Читать книгу Undercover Husband - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 10

Chapter Four

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.”