Nick slept like the dead, literally.
The floor beneath him felt about as cozy as a pine box. The walls seemed to close in on him from all sides, creating a sense of pressing doom. He dreamed of being laid to rest in a green pasture. It was an unsettling scene that shifted into something even darker. Instead of a Haven-style funeral pyre, he was placed in a mass grave with a pile of decomposing bodies. He rolled over in horror, only to find the mutilated faces of his parents.
He woke with a gasp, one hand over his heart. It was bouncing around in his chest like a pinball.
Jesus.
After a drink of water and a quick visit to the men’s room, he settled down again. Exhaustion took him swiftly back to sleep. His dreams returned, more pleasant this time. He was having a picnic with Avery on a misty hillside. She wore a white dress with buttons down the front, half-undone. He climbed on top of her, feasting on her mouth. Her breasts spilled out of the bodice. He tried to fill his hands with her, but his range of movement was restricted. His elbows bumped into wood. At first he thought it was the picnic basket. Then he lifted his head and saw a gravestone with her name on it. She wasn’t lying on a blanket, underneath him. She was resting in a coffin, eyes closed.
The second nightmare was disturbing enough to wake him, but it wasn’t as gory or graphic as the first. It was more gothic fantasy than horror. Avery was beautiful, even in death. Her breasts were pink-tipped and lush.
And he was predictably aroused.
Smothering a groan, he stared at the crosscut beams in the ceiling. It must have been close to dawn, because muted light filtered in from the single window. Despite the bad dreams and general discomfort, he’d slept at least eight hours. He’d drifted off in the same condition he’d awoken, with an erection as stiff as the hardwood floor. He could hear her soft, steady breathing in the next room. He imagined her sleep-warm body, her unbound breasts. His erection throbbed and his jaw clenched.
He could get up and take a cold shower, or he could stay put and furtively seek his own release. Neither option appealed to him. He didn’t want to get off with the mental picture of her half-naked corpse still lingering in his psyche. It was sick to be aroused at all. Wryly, he wondered how Ms. Freud would psychoanalyze this.
“No,” she murmured, bedsprings squeaking. “Don’t leave me here.”
He sat up and listened. It sounded as if she was having a nightmare of her own.
“Don’t lock me in,” she cried.
Nick lumbered to his feet, wincing at the various aches and pains that had nothing to do with his groin. He entered the bedroom, where she was thrashing wildly. He grasped both wrists and pinned them to the mattress, afraid she’d strike him.
“Avery,” he said in a quiet voice. “Wake up.”
“No!”
“You’re having a bad dream.”
Her eyes sprang open and she stopped struggling. She stared at him, her chest heaving. The old-fashioned undergarment she was wearing had tiny buttons down the front. They were partially undone, revealing the inner curves of her breasts.
Nick wasn’t picky about breasts. He’d never handled a pair he didn’t like. To him, they all looked and felt pretty nice. He didn’t care about size or symmetry. Avery just happened to be blessed with the most perfectly shaped breasts he’d ever seen. They strained against the homespun bodice, large enough to fill his hands.
“Let go,” she said, breathless.
It took him a few seconds to drag his gaze to her face and process those words. He released her wrists, chagrined. She pulled the blanket over her chest. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You were crying out in your sleep.”
“What did I say?”
“‘Don’t lock me in here.’”
She flinched in recognition, but didn’t explain. She was as reluctant to share childhood experiences as he was. He let it go, because he needed space as much as she did. He rose from the bed, aware that he was in his underwear. The form-fitting long johns didn’t hide his physical reaction to her. His arousal was half-mast, but still noticeable. He left the room, feeling like a damned pervert.
He donned the same pants he’d worn yesterday, along with a fresh shirt and socks. Then he shoved his feet into boots and visited the men’s room. He passed by her on his way back. Inside the cabin, he filled the washtub with an inch of water and tossed his dirty things into it. He gave them a scrub against the washboard with bar soap. When she returned to find him doing laundry, she blinked in surprise.
“Do you want me to wash something for you?” he asked.
“It’s considered women’s work.”
He shrugged and got back to it. She didn’t bring him her blouse or underwear, which was just as well. The water was already dingy. He wrung out the fabric as best he could and looked for a place to hang it. She took the wet garments from him and went outside to a clothesline he hadn’t noticed before. He watched from the window as she performed the task for him. Maybe it was okay for him to do women’s work as long as no one saw.
He filled two mugs with fresh water and sat down, wishing it was coffee.
Spiked coffee.
She joined him a moment later.
“Thanks,” he said, gesturing to the clothesline.
“I forgot to bandage your hands last night.”
He turned his palms over to study the broken blisters. The right was worse than the left. “They’ll callus faster without bandages.”
“What about gloves?”
“Jeremiah probably can’t spare any.”
She smiled at his joke and tore a muslin cloth into strips. He let her wrap his right hand. Then he closed his fist, testing the utility of the bandage. He had to admit it felt better with the protective layer.
“How are you holding up?” she asked.
“I’m sore.”
“What hurts?”
“My entire body.”
“You don’t have to work so hard.”
He didn’t necessarily disagree. Working hard was just what he did. It was who he was. “I’ll be all right.”
“They like you.”
“Who?”
“These people.”
“Not all of them,” he said, thinking about the holy trinity. Jeremiah, Jonah and Jeff Silva. They weren’t impressed with him.
“You’ll have to watch out for Jeremiah.”
“I don’t like the way he treated you.”
“The way he treated me?”
Nick cited the golf cart incident. Jeremiah had taken off before she was even seated, and he’d seemed amused by her near fall.
“You were his main target,” she said. “He was glaring daggers at your back.”
“What’s his problem?”
“I don’t know. He’s a jerk, and you’re a threat.”
“A physical threat?”
“Not only that,” she said, tapping the table. “Sister Margot warned me about young women causing mischief, because you’re so lusty and handsome.”
“She said I was lusty?”
Avery nodded, her cheeks pink.
He supposed he was guilty as charged. He certainly had been since he’d met Avery, and Sister Margot had almost interrupted them in flagrante delicto. “Do you think I should let girls work in the fields?”
Her face softened. “Yes. It’s a breath of fresh air for them.”
He considered his options, which were limited. Nick Dean wasn’t a throwback sexist. He hadn’t been drawn to the cult because of its track record with women. He was here to till the earth and faith-heal. He needed workers too much to turn the girls away. If Jeremiah had a problem with it, he could bring some men to take their place. Nick doubted any of the girls would flirt with him, regardless. This was an extremely restrictive environment, and he was twice their age.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. He tried to focus on a game plan. He needed to get his watch back or find another way to communicate with his team. He wanted to check out Silva’s compound, but it appeared heavily guarded. At this point, playing his role and gaining the trust of the cult members was paramount. The hard work had a dual purpose. It could act as a sleep aid and anesthetic, dulling his desire for Avery.
When the breakfast bell rang, they left the cabin. He expected a hearty meal and wasn’t disappointed. These fanatics loved bacon. They did seem to like Nick Dean, and they’d embraced Ellen just as warmly. The dining hall was noisy and comfortable. He took a seat at an empty table, across from Avery. Nick noted some familiar faces, including Brother Sage. He was with the same young woman he’d brought to the fields. It dawned on Nick that the pretty, dark-haired girl was his wife, not his daughter.
“How did my goats do?” Rupert asked as he passed by.
“Great,” Nick said. “Thanks for sending them.”
“My pleasure.”
“I was going to ask you about silage for livestock. It’s too late to start wheat or corn. What do you think about oat hay?”
“I’ll take whatever I can get, Brother.”
Rupert promised to send Brent, one of his farmhands, before he moved on. Nick turned his attention back to his breakfast plate. His eyes met Avery’s as he swallowed a bite of eggs. She looked away, but not before he read the censure in her gaze. She thought he was fitting in too well, even enjoying himself. And, to be fair, he was. He hadn’t forgotten the trauma she’d endured here. He would never forget Chris, who’d died at the behest of Jeff Silva. Nick understood that this assignment was stressful and scary for Avery. He’d coerced her into becoming his partner.
Although his recruiting tactics were questionable, he didn’t regret bringing her in. She was a perfect wife, sexy and angelic looking. She had a natural instinct for this kind of work. Her social skills and emotional insights were impeccable. Her company was a factor in his enjoyment. He liked being with her. He liked what they were doing. This was the most important assignment of his career, and he thrived on it. He was aroused by danger. He also couldn’t wait to make Silva pay for his sins—in blood. If Nick had to take him alive, he would, but he’d beat the fear of God back into him first.
After breakfast, Avery accompanied him to the storage building where seed was kept. He loaded several bags into a wheelbarrow before they walked to the fields. Jeremiah’s golf cart would have come in handy. Nick could put the man to use, as well. He wondered what, exactly, Jeremiah supervised. He never seemed to be around.
“I want to visit the cemetery,” Avery said as they passed it.
Nick stopped in the middle of the dirt road, the sweat chilling on his body. Images from his nightmares floated in his mind. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“I just want to look.”
“You’ll get emotional.”
She proved his point by crossing her arms over her chest and blinking tears from her eyes. She couldn’t be seen weeping over her mother’s grave, but that wasn’t the only reason he opposed the idea. There might be a second grave nearby, revealing a truth he had compelling reasons to hide.
“You got your closure,” she said. “Can’t I get mine?”
He kept his expression blank as he massaged the nape of his neck. Throwing his past in his face was an effective strategy. When he’d opened up to her about his parents, he hadn’t imagined she would use the information against him. Maybe he was being too soft with her, sharing too much of himself. He heard the electric whine of the golf cart approaching and made his decision.
“You’ll do what I say, and that’s final.”
Her eyes darkened with hurt. The order came out harsher than he’d intended, but had the desired effect of shutting her up before the golf cart reached them. Nick didn’t want to get caught in the middle of this particular argument.
The driver of the golf cart wasn’t Jeremiah. It was Jonah, with Brent in the passenger seat. The teenaged farmhand was a welcome sight, as he was six feet tall and worked tirelessly. When Jonah pulled to a stop, Brent hopped out. They exchanged greetings.
“Can I take that for you, Brother Nick?”
“Sure,” Nick said, stepping away from the wheelbarrow. “Thanks.”
“See you over there.”
Jonah rested his forearm on the steering wheel, splitting a glance between Nick and Avery. He seemed pleased to have interrupted a tense moment. “I heard you’ve done wonders with the fields.”
“I had a lot of help,” Nick said. “Are you joining us today?”
Jonah laughed, shaking his head. He didn’t do farmwork. “I actually came for Ellen. I hope you don’t mind sharing her.”
Nick kept his smile in place. “Not at all.”
“You’ll report to the health office every morning,” Jonah said to Avery, who nodded her compliance. He gestured to the cemetery behind them. “Did you have a question about our dearly departed?”
She looked over her shoulder at the headstone-speckled hillside. The epitaphs couldn’t be read from this distance. Jonah must have assumed they’d stopped here for a reason. “I wanted to visit the graves,” she said. “The grounds are lovely.”
“I told her we didn’t have time,” Nick said.
“What a shame,” Jonah said. “I’d be happy to take her in your place.”
Nick suspected that Jonah was deliberately trying to provoke him with suggestive word choices. The younger man’s smirk invited Nick to call him on it. Instead of rising to the bait, Nick deferred to Avery.
“That’s a kind offer,” she said, “but not necessary.”
“Are you sure?” Jonah asked.
“I’ll come with Nick another day.”
“As you wish.”
Nick couldn’t decide which brother he disliked more, Jonah or Jeremiah. As Avery moved toward the passenger side of the golf cart, Nick surprised her with a goodbye kiss. He wasn’t sure why he did it. Maybe he felt guilty about scolding her, and grateful she’d refused Jonah. Maybe he just wanted to show Jonah whom she belonged to. She made a soft squeak as their lips met. He kept it chaste, releasing her after a brief peck. He doubted she appreciated his send-off, but at least she didn’t slap his face. She climbed into the passenger seat, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed.
Jonah wasn’t smirking as he turned the golf cart around and drove back toward the community center.
Nick continued to the fields, his mood tempered. He hoped Avery would be busy with nursing duties in the health office, not hanging out with Jonah all day. Nick didn’t trust the young prophet with his wife. He also worried about Avery’s stress level. This was a harrowing experience for her. She was having nightmares about her childhood trauma. If something went wrong when they were apart, he couldn’t protect her.
The work in the fields kept his mind occupied for the next few hours. Four girls and three boys reported for duty. He sent everyone except Brent to the second field to continue clearing. Nick and Brent stayed in the first field to start tilling. There were two vintage tillers. It required considerable effort to move the heavy blades across the earth. By midday, his hands ached and his back muscles quivered from exertion. He finished the last row, soaked in sweat. Brent was in the same condition, but appeared energized rather than wiped out. Nick felt every one of his thirty-eight years and then some. They retreated to the shade of a nearby oak tree.
“You want to keep going?” Brent asked.
“I don’t think I can,” Nick said.
Brent grinned with relief. “Thank heaven. I was worried you were going to work me to death.”
“Maybe after lunch.”
“You’re a beast, man. My arms feel like rubber.”
After a short rest, they started the process for planting seeds. It was painstaking work, but not difficult. Nick showed Brent how far apart to place the seeds, and how deep in the earth. Then he went to check on the rest of his crew. He needed a few extra hands to haul water, and he probably shouldn’t leave them unsupervised for too long. He was pleased with their progress on the second field. The girls were working as hard as the boys, if not harder. They would have the field cleared this afternoon.
Nick was examining the outside edge of the farmland, where the undergrowth had become unmanageable, when the lunch bell clanged. He waved to dismiss everyone, but his attention got snagged on something beyond the fence. It looked like a tarpaulin. As he got closer, he identified what appeared to be a camouflaged net stretched across an area the size of a basketball court. He couldn’t make out the shapes underneath it, but his special-agent senses went into overdrive. The military-style camouflage, and whatever it was covering, hadn’t shown up in the drone photos. What was under there? An arsenal? A bomb shelter? Enough explosives to blow up a federal building?
Nick’s heart pounded with excitement. Purely by accident, he’d stumbled across a secret hideaway. It could hold the evidence he needed to nail Father Jeff. It could be the reason Jeremiah didn’t want him clearing these fields.
Nick studied the fence line with a sharpened gaze. He spotted a tall oak tree with branches that extended over the top of the razor wire. Although the climb would be challenging, it was doable. He glanced around the deserted fields, considering. He was alone right now. He could climb the tree, hop over the fence and investigate.
There were a few problems with taking that sort of risk. The first was Avery. She’d worry if he failed to show up for lunch. He was already on thin ice with her, and others would notice his absence. He also couldn’t afford to get caught in the wrong place. The fence marked the commune’s outside border. Guards patrolled the area so regularly that they’d worn a footpath around the perimeter.
The real clincher was the tree itself. The sturdy branches that reached across the fence were inaccessible from the opposite side. He could drop down from that height, but he wouldn’t be able to jump back up. He’d be stranded.
Vowing to return later with a length of rope, he walked the opposite direction. He rubbed the empty spot on his wrist, wishing like hell for his watch. He estimated he was about five minutes behind the others. As he passed the equipment shed, he decided to pick up his canteen, which needed to be refilled. He heard a strange noise inside, sort of rhythmic thumping. Experience had him guessing at the origin of the sound before he wrenched open the door. Sure enough, there was a boy with his pants down, on top of a girl with her skirt up. They both froze at the intrusion.
Nick clapped a hand over his eyes. Two days in this puritanical place hadn’t turned him into a prude, but he did not want to see teenagers doing it. Letting out a stream of curse words, he stumbled backward.
The pair emerged from the shed in less than a minute, red-faced. The boy was Brent, proving he still had energy to burn. The girl wasn’t on his crew, thank God. Nick couldn’t be blamed for failing to protect the virtue of one of his female workers. With her head bowed and her eyes downcast, he struggled to place her. She looked about Brent’s age, which was eighteen. Her hairstyle revealed she was married.
Recognition dawned.
She was Brother Sage’s wife.