“Cost lives?”
She looked at him. “Samuel is dangerous. He’s a murderer. The feds know it but they haven’t managed to get enough on him to lay charges and prosecute.”
He took a bite of his vegetable lasagna, chewed as he digested what she’d said. And in part of his brain he wondered if she was vegetarian. He liked his meat—venison. He stilled. It was another small snippet of revelation. He had a sudden image of blood, warm on his hands. And then it was gone.
“So you work as a paramedic and a SAR volunteer in Cold Plains,” he said. “This is your cover. Meanwhile, in the dark of night, you bring people to this…cave place, whatever it is.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“And you were searching for Lacy and her kids when you stumbled upon me.”
She nodded. “I should have been on an official search for Lacy on the other side of the mountain—it’s a long story. But I couldn’t just leave you down that ravine.” She swore. “Now a crooked cop is going to look deeper into me and my background and people I care for are going to get hurt or killed.”
“June?”
“What?”
“Thank you. For saving my life.”
She raised her arms as if in defeat. “And where does that get me—us—now?”
“Maybe I can help you.”
Surprise darted through her eyes. Then she said, very quietly, “Jesse, you could still be a mole.”
He scooped up the last mouthful of lasagna and chewed, watching her.
“Tell me about Matt,” he said.
She slumped back in her chair.
“He was a helicopter pilot who flew SAR missions. It’s how I met him, on a search. We married young. Well, I was young. He was quite a bit older than me, and we had Aiden. We were good together.” She sat silent awhile. “PTSD is a little-acknowledged fact of SAR life, and there always comes one mission that gets to you for some reason. That day came for Matt, a seasoned veteran, when he was called out to look for another chopper that had gone down in the Cascades. The search turned into a recovery mission. The craft had crashed into the side of a mountain in heavy weather. No survivors. The pilot was a close friend of Matt’s—brothers-in-arms kind of thing. And it was a pretty gruesome recovery effort. It cut Matt up big-time.”
She sighed deeply. “And it left him questioning the meaning of it all, life. One of his friends suggested Matt go with him to a church meeting. That meeting led to another, and then another, and pretty soon, he was sucked in by a religious cult.” Her eyes narrowed and Jesse could see she was struggling.
“It wasn’t like Matt was weak,” she said. “But what I just didn’t get at the time is that you don’t have to be somehow weak or stupid to be sucked in by a cult. And there was my guy—an über A-type personality, a total daredevil who was so in control and command of his own environment—being sucked in by the ministerings of some cult leader.”
“What did you do?”
She snorted. “I tried to talk sense into him. Then we argued. The arguments got worse. Then I went to some meetings in an effort to see what in hell he was talking about. And—” she shook her head. “I still didn’t get why my intelligent guy couldn’t just snap out of it. But that’s not how it works, I’ve learned. And then the church wanted money. Matt was starting to dig into our savings, giving everything we’d worked for together to the cult. I’d lost him, Jesse. He spent more and more time away from home. And I began to worry about Aiden. He was only three years old at the time, and Matt started taking him to the church meetings. And when Matt started talking about us all moving onto the church’s rural compound in the mountains, I drew my line in the sand. I told him he had to choose between our marriage and the cult, because he was bleeding us dry.”
June rubbed her face. “I thought—I honestly believed, at the time—that it was a matter of making a decision, that Matt was strong, and that he would make the right choice. But that evening I was called out on a missing Alzheimer’s case. I took Aiden to my mom’s house and she promised to get him to day care in the morning.
“When I went to pick him up the following evening, they told me Matt had come earlier in the day and taken him. I knew right away he was taking him to the cult compound. I called the cops. It turned into a huge manhunt. Matt went into the woods. I used the dog I had at the time, tried to track them.” Her eyes began to gleam with emotion.
“I tracked the whole night.”
She sat silent awhile.
Jesse pushed his plate aside.
“What happened?” he said, his voice hoarse.
She snorted softly. “Matt reached a helicopter base in the next town and he took Aiden with him in one of their choppers. The police took a helicopter up, followed him. I—I knew he wouldn’t have taken Aiden up with him unless he was totally desperate, not thinking. Otherwise he’d have known there was a finite amount of fuel, that he’d have to set down, that the police would pick him up when he did.”
“He crashed?”
She nodded.
Wood popped in the fire.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. He felt lame.
“I learned a lesson that day, Jesse. A brutal lesson about the psychological power of cults. I learned that you can’t just snap out of it, that you need professional help to do so. If I’d gone about it a different way, found counseling, helped Matt deal with the real reasons he’d gone to the church in the first place… Because, in retrospect, he was suffering from critical-incident stress. I didn’t see it, and he certainly was too macho to talk to me about what was going on deep in his head. I loved him, and I should have found a way to help him. Instead, I gave him an ultimatum that pushed him over the edge. I killed him and my son.”
“June—”
She raised her palm and shook her head. “It is my fault. I don’t care what people say.”
“So now you help others out of cults, and you do it in memory of Matt and Aiden.” Or do you do it to try and assuage your own feelings of guilt—is it the only thing you can do now, June?
She nodded. “I learned everything I could after that. And I started working for EXIT, an international network of like-minded professionals and volunteers who help families get loved ones out of cults and into halfway houses, safe places, where they can access deprogramming or exit-counseling. I move around the country, operating safe houses where necessary.”
“And that’s how you came to Cold Plains?”
“Yes.”
“Who brought you here—I mean, which family?”
“In this case the existence of the Devotees came to EXIT’s attention via one of the escapees, Mia Finn, who was brought in for deprogramming. She’s now the sister-in-law of the FBI agent investigating Samuel. Samuel’s believed to be responsible for orchestrating the murders of at least five women and possibly others.”
“This is dangerous.”
“That’s an understatement.”
Jesse’s respect, his attraction to June, mushroomed.
“I can’t believe I’d be working for a guy like Samuel,” he said.
“Yet you mentioned his name. You said you had something urgent to do. You have a tattoo.”
He inhaled deeply. “I’m obviously here in connection with Samuel, or the town. That’s why you need to unlock that door for me, June, let me go and find out why I’m here.”
“Let me sleep on it, Jesse. You need sleep, too.” She got up and made for the door.
He got up and grasped her wrist. “June—”
She turned. She was so close. And he could see the rawness of the emotion glimmering in her eyes, in the slight pinkness of her nose. Her eyes darkened and he could see physical attraction. The notion hung suddenly, tangible between them.
Fire crackl
ed and popped softly in the stove.
“What?” she whispered, her voice thick, and Jesse was suddenly unable to tear his attention from her lips, the way her breathing was making her chest rise and fall. And before he could even think to finish his sentence, he leaned in and he kissed her mouth.
She jerked back, eyes wide in shock.
But before she could say a word, a loud banging sounded on the bedroom door.
June spun around just as the door was flung open by Brad, shotgun in his hand, his face white.
Sonya was right behind him, her eyes bright with fear, a radio in her hand. Molly was at her side. She pointed straight at Jesse, arm outstretched.
“It’s his fault!” yelled Molly. “He brought them here!”
“What’s his fault?” said June. “What’s going on?”
“Davis just called in,” Sonya said. “A posse of five henchmen is approaching the rock crevasse that leads to the tunnel. He could hear them talking. He thinks they said something about a mole in the safe house.”
“See?” yelled Molly, borderline hysterical. “You shouldn’t have brought him here. He’s leading them in somehow.”
June shot a glance at Jesse
He was tense, eyes narrowed and hard as he stared at Molly.
“It’s not possible,” June said. “Jesse has no way of contacting—”
Davis’s voice crackled suddenly through the radio in Sonya’s hand. June took it from her, stepping out into the passageway. Brad started to close the bedroom door.
Jesse placed his hand on the door, stopping it from closing. “June, let me help,” he said.
“Are you crazy? It’s your fault they’re here!” Molly kicked the bedroom door closed in his face, and he heard the key turning in the lock.
His muscles strapped tight in a band across his chest. He jiggled the handle. Locked.
Cursing, he swung around, glared at the windowless rock walls, listening to the sound of urgent talking fade down the passage. He raked his hand angrily over his hair, frustration burning through his blood, and he swore again. He felt as though he’d entered some kind of surreal universe, being trapped in a cave room by a woman and a motley assortment of kids and adults with guns.
He could break down the door, do something rash, which was what he was pumping to do right now, but he had little doubt that that trigger-happy Molly kid would blow him apart with that twelve-gauge before he was out.
Maybe henchmen arriving would be a good thing.
* * *
There was better reception in the kitchen where the radio could pick up waves through the windows from the portable repeater June had rigged up outside.
“June to Davis. Can you repeat? What’s going on?” June released the key, tension winding tight in the kitchen. She glanced at the others gathered around her.
The radio crackled to life. “Davis to safe house. Five armed henchmen combing the woods.” He spoke quietly, as if he wasn’t far from the men.
“They came close to the crevasse entrance but veered south before discovering it. I followed them for about two miles. They’re actively searching for something with hunting spots—all are armed. Are you getting this, June?”
“Loud and clear. Go on, Davis,” June said, releasing the key again.
“I heard one say something about a mole on the inside and that they were waiting for the mole to make contact.”
Ice shot down June’s spine. She keyed the radio.
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what it sounded like. Over.”
“Are they still moving south, away from the tunnel entrance?”
“Yes.”
“Go back and guard the tunnel entrance, Davis. I’ll send someone to relieve you in an hour. Copy?”
“Copy.”
Molly’s eyes were huge. “Do you want me to go relieve him? I’ll go now.”
“You need sleep,” June said crisply.
“Sleep—are you crazy? With them out there?” She flung her arm out in the direction of the hill.
“It’s Brad’s turn next.” June’s tone brooked no argument. Molly scowled and stomped out of the kitchen.
June slumped onto a stool at the kitchen counter, heart pounding.
Maybe Jesse really is a mole.
The memory of his kiss filled her mind. She thought of the compassion she’d seen in his eyes and sensed in his touch. He felt like a good man. Or was she being completely blinded by her physical attraction to him? Was seducing her a part of his game?
June scrubbed her hands over her face, wondering when this job had gotten so damn complicated. She wished Hawk Bledsoe would return. She wanted him to nail Samuel and for this whole thing to be over, because she was wearing dangerously thin.
CHAPTER 6
It was morning, early. The rain had stopped and the sun was painting the world that beautiful gold that comes when the angle of the sun is still low. June put on a pot of coffee, feeling exhausted. She’d taken one of the beds in the nursery where Lacy and the twins were sleeping, but she’d lain wide-awake listening to the others breathe, thinking how different the rhythm of a child’s breathing was from an adult’s, how close this mother and her babies had come to losing their lives.
Were they alive now because of Jesse?
June had also mulled over what Davis had told her when he’d returned to the cave house later in the night. Instead of going back to guard the canyon entrance as June had instructed, Davis had taken it upon himself to follow the posse of henchmen deeper into the woods as they’d beat the bush and panned hunting lights through the trees.
“I definitely heard them say the word mole,” he’d told June.
“But it wasn’t clear that this mole was inside our safe house?” she’d asked.
“No. At first I assumed they meant the mole was in the safe house, and I figured immediately that the mole was Jesse, but as I followed them farther it became blatantly clear that they’re no friends of our stranger—they were hunting him. I heard one say Samuel wanted him dead or alive.”
“They referred to him by name?” June said.
“No—they don’t know who he is.”
So he isn’t working for Samuel.
Adrenaline trilled through June.
“One of them said the stranger shot Jason Barnes. And, June, I heard them say Barnes died from his wound earlier today.”
Jesse had killed him. June cursed softly. Samuel was not going to let this slide. This whole town was going to blow. “Did you recognize the guys in the posse?” she said quietly.
“Rufus Kittridge was leading the group.”
“The mayor? Are you serious?”
“Lumpy Smithers was there, too. And Monica Pearl. I saw both their faces when they were momentarily illuminated by the hunting spots, but I didn’t get a good look at the others.” Davis shook his head as if in disbelief. “Who’d have thought Monica Pearl was one of Samuel’s enforcers. She’s so…sweet.”
And pretty, thought June. That was the danger of Samuel Grayson and his cult. The more clean, friendly, benign the facade—the more sinister what lurked beneath.
“Just before I left them, I heard Mayor Kittridge yelling at Lumpy that he should’ve gotten a better look at the stranger’s face. Lumpy argued it was dark, raining and that Jason was badly injured. Rufus hit back that Samuel maintained Lumpy should have gone after the Matthews woman and her kids instead of trying to save Jason. I swear, June, they were wire-tense, really going at each other. Lumpy sounded real choked about Jason dying.”
Davis had also returned with a small, muddy pacifier that he’d found while following the men.
“Maybe it belongs to Dr. Black’s baby?” he said.
&nbs
p; Dr. Rafe Black’s infant son had been kidnapped last month and so far there’d been no leads, no ransom notes, nothing—Rafe was devastated. June made a mental note to go search the area around where the pacifier had been found. Rafe Black was a good man, and he was not a Devotee.
* * *
Once the coffee was ready, June poured a mug and set it on a tray along with a toasted bagel for Jesse. Outside the bedroom door she waited while Sonya unlocked it.
“Morning,” he said as the door opened. “I take it we weren’t invaded last night. Too bad. The enemy might have sprung me.”
“They didn’t find the tunnel,” she said as she set the tray on the table. He’d just showered—his hair was damp. He was wearing jeans, his engraved belt and a button-down denim shirt over a white T-shirt—he looked all Wyoming cowboy, and it was a look that really did it for June.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him and knew instantly he was talking about the kiss. Her pulse quickened and her mouth felt dry. All she could think about suddenly was how she’d wanted to kiss him back. Instead, she looked away and fiddled unnecessarily with the napkin on the tray. “It’s me who should be apologizing,” she said quietly. “For locking you up. But I had to be sure that you weren’t the mole who’d brought the henchmen so close last night.”
She looked up at him and her heart kicked. He exuded a new kind of energy this morning. Sleep had restored him. And his eyes crackled with an intensity of focus that made her feel hot inside.
“Either way, you are the reason they came looking, Jesse,” she said. “When Davis returned he told me the men were armed and actively hunting you. But it seems no one saw your face the other night and they don’t know who you are.”
A quiet electricity seemed to ripple through his body. “I’m not sure whether I should be pleased or disappointed,” he said.
“It appears you killed one of them, Jesse. A man named Jason Barnes died of a gunshot wound to the neck.”
Perfect Wyoming Complete Collection: Special Agent's Perfect Cover ; Rancher's Perfect Baby Rescue ; A Daughter's Perfect Secret ; Lawman's Perfect Surrender ; The Perfect Outsider ; Mercenary's Perfect Mission Page 80