by Cindi Myers
He stopped at the top of a hill that afforded a vista of a sweeping river valley. “Our place extends to the base of those hills over there,” he said, pointing.
“It’s beautiful.” Unlike the almost barren terrain near the national park, this valley was green, and dotted with small herds of cattle that grazed in the knee-high grass. She glanced at Dylan. He was looking out across the landscape, fine lines spreading at the corners of his eyes as he squinted in the brightness, his lips curved in a half smile. “Did you enjoy growing up here?” she asked.
“I did. I liked to ride and shoot and fish, and being outdoors.” He shifted, the saddle creaking as he half turned toward her. “But when I got to be a teenager, I grew restless. I was interested in a career in law enforcement and I didn’t see much chance for advancement here. It’s a pretty small police department, and there wasn’t anything like the Ranger Brigade back then.”
“So you went to Denver.”
“Yes. And I liked it. The city is a good place to be if you’re a single, twentysomething guy. And it was good for my career.”
“But you came back.”
“My folks needed me. And it was time. As much as I enjoyed Denver, it wasn’t the kind of place I could picture myself raising a family.”
“You really think about things like that—raising a family?”
“Don’t you?”
She shook her head. “No.” The idea unsettled her a little. She was happy being responsible for herself, but she didn’t need to be responsible for anyone else.
“Maybe that’s why Andi Matheson hooked up with Metwater’s group,” Dylan said. “Maybe she thought that kind of makeshift family would be a good place to raise a kid.”
“It sounds like a terrible idea.” Kayla’s own childhood had been defined by constantly moving around with an ever-shifting group of her father’s followers. “What I can’t figure is what Daniel Metwater gets out of it.”
“A power trip? A bunch of devoted, beautiful women? Or maybe he’s looking for a family of his own.” Dylan turned his horse and led the way back down the hill. At the bottom the trail widened, so they could ride side by side.
True to Dylan’s word, Sunset was an easygoing mount that was content to follow Dylan’s horse’s lead. Kayla was able to relax and focus away from her own fears and annoyances to the case. “From what I’ve read, he comes from money,” she said. “Why give that up to live in the desert?”
“He thinks he’s a prophet. It’s his calling.”
“Or he’s running away from something.”
“Or that.” Dylan glanced at her. “Anything in particular make you think so?”
“When my father ran into trouble and needed to leave a place, he would always announce that he had had a vision—God leading him to take his message to new, more fertile fields.”
Dylan nodded. “You’ve given me an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to dig a little deeper into Metwater’s background. Maybe I’ll find something there that will help in this investigation. Some secret he’s not keen to have revealed.”
* * *
THE SUN WAS sinking behind the distant hills when Dylan and Kayla finally left the ranch. Dinner had been a leisurely affair on the back deck of his parents’ home—steaks grilled outdoors, served with roasted corn and an enormous salad of fresh greens and tomatoes from his mother’s garden.
Kayla had seemed to enjoy herself and Dylan had enjoyed watching her. His lips still warmed at the memory of that impulsive kiss. Maybe not the most professional move he had ever pulled, but he’d been thinking about kissing her practically since they met. When she had pulled his mouth down to hers he hadn’t been about to resist. He had enjoyed the kiss very much, and he enjoyed knowing that he’d been able to breach her reserve. She had made it clear she didn’t trust anyone—and maybe she had good reason for that, given what little he knew of her upbringing. But that kiss told him that maybe she was beginning to have more faith in him, at least a bit.
He braked to avoid a deer that darted across the road in the graying light. “It’s going to be dark by the time we get to the camp,” Kayla said.
“Probably.” He switched on the Cruiser’s headlights. “Maybe they’ll think we skipped out on their invitation. I don’t mind catching them off guard.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Nothing about this feels right. Why do you think Metwater invited us to this ceremony?”
“He said it was to help us understand the Family more.”
“I don’t believe him.”
“I’m not sure I do, either, but I want to know what he’s up to. Why don’t you believe him?”
“Because people like him aren’t altruistic. I doubt he cares if we understand him and his group or not. He thrives on manipulating people. I can’t help but think he’s trying to manipulate us.”
“We’re not going to let him do that, are we?”
“Nobody manipulates me.”
When he glanced over, she had her gaze fixed on him. Dylan wondered if her words were a not-so-subtle warning. He could have protested that he wasn’t the manipulative type, but better she learn that fact for herself.
Light from an almost full moon bathed the wilderness landscape in silver, highlighting the rocky hoodoos and cliffs, and sending long shadows across the sparse grass. A coyote trotted down the road ahead, turning to regard them with golden eyes before darting into the underbrush. “I can’t believe anyone would want to live out here,” Kayla said. “It’s so...desolate.”
“It would be a tough place to live,” Dylan agreed. “But it’s a good place to hide.” He found the parking area and pulled in and shut off the engine. Silence closed around them like a muffling blanket, the only sound the faint ticking of the cooling motor. Though the moon provided plenty of illumination, Dylan tucked a mini Maglite into his pocket just in case. They climbed out of the Cruiser and looked around.
“Metwater said he would have someone waiting for us, but I don’t see anyone,” Kayla said.
“Maybe he thinks we’re not going to show.” Dylan touched her arm. “Come on. Let’s slip in quietly and see what they’re up to.”
They moved up the path toward the camp, placing their footsteps carefully, trying not to disturb the night’s silence. As they rounded the outcropping of rock that guarded the entrance to the camp, they heard a low murmuring. Dylan stopped to listen and Kayla moved up beside him. “What’s that?” he whispered.
“Sounds like some kind of chanting or something,” she said.
He nodded, and led the way around the outcropping. No guards watched over the entrance to the camp—apparently everyone was gathered around the bonfire in the center of the circle of trailers and tents. The faces of everyone—men, women and children—were fixed on the leaping flames, and voices rose in unison. “In unity is power. Power is unity.”
Power to do what? “Doesn’t sound like a peaceful manifesto to me,” Dylan muttered. “And there’s a burn ban on. Want to bet they don’t have a permit for that fire?”
Kayla shushed him as Daniel Metwater stepped from the crowd and stood in front of the blaze, his profile to Dylan and Kayla. The crowd fell silent as he waited. He was naked except for a loincloth, his body gleaming in the firelight as if it had been oiled. He was thin but muscular, and wore the expression of a man who was confident he was right.
Two women moved from the crowd to join him. They were dressed only in loincloths also, their breasts painted with red and black concentric circles, their eyes ringed in black, lips outlined in red. Dylan didn’t recognize either of them, but they fit the profile of twentysomething beauties predominant among Metwater’s followers.
A drum began a slow, steady beat, gradually increasing in tempo. Metwater extended his arms and the women took hi
s hands. The three began a slow, hypnotic dance, swaying and writhing around each other. Beside him, Kayla shifted. “Do you think he invited us to watch an orgy?” she asked.
“Maybe he wanted us to join in.”
She sent him a sour look and he bit back a grin. Then he had a sudden image of her dressed in only a loincloth and he had to look away. He forced his mind back to the business at hand. “Let’s wait a bit more and see what happens before we announce ourselves,” he said.
The drums stopped and the two women took seats on either side of the circle. Metwater held up his hands to silence the crowd. “Tonight marks a very special night.” His voice carried easily in the still night air, with the rounded tones and precise diction of an experienced orator. Those gathered around the fire listened raptly, eyes glowing, some with lips slightly parted.
“We gather under the light of the full moon to welcome a new member to our family.” He continued with a flowery speech about the sacredness of family, the importance of connection and generally how superior they all were for having made the decision to join up with the Prophet. “Ours is a sacred bond of mind, body and spirit,” he proclaimed. “We are united mentally, physically and in our souls. It is a union of our most sacred natures, and of our blood.”
At this last, he pulled a large dagger from a sheath at his side and sliced the blade across his own palm. Kayla gasped, and Dylan put out a hand to restrain her.
Metwater turned away from them, toward the far side of the circle. “We begin, as always, with the sacrifice,” he said.
Two men—Dylan thought he recognized Abe and Zach beneath the black-and-white greasepaint that streaked their faces—escorted a young woman to the center of the circle. She wore a long white robe, and her dark hair fell almost to her waist. Her face was ivory white in the moonlight, the flames reflecting in her glassy eyes.
Metwater kissed each of her cheeks in turn, then motioned for her to kneel. He held the dagger over his head, the blade still wet with his own blood, firelight glinting off the steel. “Persephone, you have agreed to sacrifice what is necessary to make our family whole,” he intoned. Then he brought the blade down to rest at her throat.
Dylan didn’t have to see any more. He drew his weapon and charged forward, Kayla at his heels. “Stop!” he shouted. “Drop the knife and step back with your hands up.”
Chapter Ten
Kayla’s heart pounded in rhythm with her racing feet as she followed Dylan toward the macabre scene around the fire. Daniel Metwater, blood dripping from the palm of one hand as he gripped the dagger with the other, turned toward them as the girl slumped to the ground beside him. The crowd of followers around the blaze stared, but none made a move as Dylan stopped and trained his gun on Metwater. “Drop the knife,” he ordered.
Metwater opened his hand and let the knife fall. Kayla moved to the young woman and checked her pulse, which was strong. She moaned a little and stirred, and Kayla helped her sit up. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “You’re okay.”
“Put that gun away now, Officer!” Metwater’s face glowed red in the firelight. “I invited you here tonight to witness the ceremony, not to disrupt it.”
Dylan didn’t waver. “Put your hands behind your back and turn around,” he said. “You’re under arrest.”
“On what charge?” Metwater continued to glare at Dylan.
“For the attempted murder of that young woman.” He nodded toward the woman who sat beside Kayla.
Metwater’s laughter was loud and raucous. Others in the crowd joined him in the mocking mirth. Anger tightened Kayla’s throat, and she read the same rage in Dylan’s eyes. Keeping his gaze fixed on Metwater, Dylan addressed the young woman. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Now that she had recovered consciousness, Persephone—or whatever her real name was—seemed fine, a little pale maybe, but perfectly calm.
“Of course she’s fine,” Metwater said. “This was a ceremony, not a murder. Haven’t you heard of symbolism, Lieutenant?” He moved to the young woman’s side and helped her to her feet. Kayla could smell the sweat and blood on him, odors that made him seem even more primitive and wild. “Persephone and I were acting out the symbolic death of her old self. In the next phase, you would have seen her reborn into her new life with the Family.”
Kayla became aware of others in the crowd moving closer. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted the two men who had served as Persephone’s escorts moving around to flank her.
“Tell your guards to move back,” Dylan said.
Metwater flicked his gaze toward the men. “Put away your gun. Your threat of violence has tainted our sacred proceedings.”
Dylan holstered his weapon. Kayla joined him, anxious to put more distance between herself and Metwater. “You’re one to talk of violence,” she told him. “Considering you’re bleeding all over the place.”
Metwater studied his bleeding palm. “Every member of the Family has some of my blood mixed in their veins,” he said. “Symbolizing that I am the father and protector of all.”
Kayla wrinkled her nose, but said nothing.
“The ceremony is over.” Dylan raised his voice to be heard by the crowd. “Go on back to your camps.”
“The ceremony isn’t over until I say it’s over.” Metwater handed Persephone off to one of the half-naked women he had danced with and started toward Dylan.
Kayla stiffened, and wished she’d brought her gun with her. If Dylan needed backup, she wasn’t going to be of much use.
“Don’t argue with me, Metwater,” Dylan said. “I could still take you in for questioning.”
“Questioning about what?”
“The murder of Special Agent Frank Asher, for one,” Dylan said.
“I told you, I had nothing to do with Agent Asher’s death.”
“You and your followers are the only ones around,” Dylan said. “Asher came here, probably to talk to Andi Matheson, possibly to try to talk her into leaving your group. Maybe you shot him in order to prevent that. Or maybe Asher had uncovered your secret, and you couldn’t risk him exposing you.”
“What secret? I don’t have a secret.” But fear flashed in Metwater’s dark eyes, though the rest of his expression remained stony.
“Don’t you?” Dylan turned to the young woman. “What’s your real name?” he asked.
“P-Priscilla,” she said. “Priscilla Ortega.”
“How old are you, Priscilla?”
“I’m nineteen.”
“Enough questions.” Metwater stepped between them. “Persephone has done nothing wrong.” He motioned for the dancer to take the younger woman away and she did so. “You need to leave now also, Officer.” He glanced at Kayla. “You may stay if you like, Miss Larimer.”
Kayla didn’t try to hide her disgust at the invitation. “I’m not one of your brainwashed devotees,” she said.
“I’m going to remind you again that you’re on public land,” Dylan said.
Metwater folded his arms across his muscular chest and met Dylan’s stern gaze. “This is our home, Officer. And you’re not welcome here.” With that, he turned his back on Dylan and stalked toward his trailer.
“Somebody put out this fire,” Dylan called after him. “There’s a burn ban on for the county.”
Metwater raised one hand to indicate he had heard.
“I’m going to find out your secret,” Dylan called. “And when I do, I’m going to tell all your followers the kind of man you really are.”
Metwater stumbled, then caught himself and kept walking. But Kayla knew Dylan’s words had gotten to the man. Daniel Metwater was definitely guilty of something. Whether his crime was murder or something else, Kayla intended to help expose him sooner rather than later.
* * *
KAYLA SHIVERED AND
wrapped her arms around her shoulders, then leaned forward to punch up the blower on the heater in Dylan’s Cruiser as they left the wilderness area and turned onto the paved highway leading back to Montrose. “I can’t get that girl’s face out of my mind,” she said. “When Metwater held that knife to her throat, she was absolutely terrified. She believed he was going to kill her, no matter what he told us.”
Dylan said nothing, but continued to stare out the windshield, both hands gripping the steering wheel, his body tense. “Well?” she prompted. “What do you think? Do you think he was really going to slit her throat?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” he said.
“What I said?” She blinked. “What did I say?”
“That Metwater is trying to manipulate us.”
“Of course he is. That’s how people like him operate—how they keep control of any group of people or situation. He—Oh?” Dylan’s meaning hit her. “Are you saying he staged that whole business with the knife and the so-called sacrifice for our benefit? That he wanted us to see it?”
“I don’t know. But replaying everything in my mind, I think he knew we were standing there from the moment we arrived. And he must have ordered his bodyguards not to make a move, or they would have been on us like a shot.”
“But why? So we would think he was capable of murder?” She shook her head. “That’s twisted even for a guy who calls himself a prophet.”
“Maybe he wanted us to look like a couple of idiots in front of his followers,” Dylan said. “Or maybe it’s sleight of hand—get us to focus on the perceived human sacrifice so we don’t notice something else that’s going on.”
“So, what else is going on?” She turned down the heater, warmer at last as anger replaced some of her earlier shock. “I can’t believe he didn’t have something to do with Frank Asher’s murder, but he’s got a whole camp full of followers who will no doubt swear he was with all of them the morning Frank was shot.”
