The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets

She sipped her iced tea and regarded him over the rim of the glass. “I don’t know about that.”

“Trust me, it’s true,” he said. “I have a bachelor’s degree from the University of New Mexico and was solidly in the middle of my class. And while I’m sure there are a few professions less glamorous than law enforcement, patrolling the backcountry of public lands is about as far away from a corporate suite as you can get.”

“Your job doesn’t sound boring, though.”

“You might be surprised how boring it can be sometimes. But mostly, it is interesting.”

“What drew you to the work?” She relaxed back against the padded booth, some of the tension easing from around her eyes.

“I like the independence, and I like solving puzzles. And maybe this sounds corny, but I like correcting at least some of the injustice in the world. It’s a good feeling when you put away a smuggler or a poacher or a murderer.” His eyes met hers. “Or a kidnapper.”

She rearranged her silverware. “Do you think this will work? Our pretending to want to join up with them?”

“It’s the best way I can think of to learn what really goes on in their camp. I figure you can get to know the women—especially the mothers with children. I can talk to the men. We might be able to find Anna Ingels—the woman who witnessed your sister’s will. If your niece is there, someone will know it and eventually they’ll let something slip.”

The waiter delivered their food—ravioli for Walt, fish for her. They ate in silence for a moment, then she said, “Have you done anything like this before?”

“You mean undercover work?” He stabbed at a pillow of ravioli. “A couple of times. I posed as a big-game hunter to bring down a group of poachers. And I did a few drug buys, things like that.”

“Did you ever have to pretend to be married to someone?”

“No. That’s a new one. Does that worry you?”

“A little. Not you, I mean—well, I’ve never been married before.”

“Me either.” He laid down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Before we get too far into this, are you engaged? Seriously involved with someone? Dating a mixed martial arts fighter who’s insanely jealous?”

Her eyes widened. “No to all of the above. What about you?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend either. Or a girlfriend.”

She laughed. “Really? That surprises me.”

“Does it?”

“You’re good-looking, and friendly. I wouldn’t think you’d have trouble getting a date.”

“No, I don’t have trouble getting dates.” He took another bite of ravioli, delaying his answer. “I’m new to the area,” he said. “I transferred from northern Colorado just last month.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And there’s something you’re not saying. I heard it in your voice.”

Was he really so easy to read? He searched for some glib lie, but then again, why shouldn’t he tell her? “The last woman I dated seriously is now married to my younger brother.”

“Ouch!”

“Yeah, well, he’s very charming and untroubled by much of a conscience.” The wound still ached a little—not the woman’s betrayal so much as his brother’s. He should have seen it coming, and the fact that he hadn’t made him doubt himself a little.

“So that’s what you meant when you said you understood about thinking you knew a family member well, and turning out to be wrong.”

“Yep. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.”

“That must make for some awkward family dinners,” she said.

“A little. There are four of us kids—two girls and two boys. For the sake of family harmony, I wished the newlyweds well and keep my distance.”

“It was just Emily and me in my family,” she said. “I think it took my mom a long time to get pregnant again after me.” A smile ghosted across her lips. “I still remember how excited I was when she was born. It was as if I had a real live doll of my own to look after. After our parents were killed in a car crash when Emily was nineteen, all we had was each other. We were inseparable, right up until I went away to Dallas to work. And even after that—even though we lived very different lives—I always felt we were close.” She laid down her fork and her eyes met his. “I blamed Daniel Metwater for taking her away from me. After she joined his cult, I seldom heard from her. What kind of person encourages someone to cut off ties with family that way?”

“We haven’t been able to learn a great deal about him, other than that he’s very charismatic and seems to be offering something that some people find attractive.” He wanted to take her hand, to try to comfort her, but resisted the temptation. “There are probably experts in this kind of thing who could tell you more than I can.”

“He calls his followers a family—as if that could substitute for their real families.”

“Maybe this undercover assignment will give you some of the answers to your questions,” he said. He picked up his fork again.

They ate in silence for a while longer, until she pushed her plate away, her dinner half-eaten. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me,” she said. “About what Daniel Metwater stood to gain from keeping Joy and claiming her as his own.”

“Did you come up with something?”

“It’s not much, but Emily had a trust from our mother. An annual stipend now, with the bulk coming to her when she turned thirty in two years. Under the terms of the trust, it automatically passes to any children she might have, and can be used to pay living and educational expenses in the event of her death.”

He considered this information, then shook his head. “Metwater supposedly has money of his own.”

“That’s what I understood from the research I did.” She took a sip of tea. “I told you it wasn’t much.”

“Still, having money doesn’t mean he might not want more. And we don’t have any idea what his financial picture is these days. Maybe he made some bad investments, or being a prophet in the wilderness is more expensive than he thought it would be.”

“I keep coming back to her last letter,” Hannah said. “Emily sounded so frightened—I thought maybe that so-called Family was holding her prisoner.”

“The death certificate said her cause of death was respiratory failure.”

“I know. She died in an emergency room. Someone dropped her off—they don’t know who. And people do die of asthma, but I can’t help thinking—what if they were withholding her medication, or the stress of traveling with this group brought on the attack?”

“It would be tough to prove murder in either case.”

“I know.” She sat back and laid her napkin beside her plate. “And none of it will bring Emily back. I have to focus on what I can do, which is to raise Joy and take the best care of her I know how.”

A light came into her eyes when she spoke, and her expression changed to one of such tenderness it made Walt’s chest ache. “You already love her, don’t you?” he said.

“Yes.” That fleeting smile again. “And that surprises me. I never thought of myself as particularly nurturing, but this baby—this infant I haven’t even met yet—I already love her so much.”

“If she’s in Metwater’s camp, we’ll find her,” he said.

She surprised him by reaching out and taking his hand. “I believe you,” she said. “And if I have to pretend to be someone’s wife temporarily, I’m glad it’s you.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, then let it go before he gave in to the temptation to pull her close and kiss her. As assignments went, this one was definitely going to be interesting, and a little dangerous—in more ways than one.

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.