Undercover Husband

by Cindi Myers

  “Are you jealous?” She wasn’t laughing anymore—instead her blue eyes searched his, making him feel a little too vulnerable.

  “I’m not jealous,” he said. “But I don’t trust Metwater. He clearly has a lot of beautiful women hovering around him, and I think he sees you as another one.”

  “No chance of that,” she said. “I’ve never been attracted to men who think they’re God’s gift to women.”

  What kind of man are you attracted to? he wondered, but pushed the thought aside. He didn’t have the best track record with women and he ought to be focusing on the job at hand. “I don’t trust all his talk of living peacefully and promoting harmony,” he said. “That’s not the impression I got when I talked to some of the men.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “They didn’t say anything specific, but they hinted that people who didn’t follow Metwater’s rules—or people who asked too many questions—were punished.”

  “He said something to me about punishment, too,” she said. “That they had their own rules and answered to a higher power—which I interpreted as another way of saying he thinks he’s above the law. Did you get any idea of what kind of punishment they use? He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “The men I was talking to wouldn’t say, either. And they changed the subject when I tried to find out more. But when I mentioned Emily, I got the impression at least a couple of them knew who I was talking about, though they pretended not to.”

  “You asked about Emily?” She clutched his wrist. “What did you say? What did they say?”

  “One of the men said he thought she had been here in the spring. Does that sound about right?”

  “Yes. That would have been about the time she left home to follow Metwater. The first letter she sent me arrived in May.” She bent and began threading the poles into the channel across the top of the tent. “I asked Metwater about her, too.”

  He froze. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to say anything about her.”

  “I couldn’t pass up the chance to learn about her. I didn’t say she was my sister—I told him she was a friend.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he’d never heard of her. But I think he was lying.”

  “I’m going to try to find out more, but we have to be careful asking questions.” He slid the pole into the other channel of the tent, and together they tilted the structure upright. “You try to make friends with the women and find out what you can about your niece—though you realize she may not be here.”

  “I know. But I feel like she is.”

  He began hammering in stakes to secure the tent. “You can go ahead and go inside and get ready for bed,” he said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

  “All right.” She crawled into the tent and zipped it up after her.

  Walt pounded the stakes in with a mallet, hitting them harder than necessary, working off some of his frustration. He needed to get a grip on his feelings before he crawled into that tent to spend the night with Hannah. He had thought pretending to be her husband would be just another undercover gig, one that he would handle professionally. But being this close to her, seeing Metwater leer at her, had triggered something primitive in him—a possessiveness and desire to protect her that caught him off guard.

  Now they had a long night ahead of them in a small tent. He couldn’t let himself be the man who was attracted to a smart, beautiful woman. He had to be a cop with a job to do—and that job didn’t include letting emotion get the better of his good sense.

  * * *

  HANNAH HUDDLED IN a sleeping bag on one side of the tent and waited for Walt to come in. She had changed under the covers, wishing she had opted for sleepwear that wasn’t quite so revealing. At the time she had packed, she hadn’t been thinking about the fact that she’d be spending the nights alone with Walt. She had pictured them sleeping in a cabin or a travel trailer, not a small tent with only inches separating them.

  The tent zipper slid open and Walt crawled in, flashlight illuminating the interior. “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “It’s not too bad,” she lied. She had never slept on the ground like this before—had never realized it could be so hard.

  He crawled to the other sleeping bag and began removing his boots. Boots off, he pulled his shirt off over his head. She closed her eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of his lean, muscular body and felt the instant jolt of arousal.

  The light went out and darkness closed around them, so that Walt was only a denser shadow across from her, though in the small space she could hear his breathing, and take in the spice-and-sweat scent of him. She felt the heat of his presence beside her, more intimate somehow than if they had been touching. The idea made her heart race, and she kneaded her hands on her thighs, listening to the sounds of him finishing undressing—the lowering of a zipper and the soft hush of cloth being shoved down, then the crisper rustle of the sleeping bag as he crawled inside. “At least we don’t have to worry about it getting really cold at night,” he said.

  “I’ve never been camping before,” she said.

  “Never?”

  She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “I guess I’ve always been a city girl.”

  “It can be fun,” he said. “I’ve spent the night in a tent in some beautiful spots all over the country.”

  “I guess it’s different when you’re by yourself,” she said. “Not with a group like this, with other people all around you.”

  “Camping’s nice with one other person,” he said. “The right person.”

  “Did you and your girlfriend go camping?” she asked.

  “Once. She didn’t like it. Maybe that should have been my first clue things weren’t going to work out.”

  “Relationships are hard,” she said. “We don’t always know who to trust.”

  “Sometimes the hardest part is trusting yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” She rolled onto her side to face him. She could almost make out his features in the dim light.

  “I didn’t pay attention when my gut told me something was off between me and my girlfriend,” he said. “I didn’t trust my own instincts, but I should have.”

  “I guess we all doubt ourselves from time to time,” she said. She certainly wasn’t one to give advice on handling relationships. She’d done a lousy job of that in her own life. She hadn’t even been able to keep her own sister close, much less a lover.

  “You’re doing great so far,” he said. “Just keep it up and we’ll get out of here as soon as we can.” He rolled over to face the wall. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she said, but didn’t close her eyes. Even though she longed to find her niece and leave Metwater’s camp as soon as possible, she was going to miss Walt. She was going to miss lying beside him like this, pretending that in another life, they might have been a real couple, camping together because they wanted to, not because circumstance had forced them together into a relationship that felt so real, but wasn’t.

  * * *

  “SERENITY!”

  Hannah and Walt were shaking out their sleeping bags the next morning when they turned to see a pale woman moving toward them. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, and despite the intense sun here in the wilderness, her skin seemed almost devoid of color. Even her eyes were pale, a silvery gray that added to her ethereal appearance. “My name is Phoenix,” she said. “I came to fetch you to come help us prepare breakfast.”

  “Call me Hannah. I prefer it.” She rose and brushed off her skirt. “I’m happy to come and help.”

  Phoenix turned to Walt. “You can gather firewood. Now that we’ve been here awhile, the best wood is farther away and harder to haul.”

  “Sure.” He rose also. “I’m happy to help.”


  “It’s your job to help if you want to be one of us.” Phoenix grabbed Hannah’s hand and tugged her, with enough force that Hannah stumbled, then had to hurry to keep up as Phoenix led her back toward the center of camp.

  “She’s right. Your job is to work for the good of the Family.”

  He whirled to find Kiram standing behind the tent, next to the tree trunk. He held a long-bladed knife—the kind hunters used for skinning animals. How long had he been lurking back there, listening in on Walt and Hannah’s conversation? Walt forced himself to remain passive. “I thought no weapons were allowed in camp,” he said.

  “This knife is for ceremonial purposes,” Kiram said. “And I use it for hunting.” He moved away from the tree and walked around the side of the tent, studying it. “Why did you decide to camp back here, far away from everything and everyone?” He stopped beside Walt—close enough to lash out with that knife.

  Walt bent and picked up the mallet he had been using to drive in stakes. He felt better with a weapon of his own, feeble as it might be against the knife. He didn’t want to risk drawing the gun he wore in an ankle holster unless he absolutely had to. “We’re newlyweds,” he said. “We like our privacy.”

  “There’s no such thing as privacy in a camp like this,” Kiram said. “There’s always someone watching you, listening to you. Before very long, everyone will know all your secrets.”

  Walt knew a threat when he heard one. He met Kiram’s cold stare with a hard look of his own. “What’s your secret?” he asked. “Why do you feel the need to sneak around in the woods with that big knife?”

  “I already told you it isn’t a good idea to ask too many questions.” Kiram thrust the knife into the scabbard at his side.

  “You told me, but you didn’t tell me why. Questions can be a good way to learn things I need to know.”

  “People who ask questions have to be punished,” Kiram said. He looked Walt up and down, as if taking his measure.

  “I guess that’s for the Prophet to decide, not you.”

  “The Prophet decides,” Kiram said. “Then I do his will.” He shoved past Walt, then paused a few steps away and looked back. “You didn’t ask me what I was hunting.”

  “Why should I care what you do?” Walt said.

  Kiram grinned, showing crooked bottom teeth. “I hunt rats. It’s my job to keep them under control.” He turned back around and strode away, leaving Walt to stare after him, gripping the mallet at his side, cold sweat beading on the back of his neck.

  Chapter Seven

  Hannah let Phoenix drag her to the center of the camp, where three other women were already working at two long picnic tables set up beneath a shelter fashioned of logs and branches. One table served as a prep area for the morning’s meal, while the other table held two propane-fueled cooking stoves, on which bubbled two large stockpots full of oatmeal. “This is Serenity,” Phoenix said by way of introduction. She handed Hannah a paring knife. “You can peel the potatoes.” She indicated a ten-pound bag of potatoes at the end of the table.

  “Call me Hannah,” Hannah said.

  “The Prophet named her Serenity,” Phoenix said, and moved to stir one of the cooking pots.

  “He must like you, if he gave you a name already.” Starfall said. Tears streamed down her face from the onions she was chopping. She nodded to the pregnant woman across from her—Andi Matheson. “This is Asteria. And the redhead over there is Sarah.”

  “It’s good to meet you,” Hannah said. “And I am flattered that the Prophet would give me a name, but I don’t feel like a Serenity. I’m just—Hannah.”

  “I don’t care what you call yourself, as long as you peel those potatoes.” Phoenix added salt to the pot and stirred. “We need them to fry up with the onions.”

  Hannah picked up the knife and a potato. “Does everyone eat all their meals together?” she asked.

  “Usually,” Starfall said. “It’s more efficient that way, and it fosters a sense of family.” She swept chopped onion into a bowl and picked up another onion.

  “We take turns cooking and watching the children,” Asteria said. “The work is easier with more people to do it.”

  “I love children,” Hannah said. “How many are there in camp?”

  “Gloria has a five-year-old son,” Asteria said. “Starfall has a son, who’s seven months old. Solitude has a three-year-old, too. A boy. Zoe has six-year-old twins. And Phoenix has a fourteen-year-old daughter and a baby girl.”

  “My husband and I knew this was a good place to be when we saw so many children,” Hannah said. The word “husband” sounded odd to her ears, but it was easy enough to say, even though she had never thought of herself as very good at lying.

  “That’s a good-looking man you have,” Sarah said.

  “Um, thanks.” Hannah wasn’t sure how to respond to this comment. Walt was handsome, but it wasn’t as if she could claim responsibility for that. “He’s a good man.” She thought that much was true, at least.

  “Maybe he’ll be one of the rare ones who stick,” Starfall said.

  “What do you mean?” Hannah dropped a peeled potato into the empty pot Asteria had set in front of her and picked up another.

  “A lot of guys don’t adapt well to life in the Family,” Asteria explained. “We have a few who have been here awhile, but a lot of them end up leaving after a few months or weeks because it’s not what they expected.”

  “It’s not a lifestyle for everyone,” Phoenix said. “But the Prophet changes lives. I’m proof of that.” She moved one of the pots off a burner and set another in its place.

  “Mom, I need a bottle for Vicki.” A lanky teenage girl, her long brown hair in pigtails, raced up to Phoenix. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, she looked like any other young teen, except for the baby on her hip. The infant, dressed in a pink sleeper, gurgled happily as the girl hoisted her up higher.

  “Give me a minute.” Phoenix added salt to the pot in front of her and tasted.

  “She’s been really fussy,” the girl said. “I think she’s hungry.”

  “All right.” Phoenix set aside the spoon she’d been using to stir and walked to the row of coolers along the shadiest side of the shelter.

  Hannah moved around the table to where the girl stood. “I’m Hannah,” she said. “I’m new here.”

  “I’m Sophie, and this is Vicki.” Sophie hitched the baby up again. “Well, her name’s really Victory, but no one calls her that, except the Prophet.”

  “How old is she?” Hannah had to restrain herself from reaching for the infant, who kicked her little legs and waved her chubby arms, letting out a wail of protest.

  “Almost four months. Would you like to hold her?”

  Before Hannah could even form an answer the girl was putting the baby in her arms. Hannah cradled the child against her, patting her back and delighting in her chubby sweetness. The child quieted and stared up at Hannah with wide blue eyes.

  Emily’s eyes. The recognition hit Hannah like a slap. She touched one finger to the tiny dent in the baby’s chin. Hannah had a dent like that in her own chin.

  “She must like you. She’s not usually that good with strangers.” Phoenix had returned and stood at Hannah’s elbow, a baby bottle in one hand.

  When she leaned in to take the baby, Hannah’s first instinct was to hold on tight. She could run away, find Walt and they could leave on his motorcycle. They could reach Ranger headquarters before anyone would have time to pursue them.

  Logic—and probably all the lectures she had endured from Walt and his boss about needing proof that any child she found in the camp really was Emily’s baby—made her reluctantly release the child to Phoenix. “You don’t breast-feed?” she asked as the child latched on to the bottle.

  Phoenix frowned at her. “I couldn’t. I got
sick right after she was born and lost my milk.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah said. “That was a terribly rude question. I’m just so curious about anything to do with babies these days.”

  Phoenix’s expression softened. “I understand.” She smiled down at the baby. “I never thought I’d have another little one and now I have her. She’s been a special blessing in my life.”

  Hannah clenched her jaw, fighting back the questions she wanted to ask. Who was this baby’s father? When had she been born? Where had she been born? Did Phoenix know a woman named Emily? Instead, she held her tongue and returned to peeling potatoes, her mind working furiously. She had to find a way to prove that little Vicki wasn’t Phoenix’s child, but Emily’s. Maybe Phoenix had taken over care of the baby because no one else was available at the time of Emily’s death. Hannah was grateful to her if that was the case. But if that was so, why pass the baby off as her own? And surely she hadn’t taken in the baby without Daniel Metwater’s knowledge. So why had the Prophet lied about having Joy with him?

  “Did you hear what those cops said about that missing girl?” Sarah heaved a large watermelon onto the table and plunged a knife into it.

  “She never should have left camp,” Asteria said. “She would have been safe here.”

  Hannah almost dropped her potato. “You mean the girl the police were looking for was here?”

  “For less than a day.” Starfall scraped the last of the chopped onions into a pot. “The Prophet told her she couldn’t stay, since she was underage, and she left.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell the Rangers that?” Hannah asked.

  “One thing you need to learn if you stay here is that we don’t speak to the cops,” Starfall said. “It’s one of the Prophet’s rules.”

  “But if it would help them find her, why not say something?” Hannah asked. “Her poor parents must be worried sick.”

  “It won’t help her, and it will only focus unnecessary attention on us,” Starfall said. “The point is, she’s not here now, and no one in the Family had anything to do with her disappearance, so the cops should look elsewhere instead of hassling us.”