“I’m happy to help out wherever I’m needed,” I say, feeling that the best way to make a good impression—and hopefully get to a place where the leader of the commune is willing to make time for me—is by cooperating. “I just thought it might be a good idea.”
“It is,” she says earnestly. “It’s just that Xavier so rarely takes time out of his schedule for a one-on-one meeting with anybody. I was surprised when he came to see me today, and I’ve been here three years.”
“What does he do all day?” I ask. “What keeps him so busy that he can’t take time to talk to the people? I thought this place was all about openness.”
“It is,” Tammy says. “He just has so many responsibilities.” I can tell from the tone of her voice that she really looks up to him, that she finds it deeply impressive that someone could manage all of Xavier’s responsibilities. “He runs the seminars, of course, and he’s always reading books and doing research to make them better. He’s also the only one who communicates with the outside world, and of course, that’s very taxing. Every time he gets back from talking to someone on the outside, he goes to his private study to meditate for hours.”
Well, that’s not suspicious at all. I can hardly keep from rolling my eyes; I can’t believe a smart person like her doesn’t see through any of this.
I suppose it’s a testament to how neat and well-run Xavier’s organization really is. The fact that the people here aren’t sheep, the way I expected—they’re normal, logical people—means that the scheme isn’t transparent at all. Maybe I’m only seeing through it because I was so well briefed on the situation here. If I hadn’t seen those tax returns or gotten that last-minute update alerting me to the presence of guns, would I be as suspicious as I am? Or would Xavier’s disguise as a harmless old hippie be fooling me, too?
It’s an uncomfortable thought. What if Xavier is smarter than me? What if I’m only onto him because I have so much help? That would mean that now that I’m here, inside the organization, with no access to additional resources, I might not be able to find the evidence that will allow me to blow the whistle on this place.
At the very least, it’s going to take a lot longer than I thought. Tammy’s been here three years, and she doesn’t seem to be aware of anything unsavory going on. I wish I could write that off to her just becoming progressively more brainwashed as time has gone by, but she seems clear-headed enough. Xavier isn’t brainwashing his commune members. I’m not sure if he’s even lying to them. He’s just omitting vital information and letting them draw their own conclusions. And nobody doubts him.
I have two things going for me that Tammy doesn’t, though. The first is my training. However smart she is, I feel confident she hasn’t trained in advanced interrogation. I, meanwhile, am a pro at getting information from people who don’t want to give it to me. That means that every time I see Xavier, every time he speaks, I’ll know exactly what to look for. Twitches. Nervous tics. Even the way he phrases things might give me clues as to the inner workings of his mind. I can learn a lot more from a simple conversation than someone without my training ever could.
My second advantage is the simple fact that I do know something is going on around here—and that, in addition, gives me an advantage Xavier doesn’t have. Unless I am very much mistaken, he’s bought my cover. He thinks I’m a convert enamored with the lifestyle he’s created, a silly little sheep he can lead to whatever slaughter he’s planning. He has no idea that I’m a trained Navy SEAL here to bust him and his whole operation. But I know exactly what he is. I might not know exactly what he’s planning—not yet, at least—but I am exceedingly familiar with his type. He’s a cult leader. He’s selling a lifestyle under false pretenses.
So, in the chess match between Xavier and me, I’ve already made the opening move. And that is a huge advantage.
Of course, I’m facing a pretty big disadvantage too, one I definitely didn’t plan for. One I hardly even noticed creeping up on me. But suddenly, sitting next to Tammy on this picturesque hill, watching her smile at me, I’m overcome.
She’s gorgeous. I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, and there’s something extra alluring about the knowledge that she comes by the color naturally—I know nobody’s dyeing their hair out here on the ranch. And the simple clothes she wears gently flatter her figure, letting me know she’s got curves while covering up enough to pique my curiosity. Under normal circumstances, I’d be asking to buy her a drink, but instead, I have to lie about my identity. Great.
And the hell of it is that it isn’t just her looks that I find appealing. Pretty girls are great, but I don’t find it too hard to keep my head on straight when I’m around someone physically beautiful. But Tammy’s so much more than that. I can tell she’s a deep thinker. She’s thought about life here on the ranch and why it’s a good option for her. And I just wasn’t prepared for that. I can tell she’s someone I would enjoy a real conversation with. We could talk about life, about art and politics—real politics, that is, not Xavier politics.
And she’s into me. I’ve been around the block enough times that I can tell when a girl’s into me. She’s been checking me out since we met. I’ve seen her gaze flicking toward me when she thought I wasn’t looking, and when I changed into my ranch uniform, before she ducked out of the dorm, her face was as red as a tomato. She wants me. That much is obvious.
If she first came to the ranch three years ago…my God, it suddenly occurs to me. She hasn’t had sex in three years. She must be going out of her mind.
The rules about sex on the ranch didn’t seem so surprising when I read the information on the website. Cults like this usually have weird ideas about anything indulgent, and Xavier’s abstinence-based manifesto seemed right in line with that. Sex keeps you from being your best self…yeah, sure, pal, okay. It had to have more to do with wanting to control people, or to keep people from forming intimate bonds that weren’t approved, or maybe even mandated, by the commune’s leader.
But now that I’m here, it doesn’t look like that’s the case. After all, Tammy’s friend Rachel is a newlywed and apparently on her honeymoon, meaning sex is fine within the confines of marriage. This isn’t a religious cult, though. It’s a strange rule to enforce, and I’m surprised a girl like Tammy would so willingly adhere to it. God knows I couldn’t do it.
Especially not with her sitting there looking so…well, so hot. It’s a weird thing to think about someone dressed in a tunic and loose-fitting pants, but whatever. I can admit it. She’s blindingly hot. I want to make a move on her, right here and now.
I can’t, though, and not only because it would be inappropriate to make a pass at someone whose guard is so clearly down. I have to play by the rules of the commune. I’m not Kyle Newfeld, Navy SEAL and freewheeling ladies’ man. Not right now, anyway.
No, here on this hill, I’m Connor, beleaguered marketing associate, burnt out and desperate for a new life. Cooperating with the rules of this place—especially on my very first day—is a vital part of my cover.
Not blowing my cover, is, of course, paramount to the SEALs. It’s the reason the rest of the team assigned to Pyrite is keeping their distance. It’s the reason we didn’t storm in here with a strike force. Without solid evidence, our chances of shutting this place down and making it stick aren’t great.
We need something tangible, something we can point to that will put Xavier away for a long time. We can’t just say, “well, he seems like a creep and we don’t think he bought those guns legally.” I’m sure he can produce some kind of paperwork, counterfeit or not, that will legitimize his arsenal. So, my unit is counting on me to preserve my disguise. I’m familiar with the kind of dressing-down I’ll get from the Captain if I mess this up. It’s something I never wish to be on the receiving end of.
But I also want to stay undercover for Tammy’s sake. The part of me that wants to tell her all these thoughts going through my mind, maybe even to grab her and kiss her, has to take a backseat to th
e part of me that wants to get her out of this crazy scheme and back into the real world.
Maybe then, when we’re far away from Xavier and his insanity, there will be a chance for us to get to know each other. Maybe then, I can tell her who I really am and how I really feel, even ask her out on a date. Hell, at that point, sex wouldn’t be off the table.
But I’m getting way ahead of myself. For now, it will have to be enough to befriend her, to eat cookies with her on this hilltop and hear her stories. To make sure she’s safe. Because the one thing I can absolutely do is keep watch and make sure that if Xavier decides to put whatever plan he’s brewing into action, Tammy is far, far away from it. I won’t allow her to become collateral damage to that crazy man and his strange, potentially violent ideals.
I will protect her. No matter what, I will keep her out of harm’s way.
Chapter 6
Tammy
It’s funny. I never used to enjoy working in the fields, but now, it’s a welcome break from the sewing room. And I know exactly why, too. I know as soon as I see his face break into a smile at the sight of me, as soon as he leaves the row of corn he’s working on and hurries to my side.
Connor.
It’s wonderful to be working on a task we can do together. I never really realized how few opportunities men and women have to socialize here on the ranch. Connor and I have meals together, but we’ve been spending all day lately working on different tasks, in completely different places. But now, finally, it’s time to detassel the corn, which means everyone is working together. A perfect opportunity.
“I can’t believe you do the whole field by hand,” he says, walking alongside me.
I wonder if I should read anything into that. He was about a third of the way down a completely different row, and he abandoned it to start at the beginning with me. Interesting.
“How else would we do it?” I ask.
“Well, you know, farmers usually use machines,” he points out.
“But machines aren’t sustainable,” I say. “They need gas to run, and we’re not exactly sitting on a pile of oil here.”
He nods. “It just seems like it must be exhausting.”
“Believe me,” I tell him, “the next time you bite into an ear of corn, it’s going to taste so much better than it ever has before. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
He laughs and pulls another tassel. “It’s nice that the whole commune comes out to participate in this. Doesn’t anybody ever complain?”
“No,” I say. “I think we’re all just very aware of the fact that we don’t have to be here, you know? If anybody was unhappy with the workload, or any of the arrangements, there would be nothing to stop them from leaving.”
“Does anybody ever leave?” Connor asks. “Have you ever known anyone who has?”
I think about it. “No.”
“Do you think that’s weird?”
“I think it says a lot about this place, actually.” A thought occurs to me, and I glance over at him. “You’re not thinking about leaving, are you?”
“No, no,” he laughs. “I like it here.”
I breathe an inward sigh of relief. “Good.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Good?”
Shit. That was more than I meant to give away. “Um…”
He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I would miss you too.”
“You would?”
“Definitely,” he says, and for a moment, he stops working to face me head-on. He looks me in the eyes. “I really like you, Tammy. I think you’re great.”
“I…I think you’re great, too,” I stammer.
What is he saying? Does he think I’m just a cool person, or is there something more behind his words? Is he feeling the same attraction I’m feeling? For a moment, energy seems to pulse through the inches separating our hands, and I’m sure he’s going to reach out and touch me.
The moment passes. He turns back to the corn.
“Anyway,” he says, “ranch life has been good for me. I’m definitely sticking around.”
“Relax,” says Miriam. “Breathe. Now, slowly, slowly transition into downward-facing dog.”
I push back with my hands and let my hips shift upward until my body forms an upside down “V” shape. I like to begin every day with Miriam’s yoga classes. They refresh my body, relax my mind, and leave me feeling awake and ready to face the day.
Beside me, Connor doesn’t seem to be enjoying the practice nearly as much. His downward-facing dog position still looks more like he’s trying to do push-ups. It’s pretty obvious that he’s never done yoga before in his life.
“Psst,” I whisper, and he turns his head to look at me. “Put your ears between your arms.”
“What?” he hisses back.
“Your head is too high. It should be between your arms.” I lower my own head, demonstrating.
Connor carefully shifts his position. Lowering his head pulls his shoulders into the correct alignment and causes his hips to rise. It’s still not a perfect pose, but he’s a lot closer.
I smile. Maybe if Miriam gets married and pregnant or something, I can take over leading yoga class. Or, maybe Connor and I could just do private lessons…that might be fun.
I shake my head to clear it. I’m supposed to be focusing on my breathing, not fantasies of helping Connor twist his body into yoga poses. I take a deep breath and release it, trying to center myself.
“Jump your feet between your hands and stand,” Miriam says.
I like the realization that yoga isn’t something Connor does all the time. It means he’s here specifically to spend time with me. It’s not like there aren’t any other exercise options—there’s weightlifting, which I can tell by his physique he’d be great at, and there’s a group that goes jogging in the mornings. But he comes to yoga because I’m at yoga. There can’t be any other reason.
“Breathe deeply,” Miriam says, stretching her arms over her head. I mimic the movement. “Let the breath root your feet into the earth.”
Beside me, I can hear Connor chuckling. He does imitations of Miriam sometimes, when we’re alone in the corn and no one can hear.
“Breathe through your feet, Tammy,” he teases. “Use your toes as roots.”
I’m sure he’s saving up material for later, and I smile a little at the thought. I shouldn’t laugh at his jokes—Miriam is sweet, and she’s being serious—but I can’t help finding him funny.
“Namaste,” Miriam says when we wrap up our practice, bringing her hands together in front of her.
“Namaste,” everyone echoes back.
Even Connor says it, bowing his head a little, and I know he respects what she does, even if he does find humor in it. That’s one of the things I like best about him. He doesn’t draw lines between what he jokes about and what he respects. His jokes are a form of affection.
“What was your life like before?” Connor asks me.
It’s lunchtime, and we’ve claimed seats at one of the picnic tables in the Commons. Lately, we’ve been putting more and more distance between ourselves and other people, choosing seats at the very end of the row of tables instead of in the middle where people tend to crowd. It’s more conducive to the kind of private conversations we’ve been indulging in.
“I lived in the city,” I tell him, piling my plate with mashed potatoes. “San Francisco, I mean. I had a tiny little apartment on the nineteenth floor of a crappy building. It probably would have been more of a problem if I had any kind of social life, but I never brought anyone over. Even my mother never saw the place.”
“You never brought a date home?” Connor asks.
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s kind of a personal question.”
“Oh.” He looks abashed. “I’m sorry.”
I laugh. “I’m only kidding. I don’t mind talking about it. No, I never brought a date home. I’d have liked to date, but once the first three dates I scheduled after moving to San Francisco had to be cancel
led, I kind of got the hint that it wasn’t in the cards for me.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you have to cancel your dates?”
“Ryan Hemmers,” I say. “Have you read anything about him?”
“I mean, I know he’s a tech genius.”
“Sure. But have you ever read or seen an interview?”
“I have not.”
“Well, he’s a control freak. Has to have everything exactly how he wants it all the time. And he’s incapable of waiting. If he thinks of something he wants done, it had better be done right now.
“He spins it really well when he talks about it to the press—he says that when inspiration strikes, you have to act immediately or you’ll lose your opportunity. And that’s probably true when the inspiration is something like coming up with an app design. But when you’re just inspired to buy a really great set of steak knives and you need your assistant to run around town doing price and quality comparisons…maybe that’s the kind of thing that could wait until morning.”
“Did that really happen?” Connor’s eyes are wide.
“Yep. That’s one of the things I canceled a date for. Actually, I did ask my date if he wanted to come with me, but I think that creeped him out. You know, it’s our first date—do you want to blow off the coffee shop and come knife shopping instead? I don’t blame him for saying no to that.”
Connor chuckles. “Yeah, I can see how it would be hard to maintain a social life.”
“I just got sick of it all after a while,” I tell him. “Here on the ranch, things are so much more in balance.”
“But you can’t really…” He pauses, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out how to say something. “It must be hard to pursue romantic relationships here too,” he says finally.
“You mean because we’re not allowed to have sex?” I know that’s what he’s hinting at. Might as well get it out there.
“Well,” Connor says. “Yes, I guess that’s what I mean. In the outside world, you might not have been able to date, but at least you could get together with a friend and blow off a little steam if you wanted to.”
In Deep - A Secret Twins Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 6) Page 5
