Jonah shoved her to the dirt floor as soon as they’d reached the last step.
Avery crawled to a dark corner and stayed there, hugging her knees to her chest. Jonah lit a kerosene lamp to illuminate the space. The torch he’d discarded lay flickering between them. She thought about going for it, and trying to defend herself against further harm, but she was afraid to anger him. Her face still stung from the blow he’d dealt her. Challenging him didn’t seem wise. He was bigger and stronger than her, so she couldn’t overpower him. Trying to outsmart him was the better option.
She would let him calm down. Reason with him.
He kicked the torch aside, out of her reach. “I remember you,” he said. “I remember Hannah.”
She stayed quiet, her heart pounding. She wondered how he knew. Had Grace told Jeremiah about her visit, or had Imogen recognized her?
His gaze wandered down her body. “You’ve changed.”
“I’m not Hannah.”
“I had a crush on you, even then. I saw how my father looked at you.” He stepped closer. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? If you hadn’t left The Haven, he would have taken you as a bride. He would have ruined you long before I got the chance.”
Panic gripped her. She stared at him in silence.
“You escaped that fate, but you won’t escape this one.”
She started scooting backward, against a row of dusty shelves. “Don’t do this.”
Jonah followed her. He crouched down and touched her hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “You’re a little old for his taste, but you fit his type. Natural blonde. Pretty blue eyes. He was practically salivating over you on the pulpit.”
She cringed, turning her head to one side.
He swept his fingertips over her bruised cheek. “Tell me, was he aroused during the faith healing session?” When she didn’t answer, he grabbed a handful of her hair again. “Speaking of arousal, I never believed your ridiculous lies about Nick. I went to your cabin tonight, after Imogen came to me with her suspicions. I smelled the sheets.” He leaned closer, inhaling deep. “You still reek of him.”
“What suspicions?” Avery asked.
“Hmm?”
“What were Imogen’s suspicions?”
“She brought me an old photo of Hannah. I admit, I didn’t see the resemblance at first. You look very different now. I wasn’t convinced it was you until we found you in the cemetery, weeping at your mother’s grave.”
Avery’s mind raced at this news. Jonah knew who she was, but he didn’t know why she was here. She could use that to her advantage. She could use psychology to her advantage, too. Jonah wasn’t making sexual threats out of the blue. All behaviors had a reason. Avery remembered what he’d said earlier about asking his father to bless him with a bride. It must have been a fairly recent request, because Jonah hadn’t been eligible for marriage for that long. There were only a few young, unwed women available.
He would have had to pick from Nadine, Isobel, Imogen or… Grace.
“It was Grace,” she murmured, in a flash of insight. “You asked for Grace, and Father Jeff denied you.”
Jonah’s gaze sharpened. “Very astute.”
Avery studied him quietly. Grace would have been eighteen when Jonah turned twenty-eight. Her pale blonde beauty made her the best prize of the bunch. She looked angelic, and that was enough. Jonah wouldn’t have been deterred by her headstrong attitude. He controlled his world and everyone in it. The challenge of molding her into a proper bride had probably appealed to him. Of course, Grace would have also caught the attention of Father Jeff, who favored innocent blondes. Instead of waiting for Grace to mature and giving her to Jonah, Father Jeff had taken her as his own bride.
“I’m sorry he did that to you,” Avery said. “He’s a cruel man.”
“Spare me your false empathy.”
“You should be the leader here. The only leader.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can help each other.”
He smiled at the offer. “Can we?”
“You can have it all, Jonah. The commune, the compound, Grace. Your father is a sinner, and he’s slipping. He doesn’t care about The Haven anymore. When he goes down, everything will be yours for the taking.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Will you be mine for the taking?”
Avery moistened her lips. She wanted to stroke his ego, but she could go only so far. Surely he didn’t believe she would stay here with him.
“Maybe I’d rather have you than Grace,” he mused. “In retrospect, she was a bad match. Immature. Unimaginative. You’re much more intriguing. Plus, I’ve seen you naked. I have to agree with Nick. No other woman compares.”
She flushed at the compliment. He was toying with her.
“Who is he to you? I know he’s not your husband. He looks at you with too much desire. A hired investigator, perhaps?”
“Go to hell.”
“You were always clever,” Jonah said. “But not clever enough, apparently. I can’t imagine why you would come back here. You have no family in the current membership. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Your father is going to be arrested for his crimes,” she said.
“What crimes?”
“Caleb’s murder. I’m sure he ordered it.”
Jonah frowned. “Caleb’s not dead. He’s in the outside militia.”
“Who told you that?”
“Jeremiah.”
“You think they let Caleb live, after he fathered Grace’s baby?”
Jonah shoved her down on the ground and crushed his palm over her mouth. “You’re a liar and a whore. I don’t care what happened to Caleb. He got the punishment he deserved, and so will you.”
Avery tried to scream, but she couldn’t draw breath. She tasted blood from the inside of her cheek again. He was pressing his fingers into the bruise. She groped the dirt floor for a blunt object to strike him with and came up empty. She was about to use her fists to pummel his back when a knock sounded at the door above them.
“What?” Jonah asked.
“They found Brother Nick by the cemetery.” It was Imogen. “Jeremiah wants you there.”
Avery struggled against Jonah’s hold. He released her and rolled away, breathing heavily. She didn’t know what kind of assault he’d intended. She was glad for Imogen’s interruption, and terrified for Nick. Tears flooded her eyes.
“Don’t hurt him. Please.”
Jonah laughed at the pathetic request. “What should I do, slap him on the wrist?”
“He’s not a private investigator, Jonah. He’s FBI. His team is coming as we speak.”
“How does he communicate with this team? He has no means—” Jonah broke off as he realized his mistake. “The watch.”
She stayed quiet, afraid to confirm his guess.
“You bitch,” he said, his jaw slack with disbelief. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered.
Above them, Imogen knocked again. “Jonah?”
“I’m coming,” he shouted, rising to his feet. He kicked dirt at the torch to extinguish it. Then he pointed at Avery. “If he’s not dead yet, I’m going to kill him. Then I’ll come back and deal with you.”
He took the lamp with him and climbed the steps. Casting her into darkness.
* * *
Nick came back to life, little by little.
He was no longer on the dirt road by the shed. He was still on his back, staring up at the stars, but the ground beneath him felt like grass. His hair and face were dusty. His head throbbed from the knockout blow. He touched the goose egg at his temple. Blood had dried in gritty streaks along his jaw.
When he tried to sit up, nausea gripped him. Bile came rushing up his throat. He rolled onto his side and retched in the grass. Thankfully, he didn’t have much in his stomach. He wiped his mouth and glanced around, trying to take stock of his situation.
It was bad. He wasn’t restrained, probably because he’d been unconscious, but there was no hope for escape. He was surrounded by armed guards. Brother Sage stood at a distance, holding his caveman club. Nick realized it was an extinguished torch. Either way, it packed a wallop.
Nick reached into his pocket for his watch. Gone.
Although his vision was fuzzy, he could make out rectangular shapes nearby. They were placed in neat rows, evenly spaced. There was something familiar about this place. Had he seen it in the aerial photos?
Nick’s stomach lurched again as the shapes came into focus. They were headstones. He was in the graveyard.
And he was a dead man.
He closed his eyes, wincing. He felt like a corpse, stiff-limbed and numb, but he wasn’t actually dead. Dead men didn’t vomit. He couldn’t move, and it was hard to think. He tried to remember what had happened.
Brother Sage had clocked him. He knew that much. Nick didn’t know why he’d done it. The minutes before the incident were blank. There had been stars in the sky. He’d been near the shed for some reason. He strained for more details, his brain pulsing like a sore thumb.
Avery. He’d been with Avery.
He grasped that memory and held on tight. He’d been in bed with Avery. Was that a dream, or a fantasy? It seemed too good to be true. Images and sensations drifted across his fractured psyche. Her naked body, like rose petals. Cool water from the sink. Her mouth moving up and down on him.
Yes. That was real.
He couldn’t puzzle out the sequence of events after leaving her bed, so he didn’t try. He replayed the good parts of the evening, half-conscious. There were a lot of good parts. He sank into them.
A slap of cold water brought him back to his senses. He sat upright, gasping for air. Someone had doused him with a bucket. Nick wiped his face with the edge of his shirt. He felt more alert now, but his thoughts were still muddled.
Jeremiah stood over him with a 9mm handgun. “Rise and shine, Princess.”
Nick recognized the gun as the same model that had been used in Chris’s murder. A ballistics test could prove the match with 100 percent certainty, but Nick didn’t need it. He’d never believed the man who’d confessed to the crime had done it. Jeremiah had killed Chris. He’d probably killed Caleb, too. And now he would kill Nick.
“Nice Ruger,” Nick said, lumbering to his feet. As he stood, the pruning hook he’d tucked into his boot pressed against his ankle. Whoever had searched him for weapons hadn’t done a thorough job. “Is that an SR-9?”
“The last guy who looked at my gun didn’t live to tell about it. Was he a friend of yours?”
“You mean Brother Caleb?”
Jeremiah’s gaze narrowed. “You know who I mean. He begged for his life. Offered me all kinds of favors. Cried like a girl, too.”
At one time, an insult to Chris’s memory would have sent Nick into a blind rage. Now it had no impact whatsoever. Nick didn’t believe Jeremiah, and he didn’t care. This mission had never really been about Chris. It had been about Nick’s guilt. Avenging Chris would never absolve Nick of his sins.
Jonah arrived on the scene. Not close enough to get hurt, but close enough to listen. The rest of the men, including Sage, had left the area. That was a mistake. By eliminating the witnesses, they’d given Nick better odds. Now it was two against one. If Nick could get the blade out of his boot, he might have a chance.
Jeremiah switched tactics. “I like your woman, Brother Nick. I’m going to visit her as soon as I’m done with you.”
This threat was more effective than his previous taunts. “Where is she?”
Jeremiah laughed, enjoying himself. “She’s waiting for us. We’re going to take turns, right, Jonah?”
“Quit toying with him,” Jonah said. “We still have to get rid of his body.”
“You can bury me with Caleb,” Nick suggested. “The grave’s already open.”
Jeremiah raised his gun. “Shut up.”
“I’ve been wondering about something,” Nick said, splitting a glance between them. “I know you’ll kill for Father Jeff, but are you expected to share your wives with him, too? Is that what passes for quality family time around here?”
Jeremiah hit him across the face with the butt of his gun. Which hurt like hell, and made his vision blur again. Nick staggered to his knees, gasping in pain. “I’m going to have a shiner like Isobel.”
“I told you to shut up,” Jeremiah said.
“Finish him,” Jonah said.
Jeremiah was a belligerent moron who didn’t like being told what to do. “Why don’t you finish him, brother? This is your mess, not mine. You invited him here. You’re the one who wants him dead.”
“Father wants him dead.”
“Yeah? He didn’t give me the order.”
“What difference does it make? He’s a cop.”
While they argued, Jeremiah lost focus. He let the gun drop a few inches. Just enough to give Nick an opening to attack. Nick couldn’t afford to waste his chance by fumbling in his boot, so he used his body as a weapon instead. Nick drove his shoulder into Jeremiah’s midsection and took him to the ground. The gun fired, but the bullet went wide, ricocheting off a nearby headstone. Nick had the better leverage, and he took advantage of it. He grasped Jeremiah’s wrist and slammed his gun hand against the hard ground in three rapid successions. When this didn’t work, Nick head-butted him.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Jeremiah’s weapon hand finally loosened. The gun slid from his fingers, out of reach. Nick’s brain was rattled, the wound at his temple bleeding into his eyes, but he still had the will to fight. He drew back his right arm and punched Jeremiah in the jaw. Jeremiah returned the favor with a brutal cross. Nick’s mouth filled with blood. They rolled across the grass, locked in battle. Nick could feel himself weakening. Jeremiah was the stronger opponent, and he wasn’t suffering from a head wound.
Nick had to go for the kill, or he would lose.
The next time Jeremiah landed a blow, Nick went limp. He let Jeremiah pummel his midsection and bruise his ribs. Nick absorbed the impact without responding. When Jeremiah spat in his face, Nick didn’t flinch.
Jeremiah turned and raised his arms in victory. Nick drew the hook from his boot, standing. With a brutal leap, he jumped on Jeremiah’s back and buried the hook in his throat. The sharp tool cut deep into his carotid artery.
Jeremiah made a strange gurgling sound and shook Nick loose. Nick went sprawling in the dirt as Jeremiah yanked the hook free. That was a fatal error, but he was already a goner. Blood sprayed from the wound, gushing down his shirtfront like a river. He clapped a hand over his neck, but he couldn’t stanch the flow.
He fell forward, dead before he hit the ground.
Nick studied his lifeless body, feeling numb. He’d done what he’d come to do. He’d achieved his vengeance in the most gruesome way imaginable. But now he didn’t want it anymore. He only wanted Avery, and he’d already lost her. Even if they both survived, she’d never forgive him.
The physical exertion took its toll. Nick didn’t have the strength to rise. When Jonah reached him, gun in hand, Nick held up his palms. Then his stomach rebelled, so he rolled over and dry-heaved in the grass again.
“You killed my brother.”
Nick shuddered and wiped his face, leaving a smear of blood. “He had it coming.”
“I’m not like him. I’m not like my father.”
Nick didn’t argue, because Jonah had a gun trained on him.
“I’m not like them,” he insisted. “I knew violence would be their downfall. I vowed to rise above it.”
Nick just stared at him. Jonah didn’t appear to be rising above it, at the moment.
“I finally realized that it didn’t matter if I was the better man. People don’t follow my father because he’s good. They follow him because he’s magnetic. It has nothing to do with purity of the soul, or lightness of the spirit. The words of his sermons don’t matter. They respond to the performance.”
Nick wondered if he could take the gun from Jonah without getting shot. He really didn’t want to grapple with him. He was exhausted. “Where’s Ellen?”
“Do you mean Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“She told me you have a team coming. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
The first light of dawn glowed at the edge of the horizon. Nick could hear a helicopter approaching.
“That’s them.”
“I guess I should get on with it.”
“You can testify against your father, Jonah. It’s not too late. You can still be a better man. You can rise above this.”
Jonah’s green eyes filled with tears. He lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.