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

by Marie Ferrarella

  Crossing to his car, Hawk blew out a breath. Just what the hell had happened here in the past five years or so? Five years was also about the time that the first body had turned up. And that coincided with another piece of information that the Bureau had discovered about Grayson and his band of not-so-merry-men. They had descended on the town, under the guise of being business “investors,” and started buying up property with the intention of making renovations five years ago.

  He’d read the reports that had been compiled, but he’d never dreamed the extent to which all this actually went. Grayson had transformed everything, as well as everyone he encouraged to remain in the town, creating what he freely touted as being “paradise on earth.”

  There was no such thing and they all knew it, Hawk thought, getting into his car. Or were supposed to know it.

  After closing the door, he fastened his seat belt. What Grayson had really created was a town of zombies. Key in hand, Hawk remained sitting in his car, observing the people on Main Street for a few more minutes. He was acutely aware that Fargo was watching him watch the good citizens of Cold Plains.

  It struck him in less than another minute that there was something really wrong with this scenario, something that went beyond the inane smiles and the overly neat clothing. Didn’t anyone get dirty anymore? Not even the kids? What he noticed was that there wasn’t a single neutral expression in the whole lot.

  It wasn’t possible for everyone to actually be happy at the same time, just as it wasn’t possible that they all looked so perfect. No one was limping or stumbling, no one was coughing or sneezing. What the hell had the great God Grayson done, outlawed allergies, colds and imperfections? Had the man also managed to outlaw plain people? Because there were no plain people on these streets, certainly not ugly people, at least as far as his eye could see.

  Something was very, very wrong here.

  Fargo, apparently, had decided to surrender his passive role as observer, because the man was now on the move, heading straight for him, Hawk realized. In response, Hawk switched on his ignition and started his car.

  For now, he wanted to get back to the cabin outside of town to make sure that the task force he’d put together was settled in. He’d picked good people, but he had an uneasy feeling that before this was over, they would need reinforcements.

  Lots of them.

  * * *

  Carly could feel her insides shaking.

  From the first floor window of her classroom, she’d covertly watched Fargo and Hawk regarding one another, two stags about to lock horns. She’d prayed that Hawk would have the good sense to leave before something bad happened.

  When Fargo started walking toward Hawk, she thought her pounding heart would break one of her ribs. Fargo was like a bull moose and Hawk—Hawk was too damn stubborn for his own good. He might be the younger of the two, but the Hawk she remembered didn’t fight dirty. He was nothing if not honorable. Fargo wasn’t shackled by any such noble conventions. To Fargo, the prime directive was to get rid of any obstacles that might get in his way and those who might ultimately impede Samuel’s control over Cold Plains.

  Oh God, the sooner she could get Mia out of here, the better, she thought, still watching the two men. Desperation stole over her when she thought of Mia. Her sister wouldn’t listen to reason. That left having to find a way to kidnap her, to drag Mia kicking and screaming out of Cold Plains before she was forced to marry that man.

  Brice Carrington had been married once before, and no one knew exactly what had happened to the first Mrs. Carrington, other than the fact that one day, Carrington had haltingly announced that she was “gone from this earth.”

  Just like that, the woman was no longer among the living. Not unlike, Carly recalled, what had happened to the chief of police’s wife. She had disappeared, as well, making Bo Fargo a widower—or so the man had claimed. No one really questioned him about it. One day the man was married, then the next day, he wasn’t.

  It occurred to Carly that the men in Cold Plains did not get divorced. If they found themselves suddenly alone and widowers, it was because they had conveniently “lost” their wives.

  What if these women were not “lost” but rather eliminated? What if Carrington’s wife and the chief’s wife had been killed, just like those five women whose deaths Hawk was investigating?

  And what if there were a lot more dead women buried throughout the state, women who had come from Cold Plains and who, for one reason or another, had fallen out of favor with Samuel?

  Now that she thought of it, Carly vaguely remembered hearing someone say that Brice Carrington had wanted children to carry on his legacy and the first Mrs. Carrington hadn’t been able to have any children. Was that her sin? The inability to conceive and produce little disciples for Grayson? Was that why Carrington was marrying Mia, so she could become the baby machine he both wanted and expected?

  Oh, Mia, Mia, how can you be so blind? They just want to use you. And you’re letting them.

  “Is something wrong, Carly?”

  The question, coming from behind her and quietly worded, nearly caused Carly to jump out of her skin. Even at its lowest point, it struck her as a very creepy-sounding voice.

  Samuel.

  Looking out the window, she hadn’t heard him come into her classroom. The man moved like smoke—or like the devil, except that his cloven hooves were muted, hidden inside of hand-stitched shoes, which cost more than a lot of the farmers and the ranchers in the area managed to earn in any given year.

  Samuel Grayson, movie-star handsome, with a tongue that was smoother than sweetened whipped cream, and blessed with hypnotic eyes that could easily hold a soul in place, had left the tiny town of Horn’s Gulf years ago to make his mark—and his money—as a motivational speaker.

  Increasingly more and more successful, he toured the Southwest and gave seminars to hapless people who wanted nothing more than to be half as dynamic as the man who had captured their attention and fired up their souls.

  So they plunked their money down and listened in rapt attention, hoping for miracles to strike, miracles that would transform them into veritable clones of the stirring speaker. And as they prayed, Grayson went about the business of separating these desperate would-be disciples of his from their “contributions.”

  Contributions, Carly knew, a good many of them could ill afford to give. But that didn’t bother—or stop—Grayson from collecting what he obviously felt was his due.

  Eventually he grew bored and sought new challenges. Not content with moving from city to city, reaping money and unconditional adulation, Grayson had apparently decided to return to his roots and seek out a place to transform and make his own. A place that appeared to be dying. Cold Plains fit the bill.

  Whether his own motivation came out of a desire to revenge himself on someone or from a need to come full circle and take over a town that reminded him of the place where he’d once been regarded as a ne’er do well, she didn’t know and, frankly, she didn’t care. What mattered was that he hadn’t sucked her into his vortex no matter how hard he had tried.

  The meaningless, empty smile she’d displayed for Hawk earlier curved her lips now as she looked up at the man who professed to being the town’s “gentle, guiding conscience.”

  “No, Mr. Grayson,” she replied politely, “nothing’s wrong.”

  Grayson surprised her by slipping his arm around her shoulders in a familiar manner she instantly resented. Carly could feel herself screaming on the inside. But she didn’t have that luxury right now, nor could she shrug him off—or push him away—the way she would have so much preferred.

  “Now Carly,” Grayson chided, “what was it I told you?” He looked at her pointedly.

  For a second, because she was still recovering from the absolute shock of seeing Hawk back in Cold Plains,
Carly’s mind went blank.

  And then she realized what Grayson was so coyly referring to.

  “You said to call you Samuel.”

  “Yes, I did. There is no hierarchy here,” he assured her, an insincere smile vouching for the veracity of his statement.

  The hell there isn’t, and you know it, Carly thought as she deliberately mirrored the smile on Grayson’s thin, pursed lips.

  “Now come on,” he coaxed, “let me hear you say it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong, Samuel,” Carly repeated sweetly.

  Samuel made a show of peering into her eyes, as if he was looking into her soul, as well. It was all part of the act, and they both knew it, Carly thought.

  “Are you sure now, Carly?” Grayson asked solicitously. Then before she could reply again, he continued, “I thought what with Hawk’s unexpected return here to Cold Plains, you might find yourself having to deal with some ‘issues’ the two of you might have had.” He singled out the word, emphasizing it like a television pop psychologist.

  That blindsided her.

  There were times when the man really did seem to know everything, Carly thought uneasily. At those times she could almost believe Grayson was omnipotent, the way some of his followers claimed.

  But no man was, and Grayson was definitely not the exception but the rule.

  “No, I’m fine. Really. Hawk and I were over a long time ago,” she told him staunchly.

  Grayson nodded, his expression unreadable and all the more unnerving because of that. She didn’t know if he believed her or was just playing her.

  “That’s good,” he replied in a tone that equally revealed nothing. “But if you ever find yourself wanting to talk or just in need of a friendly, nonjudgmental ear, my door is always open,” he told her, punctuating his words with a warm squeeze of her shoulders, which was hardly quick in nature.

  It took everything she had not to allow her revulsion to show through.

  Instead, Carly forced herself to assume a beaming, grateful expression. “Thank you, Samuel. You’re very kind.”

  “I can be kinder,” he assured her, his voice pulsing with promise as their eyes met.

  Not even if hell freezes over and the fate of the world depended on it, she thought.

  Any second now, she was positive she would throw up. Time to retreat.

  “I’d better be getting back to the children,” she told Grayson. She gestured toward the rows of eerily quiet seven-year-olds who were sitting at their desks, their hands folded. “I can only count on their behaving themselves for just so long.”

  Grayson’s magnetic green eyes met hers. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  Carly knew that she had just been put on notice. If she was going to get Mia out of here, it would have to be soon.

  Very soon.

  CHAPTER 5

  Thinking that their conversation was over, Carly hoped that Grayson would finally leave the classroom. But the self-appointed leader of the renovated Cold Plains community made no move to walk out. Instead, the man remained where he was, uncomfortably close to her.

  Carly instinctively braced herself for round two.

  “You know, your sister is coming along very well,” Grayson said. “She is going to be a fine addition to our peaceful, little community once she and Brice are finally married.”

  Every word out of Grayson’s mouth sounded so terribly wrong to her, especially this. After going through the motions of this charade she was forced to play for the past couple of months, if the man had said that the grass was green, she would have expected to look down and see that, instead of green, it was actually a shade of blue.

  Wanting desperately to point out how horribly patronizing and chauvinistic he sounded, Carly bit her tongue, swallowing the hot words that instantly rose to her lips. Instead, she forced herself to say what she knew Grayson was waiting to hear.

  “I haven’t had much time to talk with Mia,” she told him, “but I know that she’s very excited about the wedding.”

  “The ceremony’s only three weeks away,” Grayson needlessly reminded her.

  Or was he actually just goading her? With him it was difficult to tell. The only thing she would have sworn to was that there wasn’t a drop of human kindness in the man’s entire body. Not only that, but he was lecherous, as well. She’d seen the way Grayson looked at some of the women in the community, married and unmarried alike. The look in his eyes definitely did not belong to a man who was “pure of heart,” the way he claimed.

  Somehow, she managed to keep her vacant smile in place. “Yes, I know.”

  Just how much longer was she going to have to pretend that Grayson wasn’t looking at her right now as if she were a piece of barbecued meat and he hadn’t eaten in a month?

  Mia, think of Mia. You tell this charlatan what you think of him, and Mia’s lost.

  Carly curled her fingers into her palms, digging her nails in to keep from saying something that would make her feel better but would ultimately ruin everything.

  “You know, you might think about finding someone and getting married yourself, Carly,” Grayson suggested. She could almost feel his eyes touching her. “After all, at thirty-one you must be hearing your prime reproductive minutes ticking loudly away.”

  If she were having a normal conversation with a normal, albeit opinionated and annoying, man, she would have been tempted to haul off and hit him for the demeaning way he was talking to her. But giving in to her more primitive instincts wasn’t going to help rescue Mia. So again, Carly forced herself to pretend to agree with him.

  “Actually, I do, but so far, there hasn’t been anyone I would want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  Grayson waved away the excuse. “Nonsense, I know plenty of eligible men I can introduce you to. You’re just being too picky, Carly,” he chided, although he continued to smile at her. “But I do sense a certain wavering within you,” he confessed. “It’s only natural,” he assured her. “Some people come to the right path after taking all the wrong ones, and they can’t bring themselves to believe they’ve finally found the right road. I could give you some private lessons if you like,” he offered. “Share with you the benefits of all I’ve seen and learned about this way of life.”

  Though she gave no outward indication, Carly was instantly on her guard. They were shadow boxing. She could sense it. Grayson was trying to make her slip up, to let her true intentions show through.

  Don’t hold your breath, Grayson. I’ve fooled a better man than you, she thought, remembering the look on Hawk’s face when she told him she really didn’t love him.

  “I couldn’t impose on you that way.” Carly paused a moment, then added his name to her declaration, enunciating it slowly, melodically, “Samuel. You’re much too busy a man. I’d feel guilty taking up your time like that.”

  He laughed off her protest. “I’m never too busy to spend some quality time with one of the community’s good citizens, Carly.” His peppermint-laced breath seemed to form a cloud all around her, making it difficult to breathe. “You’ll find, my dear, that I can be very approachable.”

  Yes, she just bet he could be. She’d heard that he had “approached” at least half a dozen women within the transformed sectors of Cold Plains since she began paying attention to what was happening here, to the place she called home.

  “I shall keep that in mind,” she promised. “But now I really do need to get back to my lesson plan.” She smiled up sweetly at him, entertaining herself with the thought that some day that man would get what was coming to him. And maybe having Hawk here signaled the beginning of the end of King Samuel’s would-be reign. She relished the thought. “Otherwise,” she continued, “the children won’t be able to do their homework assignments tonight.”
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  “Careful, Carly,” he warned with a warm smile. “You don’t want the little ones thinking that you’re a slave driver.”

  Instead of just being enslaved by a man with a golden tongue, she countered silently. Because that was what Grayson did, enslave an entire community of people who now moved about like automatons, with compliant, moronic smiles on their faces.

  Were all the people here so easily brainwashed? Were they all so desperate for something new, something different, something supposedly “better” that they would blindly obey a man whose real agenda was still hidden?

  The thought made her very uneasy—as did the realization that she wasn’t really safe. Grayson had all but put her on notice. She would have to be on her guard against him. No doubt, he had plans for her, plans that very well just might make her wind up the same way that those five women whose bodies were scattered throughout the state had ultimately wound up.

  She had no proof, but in her heart, Carly just knew those dead women were somehow tied to Grayson.

  She also knew she should be afraid, really afraid, but somehow, just knowing that Hawk was in the area quelled her uneasiness. He’d always had the ability to make her feel safe. Maybe it was unrealistic to think that he still gave a damn what happened to her, but somehow, she sensed that he did.

  The children, thirty seven-and eight-year-olds in total, finally began to grow restless. Had they been a normal bunch they would have gotten that way much sooner.

  For now, she turned her attention to them, putting any and all thoughts of Grayson, Mia and Hawk on the back burner. Or at least trying to.

  She was successful on two counts, but Hawk’s image refused to take a backseat to anything.

  Two out of three wasn’t bad, Carly consoled herself.

  * * *

  The minute he’d driven away from the center of town—and away from Fargo’s steely gaze—Hawk pulled over to the side of the road and took out his cell phone. By now he knew the number by heart.