaper bag in the corner of the room and felt a tight knot in her chest. Had she been naive to believe she would be bringing Joy back here last night, before heading back home to Dallas today? Now she was trapped in this awful limbo, not knowing when—or even if—she would see her niece.
A knock on the door startled her. She punched the remote to shut off the TV and moved to the door. A glimpse through the peephole showed Walt Riley, dressed not in his khaki uniform, but in jeans and a white Western-cut shirt. With trembling hands, she unfastened the security chain and opened the door. “Has something happened?” she asked. “Do you have news?”
“Hello, Ms. Dietrich,” he said. “Can I come in? There are some things we need to talk about.”
“All right.” She stepped back and let him walk past her into the room. She caught the scent of him as he passed—not cologne, but a mixture of starch and leather that seemed imminently masculine.
He crossed the small room and sat in the only chair. She perched on the edge of the bed, her stomach doing nervous somersaults. “Were you able to get the warrant to search the camp?” she asked.
“No.” He rested his hands on his knees. Large hands, bronzed from working in the sun, with short nails and no jewelry. “The judge didn’t feel we had sufficient grounds to warrant a search. Metwater has complained we’re harassing him, and the court is taking that complaint seriously.”
“What about Child Welfare and Protection? Would they support you? Or go to the camp to look for Joy?”
He shook his head. “CWP says there aren’t any problems at the camp. They would have no reason to be there.”
She felt as if she had swallowed an anvil. The weight of it pressed her down on the bed. “What am I going to do now?” she asked.
“We’ve come up with a plan.”
She leaned toward him. “What is it?”
“It’s your plan, really. We’ll send two people in, posing as a husband and wife who are interested in joining the Family. That will give us the opportunity to determine, first, if there is even an infant matching the description of your niece in the camp, and if her mother is there or not. We also hope to determine the circumstances surrounding your sister’s death.”
“I want to go. I want to be the woman.”
“We’re not talking a quick overnight visit,” he said. “It could take weeks to gain their trust and learn anything of real value.”
“I’ve taken a leave of absence from my job. I have however much time it takes.”
“You said you’re a chemist? Is your employer willing to let you off work indefinitely?”
“I’m very good at my job and I’ve been there a long time. I have savings and not many expenses. And when Joy comes to live with me, I intend to take family leave to spend time with her.” She hoped that would give her enough time to adjust to being a mother—something she had never planned on being, but now wanted more desperately than she had wanted almost anything. “I want to do this, Agent Riley. I want to help find my niece.”
“If you do this, you have to agree to follow the direction of the male agent who would be posing as your husband,” he said. “You can’t take any action without his knowledge and you have to agree to abide by his decisions.”
She stiffened. “I’m not used to other people making decisions for me.”
“Obviously not. But in this case it would be vital. As law enforcement officers, we’re trained to put together a case against someone that will stand up in court. If Daniel Metwater and his followers have kidnapped your niece, or if they had anything to do with your sister’s death, we want to be sure we can build a solid case against them that will lead to a conviction.”
What he said made sense, and she had always been good at following rules, as long as she saw a good reason for them. “All right. I can respect that,” she said. “Who is the male agent?”
“That would be me.”
She sat back a little, letting the words sink in. Relief that she wouldn’t have to work with a stranger warred with the definite attraction that shimmered between them. She didn’t need to be distracted right now. She had to focus on Joy, and the future they were going to have together. But what choice did she have? If she refused to work with Walt Riley just because she could imagine sleeping with him, wasn’t she being foolish, and maybe even a coward? They were two adults. Surely they could control themselves. In any case, he had given no indication that he felt the same attraction to her. “All right,” she said. “What do we do next?”
“Why don’t we start by going out to dinner?”
Yet again, this man had caught her off guard. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“If we’re going to pass ourselves off as husband and wife, we need to know more about each other and get comfortable in each other’s presence.”
He was right, of course. “All right.”
He stood and held out his hand. When she took it, he pulled her up beside him. “Why don’t you start by calling me Walt?”
“All right. Walt.” It wasn’t so hard here, in the intimacy of her hotel room, to think of him by his first name. A simple and strong name, like the man himself. “You should call me Hannah.”
“It’s a nice name.”
“I think so. I don’t understand why so many of Metwater’s followers feel compelled to take new names.”
“It could be the symbolism of starting over, taking on a new identity,” he said. “It’s also a convenient way to make yourself harder to track down if you’re wanted for a crime, or have something else in your past that you don’t want to come out.” He held the door as she walked through, then followed her outside. “Did your sister take a new name when she joined the group?”
“I don’t know. She never mentioned it.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I feel terrible that I don’t know more about what my sister was doing in the last months of her life. A year ago, I would have said I knew her well, but so many times now, she feels like a stranger to me. It’s depressing. You’d think if you could know anyone well, it would be a sibling.”
“I think we’re most surprised when family members behave in unexpected ways,” he said. “It feels more personal, I guess. More like a betrayal.”
“Yes.” He opened the passenger-side door to his Cruiser and she climbed inside. He put a hand on her shoulder, as if making sure she was safely settled before he shut the door behind her. Again, she felt that current of connection with him. She hadn’t felt anything like that—or rather, she hadn’t allowed herself to feel it—for a very long time. Maybe losing Emily had made her more vulnerable. Or finding Joy. So many things in her life felt out of control these days, it shouldn’t have surprised her that her emotions would betray her, too.
* * *
THERE WERE DEFINITELY worse ways to spend an evening than sitting across the table from a beautiful woman, Walt thought, once he and Hannah had settled into a booth at a local Italian place. More than one male head had turned to watch Hannah walk across the room, though maybe only Walt saw the fatigue and worry that lurked in her sapphire-blue eyes. He wished he had the power to take that worry and fatigue away from her.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said, once they had placed their orders. “How long have you lived in Dallas?”
“Ten years. I took the job there after I got my master’s at Rice University in Houston.”
“So you’re beautiful and brilliant. I’m already out of my league.”
She sipped her iced tea and regarded him over the rim of the glass. “I don’t know about that.”
“Trust me, it’s true,” he said. “I have a bachelor’s degree from the University of New Mexico and was solidly in the middle of my class. And while I’m sure there are a few professions less glamorous than law enforcement, patrolling the backcountry of public lands is about as far away from a corporate suite as you can get.”
“Your job doesn’t sound boring, though.”
“You might be surprised how boring it can be sometimes. But mostly, it is interesting.”
“What drew you to the work?” She relaxed back against the padded booth, some of the tension easing from around her eyes.
“I like the independence, and I like solving puzzles. And maybe this sounds corny, but I like correcting at least some of the injustice in the world. It’s a good feeling when you put away a smuggler or a poacher or a murderer.” His eyes met hers. “Or a kidnapper.”
She rearranged her silverware. “Do you think this will work? Our pretending to want to join up with them?”
“It’s the best way I can think of to learn what really goes on in their camp. I figure you can get to know the women—especially the mothers with children. I can talk to the men. We might be able to find Anna Ingels—the woman who witnessed your sister’s will. If your niece is there, someone will know it and eventually they’ll let something slip.”
The waiter delivered their food—ravioli for Walt, fish for her. They ate in silence for a moment, then she said, “Have you done anything like this before?”
“You mean undercover work?” He stabbed at a pillow of ravioli. “A couple of times. I posed as a big-game hunter to bring down a group of poachers. And I did a few drug buys, things like that.”
“Did you ever have to pretend to be married to someone?”
“No. That’s a new one. Does that worry you?”
“A little. Not you, I mean—well, I’ve never been married before.”
“Me either.” He laid down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Before we get too far into this, are you engaged? Seriously involved with someone? Dating a mixed martial arts fighter who’s insanely jealous?”
Her eyes widened. “No to all of the above. What about you?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend either. Or a girlfriend.”
She laughed. “Really? That surprises me.”
“Does it?”
“You’re good-looking, and friendly. I wouldn’t think you’d have trouble getting a date.”
“No, I don’t have trouble getting dates.” He took another bite of ravioli, delaying his answer. “I’m new to the area,” he said. “I transferred from northern Colorado just last month.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And there’s something you’re not saying. I heard it in your voice.”
Was he really so easy to read? He searched for some glib lie, but then again, why shouldn’t he tell her? “The last woman I dated seriously is now married to my younger brother.”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah, well, he’s very charming and untroubled by much of a conscience.” The wound still ached a little—not the woman’s betrayal so much as his brother’s. He should have seen it coming, and the fact that he hadn’t made him doubt himself a little.
“So that’s what you meant when you said you understood about thinking you knew a family member well, and turning out to be wrong.”
“Yep. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.”
“That must make for some awkward family dinners,” she said.
“A little. There are four of us kids—two girls and two boys. For the sake of family harmony, I wished the newlyweds well and keep my distance.”
“It was just Emily and me in my family,” she said. “I think it took my mom a long time to get pregnant again after me.” A smile ghosted across her lips. “I still remember how excited I was when she was born. It was as if I had a real live doll of my own to look after. After our parents were killed in a car crash when Emily was nineteen, all we had was each other. We were inseparable, right up until I went away to Dallas to work. And even after that—even though we lived very different lives—I always felt we were close.” She laid down her fork and her eyes met his. “I blamed Daniel Metwater for taking her away from me. After she joined his cult, I seldom heard from her. What kind of person encourages someone to cut off ties with family that way?”
“We haven’t been able to learn a great deal about him, other than that he’s very charismatic and seems to be offering something that some people find attractive.” He wanted to take her hand, to try to comfort her, but resisted the temptation. “There are probably experts in this kind of thing who could tell you more than I can.”
“He calls his followers a family—as if that could substitute for their real families.”
“Maybe this undercover assignment will give you some of the answers to your questions,” he said. He picked up his fork again.
They ate in silence for a while longer, until she pushed her plate away, her dinner half-eaten. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me,” she said. “About what Daniel Metwater stood to gain from keeping Joy and claiming her as his own.”
“Did you come up with something?”
“It’s not much, but Emily had a trust from our mother. An annual stipend now, with the bulk coming to her when she turned thirty in two years. Under the terms of the trust, it automatically passes to any children she might have, and can be used to pay living and educational expenses in the event of her death.”
He considered this information, then shook his head. “Metwater supposedly has money of his own.”
“That’s what I understood from the research I did.” She took a sip of tea. “I told you it wasn’t much.”
“Still, having money doesn’t mean he might not want more. And we don’t have any idea what his financial picture is these days. Maybe he made some bad investments, or being a prophet in the wilderness is more expensive than he thought it would be.”
“I keep coming back to her last letter,” Hannah said. “Emily sounded so frightened—I thought maybe that so-called Family was holding her prisoner.”
“The death certificate said her cause of death was respiratory failure.”
“I know. She died in an emergency room. Someone dropped her off—they don’t know who. And people do die of asthma, but I can’t help thinking—what if they were withholding her medication, or the stress of traveling with this group brought on the attack?”
“It would be tough to prove murder in either case.”
“I know.” She sat back and laid her napkin beside her plate. “And none of it will bring Emily back. I have to focus on what I can do, which is to raise Joy and take the best care of her I know how.”
A light came into her eyes when she spoke, and her expression changed to one of such tenderness it made Walt’s chest ache. “You already love her, don’t you?” he said.
“Yes.” That fleeting smile again. “And that surprises me. I never thought of myself as particularly nurturing, but this baby—this infant I haven’t even met yet—I already love her so much.”
“If she’s in Metwater’s camp, we’ll find her,” he said.
She surprised him by reaching out and taking his hand. “I believe you,” she said. “And if I have to pretend to be someone’s wife temporarily, I’m glad it’s you.”
He gave her hand a squeeze, then let it go before he gave in to the temptation to pull her close and kiss her. As assignments went, this one was definitely going to be interesting, and a little dangerous—in more ways than one.
Chapter Four (#udf15ee20-19a1-5f6e-846e-9a09572cd058)
Two days later, Hannah studied herself in the hotel mirror, frowning. She wished she had taken more of an interest in drama club in school—she might have learned something that would come in handy now. The only advice Walt had given her was “Stick as close to the truth as possible and only lie when absolutely necessary.” So she was going into camp as Hannah Morgan—her mother’s maiden name—and she was a corporate dropout looking for a more authentic life.
She had dressed as Walt had instructed her, in a gauzy summer skirt, tank top and sturdy sandals. She wore no makeup and had combed out her hair to hang straight past her shoulders. Silver bracelets and earrings completed the look—definitely not her normal style, which tended toward plain classics, but that was all part of playing a role, wasn’t it...dressing the part?
A knock on the door interrupted her musing. She checked the peephole, but didn’t recognize the rumpled-looking man who stood on the other side. Then he shifted so that the sun lit his face, and she sucked in a breath and jerked open the door. “I didn’t recognize you at first,” she said, staring at Walt. Several days’ growth of beard darkened his jaw, giving him a rough—and definitely sexy—look. His hair was streaked blond and tousled and he wore jeans with a rip in one knee, hiking boots and a tight olive-green T-shirt that showed off a sculpted chest and defined biceps. A tribal tattoo encircled his upper right arm. Looking at him made her feel a little breathless.
“What do you think?” He held his arms out at his sides. “Will they still make me as a cop?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” A biker or a bandit or an all-around bad boy, maybe, but not a cop.
“You look great,” he said. “I didn’t realize your hair was so long.”
She tucked a stray strand behind her ears. “I usually wear it up. It gets in the way otherwise.”
“Are you ready to go? Marco just radioed that our contact is at the laundry.”
She smoothed her sweating palms down her thighs and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
She collected the backpack into which she had stashed a few essentials and followed him across the parking lot. But instead of a car or truck, he stopped beside a motorcycle. The black-and-chrome monster looked large and dangerous. “We’re going on that?” she asked.
He patted the leather seat. “I figured the Harley fit the image better. I’ve got a small tent and some other supplies in the saddlebags and trunk.” He handed her a helmet. “Put this on.”
She settled the helmet over her head. It was a lot heavier than she had expected. “Does this belong to the Rangers?” she asked, fumbling with the chin strap.
“No, it’s my personal bike.” He fastened the strap for her, a tremor running through her as his fingertips brushed across her throat. But he gave no sign that he noticed. He straddled the bike, then looked over his shoulder at her. “Get on behind me. Put your feet on the foot pegs.”
Feeling awkward, she did as he instructed. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before,” she said.
“Don’t worry. Just hang on.” She started as the engine roared to life, the sound vibrating through her. The bike lurched forward and she wrapped her arms around him, her breasts pressed against the solid muscle of his back, his body shielding hers from the wind. She forced herself to relax her death grip on him, but didn’t let go altogether. He felt like the only steady thing in her world right now.
She tried to focus on the task ahead. Apparently, several women from Metwater’s group came into town once a week to do laundry. The plan was for Walt and Hannah to meet them and turn the talk to the Family. They would express a desire to join the group and ask for an introduction. Walt had explained that interviews with some former group members had revealed this was how new members were often acquired. And Metwater had bragged on his blog that he didn’t have to recruit members—they came to him voluntarily after hearing his message.
The laundry occupied the end unit of a low-slung building in a strip center not far from the campus of the local college. Though Metwater’s three followers were the same age as many of the students who lounged on chairs between the washers and dryers or gathered in the parking lot, they looked somehow different. Their bare faces were pink from exposure to the sun, and their long skirts and sleeveless tops were faded and worn. One of the women had a baby on her hip, and Hannah couldn’t keep from staring at the child, who wore a stained blue sleeper and had a shock of wheat-colored hair and plump, rosy cheeks.
“That’s a beautiful baby,” she said, forgetting that they had agreed she would let Walt do most of the talking.
“Thanks.” The woman, who wore her light brown hair in two long braids, hefted the child to her shoulder, her eyes wary.
“How old is he?” Hannah asked. “Or she?”
“He’s almost seven months,” she said.
Hannah realized she had been staring at the child too intently. She forced a smile to her face. “I’m Hannah,” she said. “And this is my husband, Walt. A friend told me she had seen you all doing your laundry here sometimes, so we came here hoping to meet some members of the Family.”
“We’ve been reading the Prophet’s blog,” Walt said. “His message really spoke to us. We were wondering how we could go about joining the group.”
The baby’s mother looked over her shoulder, toward where the other two women were filling a row of washers. “You should talk to Starfall,” she said. “Starfall! Come talk to these people.”
Starfall had curly brown hair and a slightly crooked nose, and the beginnings of lines along each side of her mouth, as if she frowned a lot. She was frowning now as she approached them. “What do you want?” she asked.
“We wanted to know how we could go about joining up with the Family,” Walt said. He took Hannah’s hand and squeezed it. “We’ve been reading the Prophet’s writing and we really like what he has to say.”
“Is that so?” Starfall addressed her question not to Walt, but to Hannah.
She licked her too-dry lips and tried to remember something from Daniel Metwater’s blog, which she had read repeatedly since Emily had announced she was joining his group. “We’re tired of the shallow commercialism and focus on materialism so rampant in the modern world,” she said. “We want to be a part of the community the Prophet is building—close to nature and working for the good of one another.”
“It’s not just a matter of camping in the wilderness for a few weeks,” Starfall said. “You have to agree to contribute your resources for the good of all. And you have to work. Everyone in the Family has a job to do.”
“We’re not afraid of work,” Walt said. “And we wouldn’t expect the Prophet to take us in and provide for us without us contributing. We have money to contribute.”
Starfall’s unblinking gaze was starting to make Hannah nervous. She moved closer to Walt, her shoulder brushing his. “Can you arrange for us to meet the Prophet?” she asked.
Starfall’s expression didn’t soften, but she nodded. “You can follow us to camp when we get ready to leave here.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hannah asked. She turned to the first young woman. “I could hold the baby for you.”
The woman put one arm protectively around the child. “He’s happier with me.”
“Wait for us over there or outside.” Starfall pointed to the corner of the laundry.
“Come on, honey.” Walt took her arm and led her to the grouping of chairs. “You need to rein it in a little,” he said under his breath. “She thinks you want to kidnap her kid.”
“I just wanted to verify it’s really a boy. Don’t you think he looks small for seven months?”
“I have no idea. I haven’t spent a lot of time around babies.”
She slumped into one of the molded plastic chairs grouped against the back wall. “I haven’t either. Before I left to come here I read everything I could find on babies, but there’s so much information out there it’s impossible to absorb.”
“Most new parents seem to manage fine.” He patted her shoulder. “You will, too.”
She studied the trio of women sorting laundry across the room. “What kind of a name is Starfall?”
“I’m not sure where Metwater’s followers get their names,” he said. “Maybe Metwater christens them.”
“If Emily took a new name, maybe that’s why no one recognized her when you asked about her.”
“It’s possible.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll try to find out.”
Odd that holding his hand felt so natural now. If he was really her husband, it was the kind of thing he would do, right? But it annoyed her that she was settling into this role so easily. She was a strong woman and she didn’t need a man to make her feel safe. And she couldn’t afford to lose focus on her real purpose here—to find and care for her niece.
She slid her fingers out of his grasp. “I think we should come up with a list of reasons Metwater would want us as part of his group. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want a bunch of freeloaders.”
“From what little we’ve seen, men seem to leave the group more often than women,” Walt said. “So he’s always in need of extra muscle.”
Her gaze slid to his chest and arms. He had muscle, all right. She shifted in her chair. “It doesn’t look as if he has any shortage of young women followers. I should think of something to make me look like a better possible disciple. I supposed I could offer up my bank account.”
“I’ll admit that would probably be an inducement, but I doubt you’ll need it.”
“But I ought to have something to offer,” she said. “Maybe I could say I was a teacher and I could teach the children. That would be a good way to get to know the mothers, too.”
“It would. But babies don’t really need school yet. I think Metwater will want you in his group because you’re just his type.”
“His type?”
“Beautiful.”
She stared at him, a blush heating her face. Not that she was naive about her looks, but to hear him say it that way caught her off guard. She glanced at the women in front of the bank of washers, noting that they were all young, slender and, yes, quite attractive. “Are you saying Metwater favors beautiful women?”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s got a regular harem around him all the time. The Rangers did a rough census of the group when they first moved onto park land, and there wasn’t anyone out there over the age of forty, and most of them are a lot younger. Two-thirds of the group are women and a number of them are, well, stunning.” He shrugged. “You should fit right in.”
He probably meant that as a compliment, but his words made her uncomfortable. “I really don’t like being judged by my looks—good or bad,” she said. “It’s something I’ve had to struggle against in the scientific community my whole career. There are plenty of people out there—plenty of men—who still think a pretty blonde can’t possibly be smart.”
“I don’t think you’re dumb—not by a long shot,” he said. “I’m just telling you what I’ve observed about Metwater. If you know what you’re getting into, maybe you can use his predilections to your advantage.”
“You mean, pretend to be the dumb blonde so he’ll be less likely to suspect me of being up to something?”
“That’s one way to approach it.”
She crossed her arms over her stomach. Playing down her intellect and playing up her looks went against everything she believed in. But if it would help her find Joy and bring her home safely... “I’ll think about it,” she said, and stood. “Right now, I’m going outside to get some fresh air.”
* * *
WALT WATCHED HANNAH walk away. She nodded to the three Family members as she passed, but didn’t stop to chat. He settled back in his chair, chin on his chest, pretending to nap, though he kept an eye on the three women. Hannah was ticked off about his comments about her looks. He was only stating fact, and trying to give her a hint at what she might be in for.
Not that he intended to let Daniel Metwater lay a finger on her. One more reason he was glad they had decided to pass themselves off as husband and wife instead of brother and sister. He couldn’t count on the Prophet not to go after a married woman, but it might slow him down. Walt didn’t intend for the two of them to be in the camp any longer than necessary. With luck, they would find Hannah’s niece within a day or two and get out of Dodge.
“We’re ready to leave now, if you want to follow us.”
Starfall hefted a large garbage bag he presumed was full of clean laundry and started out the door. Walt hurried to catch up. “Let me take that,” he said, and carried the laundry the rest of the way to the battered sedan she pointed out.
Hannah joined them beside the car. “Do you need help with anything else?” she asked.
“No.” Starfall slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. “Just try to keep up.”
She was already pulling out of the parking lot when Walt and Hannah reached his motorcycle. “I think she’s purposely trying to lose us,” Hannah said as she pulled on the helmet.
“No chance of that.” He put on his own helmet and mounted the bike. “I already know where the camp is.” She climbed on behind him and he started the engine. “It’s going to be a rough and dusty ride once we reach the dirt roads. Nothing I can do about it.”
“Despite what you might think, I’m not some delicate flower who withers if I have to deal with a little dirt,” she said. “I’m tougher than I look.”
He heard the steel in her voice and sensed it in her posture as she sat up straight behind him. Only her hands tightly gripping his sides gave any clue to her nervousness. He remembered the matter-of-fact way she had laid out her story in the Rangers’ office, with no tears or pleadings. As much as he found himself wanting to look after her, she was a woman used to looking after herself, and she wasn’t going to let him forget it.
Starfall obviously wasn’t concerned about speed limits, as she drove fifteen and twenty miles over the posted speeds all the way into the park. Only when they turned onto the first dirt road did she slow down, in deference to the washboard surface of the two-track that cut across the wilderness.
The landscape that spread out around them was unlike what most people associated with Colorado. Though distant mountains showed snowcapped peaks against an expanse of turquoise sky, the land in the park and surrounding wilderness areas was high desert. Sagebrush and stunted pinyons dotted the rolling expanse of cracked brown earth, and boulders the size of cars lay scattered like thrown dice. Though the terrain looked dry and barren, it was home to vibrant life, from colorful lizards and swift rabbits to deer and black bear. Hidden springs formed lush oases, and the roaring cataract of the Gunnison River had cut the deep Black Canyon that gave the park its name, a place of wild beauty unlike any other in the United States.
Walt had to slow the Harley to a crawl to steer around the network of potholes and protruding rocks, and to avoid being choked by the sedan’s dust. Even if he hadn’t already known the location of Metwater’s camp, the rooster tail of dust that fanned out behind the car hung in the air long after the vehicle passed, providing a clear guide to their destination.
By the time he and Hannah reached the small parking area, the women had the car unloaded and were preparing to carry the bundles of clean laundry over the footbridge. Without asking, they left two bundles behind. Walt and Hannah took these and fell into step behind them.
The camp looked much as it had on his visit four days before, people gathered in front of trailers and tents, others working around picnic tables in a large open-sided shelter with a roof made of logs and woven branches. A group of men played cards in the shade of a lean-to fashioned from a tarp, while a trio of children ran along the creek, pausing every few steps to plunge sticks into the water.
“There are a lot of people here,” Hannah whispered.
“A couple dozen, best we can determine,” Walt said.
A man stepped forward to take the bag of laundry from Starfall. “Who are they?” he asked, jerking his head toward Walt and Hannah.
“They want to join the Family,” she said.
The man, who looked to be in his late twenties, wore his sandy hair long and pulled back in a ponytail. He had a hawk nose and a cleft in his chin, and the build of a cage fighter or a bull rider—not tall, but all stringy muscle and barely contained energy. He looked them up and down, then spat to the side. “I guess that’s up to the Prophet,” he said.
He and Starfall walked away, leaving Walt and Hannah standing alone on the edge of the camp. Hannah moved closer and he put his arm around her. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“Let’s go talk to the Prophet.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
“What’s your best guess?” he asked.
She surveyed the camp, taking in the motley collection of dwellings, from a camper shell on the back of a pickup truck with one flat tire to a luxurious motor home with an array of solar panels on the roof. “My guess is the big RV,” she said.
“You get an A.” He took his arm from around her. “Come on. Let’s see if the Prophet will grant us an interview.”
No one said anything as they headed toward the motor home, but Walt could feel dozens of eyes on them. No one was rushing to welcome the new converts with open arms, that was for sure. Was it because they were waiting to take their cue from Metwater? Or had the Prophet instilled suspicion of all outsiders in his followers?
They mounted the steps to the RV and Walt rapped hard on the door. After a moment it opened and Andi Matheson answered. Andi—or Asteria, as she called herself now—had had more contact with the Rangers than anyone else in camp, but she showed no sign of recognition as she stared at Walt. “Yes?”
“We’d like to see the Prophet,” he said. “We—my wife and I—” he indicated Hannah “—are big admirers of his and would like to join the group.”
She nodded, as if this made perfect sense, and held the door open wider. “Come in.”
The interior of the RV was dim and cool, the living room filled with a leather sofa and several upholstered chairs. Andi indicated they should sit, then disappeared through an archway into the back of the vehicle.
Walt sat on the sofa and Hannah settled next to him. She was breathing shallowly, and he could almost feel the nervousness rolling off her in waves. He gripped her hand and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.
She nodded, and didn’t pull away.
“The woman who let us in is Andi Matheson,” Walt said, keeping his voice low.
Hannah nodded. “I read about her online. She’s the daughter of someone famous, right?”
“Her father is Senator Pete Matheson—though right now he’s serving time for murdering an FBI agent.”
“She’s obviously pregnant,” Hannah said. “Is Metwater the father?”
“No,” Walt said. “That would be the man the senator killed.”
Hannah’s face softened with sympathy. “How terrible for her.”
“She seems to have settled in nicely with Metwater,” Walt said.
There wasn’t a clock in the room, so he had no idea how long they waited, though he thought it might have been as long as ten minutes. “What’s taking so long?” Hannah whispered.
Just then, Andi reappeared from the back of the RV. “The Prophet will see you,” she said.
Walt and Hannah stood and started toward Andi. She held up a hand. “He doesn’t want to see you together,” she said. She turned to Hannah. “He wants to interview you first. Alone.”
Chapter Five (#udf15ee20-19a1-5f6e-846e-9a09572cd058)
“I don’t think—” Walt began, but Hannah interrupted him.
“I don’t mind talking with him by myself.” She assumed what she hoped was an eager expression. “It would be a privilege to meet the Prophet.” Was that laying it on too thick? Probably not, for a man who had the nerve to refer to himself as the Prophet.
Andi turned to Walt. “You can wait outside,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s your turn.”
Walt turned to Hannah. “If you’re sure?”
“I’ll be fine.” After all, it wasn’t as if Metwater was going to do anything with Andi right here and a bunch of other people around. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had experience fending off fresh men. Even if Metwater was the lecher Walt had made him out to be, Hannah could handle him.
Walt left, then Andi put on a broad-brimmed hat and headed for the door also. “Where are you going?” Hannah asked.
“The Prophet wants to speak with you alone,” she said, and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Hannah hugged her arms across her chest and walked to the window, but heavy shades blocked any view out—or in. She took a deep breath, fighting for calm. She shouldn’t be afraid of Metwater. Walt was close by if she needed anything. She needed to keep her head and use this opportunity to learn as much as possible about the Prophet, and about Emily and Joy.
“Please, have a seat. I want you to be comfortable.”
She turned and stared at the man who spoke. Metwater—and this had to be Metwater—was almost naked, wearing only a pair of low-slung, loose lounge pants in some sort of silky fabric. The kind of thing she’d seen Hugh Hefner wear in old photographs. At the thought, she had to stifle a laugh.
“Please share what you find so amusing.” Barefoot, he moved into the room with the sensual grace of a panther, lamplight gleaming on the smooth muscles of his chest and arms and stomach. Curly dark hair framed a face like Michelangelo’s David, the shadow of beard adding a masculine roughness.
All mirth deserted her as he moved closer still, stopping when he was almost touching her, so that she could feel the heat of his body, smell his musk and see the individual lashes that framed his dark eyes. He stared at her, crowding her personal space, stripping away her privacy. She found it impossible to look away from that gaze—the hypnotic stare of a predator.

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