“Oh God.” He leaned back, placing a hand over his mouth.
“It was really tall, with handles and plastic . . .” A lump formed in my throat. “Plastic sheets.”
He hung his head, shaking it from side to side. “No.”
“I found it in a room attached to a classroom . . . a classroom, Jonathan. And there’s more. I found boxes of those condoms, and something called K-Y Jelly.”
Jonathan groaned in response, avoiding eye contact. He propped his forehead in his hands.
“And . . . duct tape.”
“That fucking piece of shit!” Jonathan stood from the chair and paced the room, snarling. “Goddamn it!”
Again and again he paced, until finally he pressed his fist into the white wall and leaned his forehead against it.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
“What? Why?” I asked, confused. Why on earth would he need to apologize to me?
“The condom. When you brought it to the station, I blew it off. I even made light of it, calling him the Pimp Prophet, when that’s exactly what he is.”
“You didn’t know.”
“But I feel like an asshole. I just . . . I thought, this is a man of God. Sure he might be selling drugs or something to people he deems evil. It’d be a win-win for the fucker. He’d make money off the sins of Gentiles. No harm, no foul. But this? This is despicable. Horrific.”
“I know. I can only imagine who he’s doing this to.”
“Do you have any guesses?”
“His wives? Young women of the compound?”
“He has dozens of wives, doesn’t he?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes. And they’re completely under his authority. He can make them do anything he wants. And my Ruthie, in just over a year, she’ll be one of them. We have to stop him, Jonathan. We have to.”
“We will.” He paced the room again. “And so those men entering the temple, do you think those are his clients?” He said that word with disdain. His nostrils flared and his lips rose slightly, as if he’d just tasted a rancid lemon.
Clients.
I reached into my knapsack to retrieve the ledger, extending my hand and nodding for Jonathan to take the book.
His mouth dropped open. “Wait, what is this? Did you take this?”
Surprised by his reaction, I placed the ledger in my lap. “Yes, why?”
“Oh shit!” He moaned, chucking his glasses onto the countertop before shoving his hands into his hair. “If you take something from a crime scene, it can’t be used as evidence. Shit, shit, shit!”
“Why?”
“It’s handwritten. His lawyer will get it thrown out; I guarantee it. They’ll claim you altered it.”
My stomach lurched again, knowing I’d made an enormous error. “I—I didn’t know. I thought you needed proof.”
“Photographs. I needed photographs. We have to get that back in his office.”
“I can’t go back there!” I shrieked, horrified at the idea of entering the Prophet’s office again, of reliving that nightmare.
“I’m sorry, Aspen, but it’s the only way. You have to take it back, and once I have a warrant, we’ll get it.”
I hung my head in shame. I’d messed up and jeopardized the entire investigation.
You stupid woman!
Jonathan approached me and knelt at my feet, placing both hands on my knees. “Hey, listen to me. You didn’t know. I should have told you not to take anything. If it’s anyone’s fault here, it’s mine.”
He reached to smooth down my hair, and when I flinched, he jerked back his hands and put them up in surrender.
Rising to his feet, he stammered, “Shit, sorry. I didn’t . . . I wasn’t—I just—”
Shame swept over me as I watched Jonathan stumble over his words, clearly guilt-ridden for touching me. I shouldn’t have recoiled at his touch—after all, he was just trying to comfort me. But my presence in his apartment was unsettling, and despite knowing that we were a team and that I was indebted to him for support, I couldn’t allow anything inappropriate to happen, including a soothing touch with only the best of intentions.
“It’s all right, I’m just unhinged right now. What I saw at the temple can never be unseen. I’ll never get that image out of my head.”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“In my line of work, I’ve seen a lot of fucked-up shit . . . a lot of it. I try my best to detach from it, ya know? To compartmentalize the evil that I see. But it’s damn near impossible sometimes, and there have been plenty of things I wish I could erase from my memory. But I can’t.”
He shrugged as he eased himself onto the couch across the room, giving me the space I needed.
“I’m sorry. That must be really hard.”
“It is.”
“Have you thought of quitting?”
“Nah.” He scrunched his nose, tapping his fingers against his knees. “It’s who I am. It’s what I do.”
“So, what do we do next?”
“Once you get that book back into the office, we can use your pictures to file for a warrant.”
“Okay.” I sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ve come this far; I have to end this once and for all.”
“While you have it here, can I see it?”
He rose from his seat and walked to his kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. He returned to the sitting area with latex gloves on his hands before reaching for the book. I handed it to him, and he paged through the pages of records kept by the Prophet.
“Rodriguez, Cohen . . . those don’t sound like FLDS names, that’s for damn sure.”
“Right. Those were my thoughts.”
He thumbed through several more pages and I sat, waiting quietly, sliding myself back to rest on the cushion of the armchair. Fatigue was finally setting in, and soon, despite everything that had happened that night, my body would demand sleep.
Just as Jonathan closed the book and extended his hand to give it back to me, his phone rang, breaking the silence.
“That’s odd. It’s two in the morning.” He reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone, staring down at his hand in horror. The color drained from his face.
“Aspen, where’s your phone?”
“What?” Baffled by the question, I squinted at him, attempting to understand.
“The call. It’s coming from your phone. Did you accidentally dial me?”
Rifling through my knapsack, I searched and searched, but found nothing.
“It’s gone!”
I jumped to my feet and rushed to stand beside him, staring down to see my name on his screen. A memory flashed through my brain. The slamming door—someone entering the temple. I’d placed the phone on the desk before running to close the door in time. I’d left it there right on the desk of Clarence Black.
“Oh no, I—I left it on his . . . oh no, Jonathan! It’s him, it’s the Prophet!”
Jonathan sneered. He pressed the green key on his phone, lifted it to his ear, and spoke with angry determination. “Who is this?”
He stood, his mouth agape as he listened. I inched closer to him, trying to hear the caller, but I heard nothing.
My stomach dropped to my feet—I wanted to yell, to beg, to ask what was happening, but I couldn’t. I had to remain still, quiet. The Prophet couldn’t know where I was. If he did, my children would be gone before I returned home. I’d lose them forever.
Jonathan stared at me with wide eyes, then removed the phone from his ear and held it to mine. My heart pounded furiously and sweat gathered on the back of my neck. I resisted the urge to speak and held my breath as I listened.
All I heard was the harsh sound of breathing . . . angry breathing. In and out, the person on the other end of the line breathed in and out, causing the hair on my arms to rise at attention. And within seconds, the phone clicked. He was gone.
“It was the Prophet; it had to be.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Did he say any
thing to you when you first picked up?” I asked.
“No.” Jonathan shook his head. “He just breathed into it. Creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“He knows.”
Jonathan nodded. “And he has your phone.”
“And the pictures. He knows what I found upstairs.”
He nodded again. “The proof we needed, it’s gone.”
“But why didn’t he say anything? I don’t understand.”
“To cover his ass.”
“I still don’t get it. He called the number, he made contact—why not speak?”
“He didn’t have to. He sent a message without saying a fucking word. And we received it loud and clear, didn’t we?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, we did.”
Chapter 28
“A woman is first a wife, then a mother. Her loyalty must always be to her Prophet and her husband.”
—The Prophet, Clarence Black
Aspen
“Mama?” Susan asked from her bed, looking down at me, a huddled mass on their bedroom floor.
Last night, Jonathan had driven me home after the horrifying call from the Prophet. Frantically, I ran for my children’s bedroom, relieved to find them all fast asleep in their beds. After gathering blankets and a pillow, I lay down in the center of their carpet, and out of pure exhaustion, managed to fall asleep for just a few hours.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
Susan climbed from her bed, pulled up the blanket I’d laid over me, and curled up beside me. Snuggling close, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
I had to lie. There was no way I could share what happened the night before. “My bed was uncomfortable, and I wanted to be near you.”
Susan placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Maybe Daddy needs to get you a new bed.”
I pulled her closer. “Maybe.”
She sighed. “But that can wait. I like you here.”
Tears stung my eyes as I clung to my sweet girl. “I like me here too.”
A voice came from the doorway. “Aspen? What are you doing here? On the floor?”
It was Sarah.
“I, um . . . I had a nightmare and just wanted to be here, with my children.”
Sarah smiled, nodding. “Ah, I understand.”
“You said your bed was uncomfortable,” Susan said with one eyebrow raised.
“That too,” I said with clenched teeth. Luckily, Sarah was one of the most trusting wives in the family. I wasn’t worried that she’d question my inconsistent stories.
Noises came down the hall from the kitchen, offering the perfect distraction from our conversation. Cabinets were slamming, children were speaking loudly, and the other sister wives were shushing them and urging them to hurry.
I yawned and sat up, attempting to see the clock, which was just out of sight on the girls’ dresser.
“What time is it? What’s going on out there?”
“Oh,” Sarah answered with a grin. “It’s the Prophet.”
My stomach flipped. “What do you mean?”
“He has an announcement this morning. Everyone is to be at the temple in thirty minutes. You’d best wake your children. We don’t want to be late.” Sarah scurried from my doorway with a skip to her step.
For most, an announcement from the Prophet was joyous, exciting, and one of the things that was most anticipated in our day-to-day lives. But not for me. Not anymore.
This can’t be a coincidence.
I woke my children, hurriedly dressed them, and sent them down the hall to eat their morning meal while I cleaned myself up and prepared to walk to the temple. Once I’d dressed and braided my hair, I walked back to the kitchen but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Paul speaking to Flora.
A hush came over everyone in the room. He looked up, glanced at me, and his face fell.
“I’ll speak to you later,” he said to Flora. “Have everyone ready in five minutes.”
He walked past me without so much as a hello. He’d remained true to his word and hadn’t spoken to me since his outburst days prior. But I didn’t have time to pay him any mind. I had to know what the Prophet was about to announce. I could only hope that it wasn’t my removal from the community.
But inside my gut, I knew that it was. This would be the last time I saw my babies. I’d be sent into the outside world with nothing but the clothes on my back.
Where would I go? As much as I’d grown to trust Jonathan, there was no way I could live in his home. But perhaps Brinley and Porter would take me in. They’d always said they were in my debt, and as much as I wanted to deny it, there was a strong probability that I’d be seeking their help.
This was all in vain. You should have left it alone, Aspen. Should have accepted Ruthie’s fate to marry the Prophet in fourteen months. Instead, you’ve lost everything, and the Prophet has won. Jeremiah won’t even remember you.
With a heavy heart, I walked with my children to the temple, Jeremiah in my arms and Beatrice holding my hand. We took a seat near the rest of our family and waited for the Prophet to emerge.
“I’m so excited,” Ruthie said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
“Why?”
“Maybe it’s about our wedding.”
Foolish, self-absorbed child. I will miss her so very much.
Determined to shield her from my worries, I wore a face of stone. “Don’t be silly; you have over a year before that happens. I’m sure it has nothing to do with us.”
The Prophet’s office door opened, and with a cocky smirk, he closed and locked it before walking to the altar, nodding at the congregants as they took their seats.
“Good morning, my children. I’ve gathered everyone here today for a joyous announcement. Heavenly Father came to me last night; he came to me with a determination I haven’t heard in years. And so, my children, I listened to him. I opened my ears and I listened to all the news he had to deliver.”
Joyous news? That makes no sense.
He turned his attention to our row, fixing his gaze on my little girl. “Ruthie, would you join me, my dear?”
What? No! No! What’s happening?
Beaming with pride, Ruthie smoothed down her dress and walked to the front of the chapel to stand next to the Prophet. He kissed her gently on the forehead and took her hand in his.
“Heavenly Father has decided that we shall marry on your twelfth birthday, rather than your thirteenth. The Lord is ready for you to be one of the chosen wives of our community. He knows you’re ready, and so do I. How do you feel about that, my dear?”
No! No! No!
Ruthie hopped on the balls of her feet, biting down on her lip before opening her mouth to speak. Her voice was loud, jovial, satisfied. “I’m ready, sir. I’m ready.”
“Wonderful, my dear. On your twelfth birthday, we will gather here, all of us, to celebrate our divine union. It will be a day to celebrate indeed.”
He raised their linked hands above Ruthie’s head, and the congregation burst into supportive applause. But I sat, staring at the monster who would own my daughter in just two months. I pictured my sweet baby on that horrible bed, with duct tape over her mouth and hands, tears streaming down her red cheeks as her husband betrayed her trust and stole her innocence while men she’d never seen before watched her agony, her abuse, her ruin.
“Let’s bring your parents up here for a group picture. This day must be celebrated and our joy remembered.”
Paul rose from his seat, one row ahead of mine. He stared at me in annoyance. “Aspen, let’s go.”
I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to cooperate, to betray my daughter in such a way. How was I to send her willingly to the wolf in sheep’s clothing, the man who would rape her while other men watched for their own sick, sinful desires? I couldn’t, I wouldn’t!
I opened my mouth to speak, to scream, to grab my daughter by the hand and run far, far away. But the Prophet released Ruthie and extended both hands toward me.
“
Aspen, stand here, my dear.” He guided me to stand next to him, and Paul stood beside Ruthie.
The Prophet barked orders to his first wife. “Janine, take the picture. Let’s go.”
“Yes, of course.” Janine hopped from her seat, fiddling with her camera.
“You look tired, Aspen,” the Prophet said. “Difficulty sleeping last night?”
“Just a bit.” I held my head high, refusing to make eye contact.
“That’s a shame. Hopefully you can get some rest today. We need you healthy, dear.”
Two months, two months, two months. I only have two months to save her.
I said nothing in response, my heartbeat thrashing in my ears. With clenched teeth, I focused my attention on Janine, who was now aiming the camera at the four of us standing on the steps of the altar. She snapped several photos and then returned to her seat.
I took one step, but was jerked back by the Prophet’s hand wrapped around my wrist.
He leaned in close, his fingers digging into my skin. I winced, but stayed still. His hot breath crawled across my neck and a chill ran down my spine. I could feel his cheek against mine as he whispered into my ear.
“Dance, puppet, dance.”
The story continues from Detective Jonathan Cooke’s point of view in:
Just Keep Sweet – Book 3 of The Compound Series
Coming Spring 2016
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my editor, Pam Berehulke of Bulletproof Editing. I am so thankful for you and your awesome skills. Thanks for being so flexible with me this past year when I was a total pain in the butt.
Thank you to Regina Wamba at Mae I Design & Photography. You made this book’s cover absolutely perfect. I’m so in love with it, and I loved working with you. You are creative, professional, and flexible. Thank you so much.
Thank you to Tami Norman of Integrity Formatting for formatting the paperback. You always do such a fantastic job.
Thank you to Deb Bresloff and your constant support with brainstorming, beta reading, and giving me so much encouragement through all stages of this book. I am so grateful.
Thank you to Beth Ehemann for our incredible brainstorming sessions. Each time I’d feel so energized and excited about the plot that I felt like I could write it all in just a few hours. I love your passion for this series; it motivates me like you wouldn’t even believe. Thank you so much for all your excitement and support.
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