“How many of them are there? The Chosen of the Chosen, as it were?”
“Four. Jonas, Aaron, Francis, and Samuel.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Francis.”
Tara considered the little she knew about Francis. “He’s the youngest of the lot. Only in his late twenties. He spends most of his time out at the big greenhouses where they grow the tomatoes and stuff. It’s part of chore rotation—everyone goes out there sooner or later, and it’s coed. At least when they bus you out. I haven’t done it yet, so I don’t know whether they segregate you once you’re there or not.”
Jake took her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and they resumed their walk.
“Who’s been here the longest? Among the regular people, not the special acolytes?”
“Well, there’s Joy. She joined when Owen’s father was still the head of the Chosen. She’s not the only one who’s stuck around, but the others I’ve met don’t seem as . . . dedicated to the cause. They’re just living day by day, escaping from the rest of the world.”
“So in your opinion they don’t know what’s going on behind the facade?”
“No. Joy I am not so sure about. And that woman Deborah from the infirmary. If she’s allowed to wander around in the house, she must be close to Owen. But what do you think is going on?”
Jake shook his head. “I’m not sure. But I can tell you one thing: this place is more than your basic religious commune. Despite their alleged open-door policy, in the past ten years there have been no ‘insider accounts’ written. No one blabs on blogs or writes books or headlines the talk show circuit talking about how they were once a part of the Chosen and telling the ‘true story.’ That’s not just odd, it’s a statistical anomaly that makes my every nerve itch. There are plenty of older accounts, and really wild tales of the stuff Owen did when he first took over, but nothing recent. Has anyone left since you’ve been here?”
“No. But right when I arrived a guy was rejoining.”
“He left and came back?”
“Yeah. He was pretty crazy. Looked . . . rough. When you want to come back, apparently, you have to go spend a week in the desert with Aaron waiting for the Powers to speak to you. Like a Native American spirit walk or something. If you make it through that, you can come back. According to Andrea, some people decide they don’t want back in after all. It’s a test of dedication and determination.”
“If you see the guy who came back, point him out. I want to hear about his trip. And his return.”
“I will. His Chosen name is David. I had the same thought, but he wouldn’t talk to me. Maybe you’ll have better luck. There’s not a lot of mixing of the sexes here.”
“Speaking of that”—Jake paused, so Tara stopped, too—“how do we go about getting into ‘couples housing’? We’d have a better chance of getting out at night to explore if all we had to worry about was two other people.”
“Yeah.” Tara’s heart sped up, but she squelched her immediate, utterly inappropriate excitement at the idea of sharing Jake’s bed every night. It was a job. An undercover assignment, nothing more. She forced herself to think practically. “But first our ‘union’ has to be ‘blessed’ by the Leader and given that we just fucked up and had to be purified, I’m not sure he’ll go for it.”
“How do we ask?”
“I don’t know. Hooking up with one of the Chosen wasn’t part of my plan. We can ask Deborah tonight if she brings our dinner. Or we can ask around at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Okay. Are there searchlights at night?”
“No, just the ones that look like streetlamps. They’re solar powered, come on at dusk, and shed pools of light but leave plenty of shadow. I wouldn’t put it past him to have triggers or night vision security cams that are monitored up at the house, though. I suspect the lack of searchlights is to keep it from looking too much like a prison, to keep the ‘uninformed governmental authorities’ as he calls people like you and me, from having an excuse to invade. He frequently goes on at length about how jealous they are of our freedom from the ties that keep them bound to their miserable lives and of our closeness to the Powers. Essentially, as you will no doubt hear on Sunday morning, the religion of the Chosen is government-as-terrorist.”
“Sunday. That’s the free day?”
Tara nodded.
“And today is . . . ” Jake shook his head. “Thursday?”
She had to shut her eyes and count backward to figure it out herself. “I think so. Assuming we were in isolation for three days. You joined on Friday, we went into isolation Saturday. Got out Tuesday afternoon.”
“Okay. Then for the next couple of days we’ll likely be separated, but everyone will expect us to want to spend Sunday together. Alone. If we can’t make a move on the couples-housing front until then, we’ll figure something out. But your idea about asking Deborah is a good one. I bet anything she hears goes right into Owen’s ear, so he’ll be prepared.”
He ran a finger down her cheek, the calluses on the pad sending shivers down her spine.
“Have you ever done undercover work before?”
“No. I mean, not until I joined the Chosen.”
“And since you’ve been here, you’ve still mostly been yourself. But I am going to ask you to change that.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have a better chance of getting behind the scenes with a two-pronged approach. I’m new. And I’m a hacker. I also gave myself a minor criminal record. I’m going to play the doubter. As far as Owen is concerned, I’m only here because you are. But that means you have to be utterly convinced that staying is the right thing to do. You have to play against type, as if the isolation experience made you a complete convert. Obey all the rules, be eager to please.”
Tara’s stomach sank. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Of course you can. Just remember, it’s for Andrea. And when in doubt, say nothing. These guys like their women seen and not heard.”
“No kidding.”
“You can do it. I have great confidence in you.”
“You do?” Wow, way to sound pathetic.
“I do.” He cupped her face in his rough hands and Tara shivered again despite the lingering heat of the afternoon. “Listen, Tara, this is me, Jake. Not Jason Norman. When things fell apart back in Dobbs Hollow, I said a lot of harsh things about your abilities as an investigator and your dedication as a friend. Even then I knew they weren’t true. I lost control, and I apologize. You’re a good cop, Tara Jean Dobbs, and a good friend. No matter what name you’re going by now.”
Tara had to clear her throat before she could respond. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But I let emotion—shame—get in my way in Dobbs Hollow. It won’t happen again. These assholes don’t have the faintest idea what’s coming down on them.”
“Good. Hold that in your heart, but keep your outward demeanor all sweetness and light and devotion to the Powers. One way or another, we’ll dig out the Chosen’s secrets. Together.” He dropped his hands, but laced the fingers of his left with her right.
Together. That sounded good. And not just because it was Jake saying it. The Dobbs family had gone down under a landslide of scandal. Her parents and brother were dead. Not that they’d ever been close—and the elimination of the family name was all to the good as far as Tara was concerned—but it still felt peculiar to be out on her own. The police force had been her family, and having a partner again would be good. Even if that partner made her imagine a type of relationship strictly forbidden in any police department.
• • •
AS THEY APPROACHED the main house, Tara made to slip her fingers free of Jake’s grasp, but he held tight. He wanted Owen—or his lookouts—to see a romance between them. Plus, he liked the way her hand felt in his: small but capable, rough skin showing her to be unafraid of hard work. That
had been the worst of what he’d said to her in Dobbs Hollow: that she wasn’t capable.
And it wasn’t true. He’d been so freaked out by the sight of one of his few remaining friends in a hospital bed, and so overwhelmed with his own guilt at not protecting her, that he’d simply lashed out at a convenient target.
Deborah from the infirmary met them at the front door.
“How was your walk?” she asked.
“It was lovely,” Tara said, as if they’d been to a garden party rather than doing reconnaissance. “I feel quite restored.”
“Excellent. Jonas tells me you are ready to rejoin the community tomorrow.”
“Yes,” said Tara. “He has already given us our assignments. It will be good to be working again.”
Jake tugged her closer and slid his arm around her waist. “Deborah, before we came here Serena and I were engaged to be married. I admit I don’t understand how everything works here yet, but do you have something similar? A way to formalize our commitment to each other?”
The woman frowned, and Jake could practically feel her gearing up for a lecture.
“Your first commitment is to the Powers and to the Leader as their representative. Then to the Chosen. Any personal commitment follows those.”
“Okay, but—”
Tara, perfectly in character, put her hand on his chest. “Jacob, you’ll get used to it. In time, we can ask the Leader to bless our relationship.”
Deborah nodded in approval. “The Leader knows you were together in your previous lives. Once you have adjusted to our ways, you can speak with him regarding a union.”
A cold day in hell, then. Nope, Jake wasn’t planning on waiting.
Chapter Five
JAKE’S CHANCE TO talk to Owen Stephenson came sooner than he expected. Thursday night in the infirmary, he again crawled into Tara’s bed. She curled into him and, though he knew that for her it was all part of the act, for him it felt real and right. Her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder, her blonde curls tickled his chin, and her small hand lay on his chest, just over his heart.
He’d lain awake most of the night, trying to plan. He needed to talk to Reasoner about what the DEA believed the Chosen were doing. He’d find a way to approach the man on Sunday without raising suspicion. And once he found out what Kevin knew, he had to get out of the compound and contact Ethan, who was doing a more thorough investigation of the Chosen than Jake had had time for. Plus, Ethan and Lucy would be worried. Jake needed to reassure them that Tara was okay.
Friday morning, he and Tara joined the others for breakfast. At the door to the dining hall they separated and Tara went to join the same woman he’d seen her with the first night. Jake found himself a place at one of the men’s tables next to a sullen, dark-haired man in his thirties.
“Jacob,” Jake said, extending a hand.
“Ezra.” A spark erased the sour expression on the man’s face for a minute. “You’re the new one, aren’t you? The one who went through isolation.”
“’Fraid so.”
“What was it like?”
“Believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to find out.”
“Pretty much what everyone says.”
“Everyone?” Jake tried to keep the horror from his voice. “I figured it was reserved for fairly serious transgressions. How often does the Leader have to punish people?”
The guy cocked an eyebrow at him. “Punish? It’s not punishment, it’s purification of the soul.”
Jake shrugged. “Yeah, well, my daddy called it beating out the Devil, but it felt like punishment back then, too.”
“I hear ya, man.” Ezra studied him. “So you got roped into the Chosen because of your girlfriend?”
Jake didn’t hide his surprise. “I could almost believe you don’t like it here.”
“It’s not so bad.” Ezra shifted in his chair, looking around the room. “Compared to some places I’ve lived, it’s damn near paradise. It’s just that nothing ever happens.”
“How’d you wind up here?”
“Got sent up in ’Bama when I was seventeen for driving the getaway car when my older brother robbed a convenience store and shot the clerk. He got life, I got ten-to-twenty-five. Got out at twenty-seven, couldn’t find a job or a place to live. Wandered around for a few years till I heard about the Chosen from a guy at a shelter in San Antone. He had a sister living here. They’re not judgmental, don’t give a flip about your past. Can’t say I care much for the religious aspect, but I pretty much let it roll off my back. Obey the rules and it’s not a bad life.”
“Good to hear.” Prison made sense. A guy who’d spent his whole adult life in the system would probably find the structure of the compound comforting. Especially since it came with decent food and the security of not constantly looking over your shoulder.
The Leader took the stage at the front of the dining hall and all conversation ceased. He yammered on about the quality of life provided by the Powers to those who believed and how every new believer strengthened them all and brought forth goodness tenfold.
Finally, they were allowed to eat. Platters of eggs scrambled with vegetables and cheese and baskets of thickly sliced bread were passed down the tables. Jake had read about the dairy operation that helped to keep the Chosen self-sufficient, had even seen the buildings on aerial surveillance photos. The Chosen raised both cows and goats for milk, butter, and cheese, as well as chickens for eggs. Whatever illegal activities the compound hid, it was also a fully functioning farm that he couldn’t help but admire.
After breakfast, Aaron led Jake to the drying sheds. Again, the size and efficiency of the operation impressed him. Two huge barns were dedicated to drying and packaging the herbs and flowers. Rope pulleys hoisted beams on which the plants were hung for drying. Solar panels on the roofs ran giant fans that kept the humidity to a minimum so the herbs didn’t discolor or mold while drying, but didn’t do much to alleviate the oppressive heat that hit Jake like a fist when he entered the first barn.
Aaron put him to work on one of the beams with a man named Paul. Together, they lowered the beam until the herbs hung within reach, then tied it off to anchors on the wall. Paul showed him how to detach the herbs, place them in a designated basket, and get more fresh ones to be hung. Then they raised the beam once more. Each time they moved to a new beam, they stopped for water from the large tank at the front of the room.
They had completed four beams when the door to the shed opened and a man Jake recognized as one of Owen’s lieutenants stepped inside, followed by one of the men who had been constructing the new cabin the previous day. Paul stopped working and nodded to them.
“Samuel.”
“Paul. Zeb is going to take Jacob’s place for a while, as the Leader wishes to speak with him.”
“That’s fine.” If being taken to visit Owen Stephenson in the middle of a workday was unusual, Paul showed no sign of it. Zeb came over and took Jake’s gloves without a word.
Samuel ushered Jake outside and began walking toward the main house at a fairly good clip.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Jake said, catching up to Samuel as they got to the front door. “I’m Jas—Jacob.”
The man’s blue eyes were positively arctic despite the Texas heat. Here was a true enemy. Jake had to force himself not to tense up as he held out his hand.
“I know who you are.” Samuel’s gaze deliberately dropped to Jake’s outstretched hand, then back
up to his face.
Fuck. Did he? Not that it made any difference. If Owen and Samuel had figured out his true identity, both he and Tara were screwed. But for the moment, there was nothing to do but brazen it out.
He dropped his hand and shrugged.
“I guess word gets around.”
Without another word, Samuel led Jake through the atrium at the front of the h
ouse and the big room he and Tara had found while exploring to a study where Owen Stephenson sat behind a heavy, old-fashioned wooden desk. Owen gestured to a chair in front of the desk, and Jake sat. Samuel went to stand behind Owen.
“Jacob. I see you’ve met Samuel.”
Jake wouldn’t so much call it a meeting, but he nodded anyway.
“Good. Samuel is my strong right hand. He manages the earthly concerns of the Powers.”
Jake didn’t respond. He’d found through years of interrogations that he got a lot further letting others fill the silences.
“Despite your purification, Jacob, I still sense within you an unwillingness to become a part of our community.”
Jake leaned forward and rested folded arms on the desk.
“Look. I’m willing to work. But I was up front with you when I got here about the fact that I came for my girlfriend. If I could get her to leave here tomorrow, would I? You bet. I asked her to come away with me while we were out yesterday, but she wouldn’t go.”
Owen smirked, and Jake’s gut clenched. “She won’t be happy anywhere else.” There was something entirely too self-satisfied in the man’s expression.
“She was happy with me before.”
“She won’t be. Not since she has been one with the Chosen. This is the only place she will ever be content.”
What the fuck? He tamped down the urge to lunge over the desk and strangle the truth out of Owen.
Stick to the plan.
“Maybe, maybe not. I’m just trying to be straight with you. I’m not easily convinced about stuff like your Powers. I can see how some people might find this lifestyle to their liking, but I can’t promise I will. I haven’t slept in a bunkhouse since I went to camp when I was twelve. And I haven’t been without a computer in twenty years.”
“That is part of why we make you change your name when you come to us,” said Samuel. “So you leave behind the past. But you didn’t come to us the way most of the Chosen do.”
“Samuel is not yet convinced you were truly Chosen,” Owen said.
Lost Page 9