CHAPTER 8

Rafe purposefully grabbed a beer even though Samuel frowned on alcohol use, another passive-aggressive snub at Samuel on Rafe’s part, and cracked it open with a long sigh for an equally long day. After double-checking doors and windows—he’d never been this paranoid before moving to Cold Plains—he settled into the high-backed leather chair stationed at his desk and pulled the photo of Devin from his wallet. He kept it with him, gaining a modicum of comfort having his image near, even though logically he knew it was an illusion. He didn’t know if his son was alive, whether he was being cared for or whether he was being abused in some dark basement. He tried not to let his mind wander on most days, but tonight, fatigue weakened his mental walls and fear ate him.

He’d put a few careful calls out today, asking about Abby and her role in Samuel’s life before she disappeared. So far, he’d gotten nothing. Sure, they remembered the woman, but no one remembered her being pregnant or if she’d been dating Samuel.

Not that Samuel dated. He selected beautiful women to “mentor,” which seemed a code for screwing their brains out at his convenience. He hated to think Abby had been one of his mentorees, but there was a reason Abby was eliminated, and that was the only reason Rafe could think of that would’ve put her in danger.

But then her pregnancy would’ve shown at some point, and he highly doubted Samuel would’ve been aroused by a pregnant woman. Was her pregnancy the reason she’d incurred his wrath? For all his matchmaking and supposed, professed love for families, he was particularly averse to children and babies. Of course this was something only his closest inner circle knew, and Rafe had only discovered this fact from a seemingly innocuous statement a patient had made one day.

“You know what I like most about Samuel Grayson?” Melissa Pedersen had stated one day during a wellness check for her pregnancy. Melissa was a mother of four already, with the bun in the oven making six because she was carrying twins. “He doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not,” she said, smoothing her hand over her large belly. “You know how politicians are always hugging and kissing kids that aren’t theirs, just to give off the impression they’re everyday kind of guys just like you?” Rafe nodded, curious as to where this was going. “But I think he’s perfectly fine admitting babies—or pregnant women—just aren’t his thing.”

Rafe pretended to listen to the babies’ heartbeats with his scope, but in truth, he was trained intently on what Melissa was blithely sharing. “And why do you say that?” he asked.

“Oh, because he gets this look on his face, almost like he’s scared or something of a pregnant belly.” She laughed as if that was either the cutest or the darndest thing, but the revelation gave Rafe chilling clarity. Melissa continued to prattle on, completely missing the sudden tension in Rafe’s body. “The look on his face was one of someone afraid an alien was going to jump out at him or something. It was funny watching this confident, sexy man get so… I don’t know, it wasn’t that he was freaked or anything—he’d never do something so rude—but you could definitely tell, he isn’t cut out to be a father. But that’s okay,” Melissa defended as if she’d realized someone might find what she’d said offensive. “Not everyone is cut out to do the work that he does. I imagine it takes a whole lot of concentration and time to keep a town like Cold Plains operating like a well-oiled machine, so it doesn’t bother me any that he’s not a family man.”

Rafe had nodded and murmured assent, but his mind had turned a few cogs forward. If Abby had been Samuel’s girlfriend and then gotten pregnant with another man’s child, that would be sufficient enough cause to enrage Samuel.

Of course it’d been only a theory, and one he hadn’t been able to prove, but he’d logged his findings in his cloud network files for future reference.

The quiet of the small house pressed on him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He wanted to go to bed, but as tired as his body was, his mind refused to shut down. He felt so helpless, so ineffectual in that he hadn’t been able to find his son or find out who had killed Abby. It was times like this that he had to admit he was out of his element. He wasn’t a cop, for crying out loud, yet here he was, trying his damndest to solve a crime even the FBI was having difficulty in nailing. His chest tightened and he took a few deliberate breaths to shake loose the tension. Sometimes he wondered if that tight feeling was the need to scream his rage, grief and whatever else he had locked in there so he didn’t lose it on Main Street and get carted off by one of Samuel’s goons. Hell, that was probably the best way to find the infirmary, except he had an inkling that if he went down that road, he wouldn’t be coming back. He took a few more swigs and then dumped the rest down the kitchen drain.

The answers he sought weren’t in that bottle. He was beginning to despair that the answers weren’t to be found anywhere.

He tossed the bottle into a recycle bin and shut off the lights. Maybe sleep would find him if he went to bed.

It was worth a shot—and if sleep eluded him, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d spent a night staring at the ceiling, anxious and afraid that Devin was long gone, no matter what he managed to shake out of Samuel Grayson.

It was starting to feel familiar.

* * *

Darcy couldn’t believe how enamored the community was of her father. Maybe she was immune to his charm. She saw a man manipulating a flock of sheep to his benefit and scooping up the riches they plunked at his feet. Darcy saw beyond the fit, handsome, charismatic character who spouted platitudes that espoused loyalty and the need to be the best version of themselves by following his dictates, whether they were in the form of the menu plan or exercise regimen. Frankly, Darcy found Samuel’s spiel intrusive and ridiculous. Particularly the $25 bottle of water. For all she knew, this “special tonic” could be bottled outside from a hose in Samuel’s backyard.

“Isn’t he amazing?” breathed Pam, in awe after Samuel had left the stage and people started to rise from their seats, the sound of laughter and gaiety filling the auditorium with a din of murmured voices. “I love these nightly meetings. They’re so inspiring. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes,” Darcy said, nodding. “So, every night people do this?”

“Yes. It’s about faith and loyalty. Backbones—”

“—of a strong community,” Darcy finished for Pam, earning a delighted grin. “Yeah, that’s what he said, so it must be true. He obviously knows what he’s talking about.”

“You’re catching on fast. Do you want to meet him?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. “I know he’ll want to meet you. Maybe if you’re lucky…you might catch his eye.”

Ugh. Darcy hid the immediate queasiness in her stomach. “Oh, I’m not ready to meet Mr. Grayson just yet,” she protested, feigning a case of jitters as if Samuel were a celebrity and she were seeking an autograph. “Soon, though. I definitely want to meet him.”

Pam sighed as if disappointed. Maybe she hoped to earn brownie points of some sort by dragging a newbie over to Samuel for inspection. The thought was sobering.

Darcy made a show of checking her watch and then said, “Oh! I’d better get my tonic water before they’re sold out for the evening. So nice to meet you, Pam. I hope to see you around.”

“Likewise, honey! And don’t you worry, I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here. You’ve got the Cold Plains spirit. I can tell.”

Darcy forced a smile. She didn’t know about that, but there was certainly something she shared with Cold Plains…the DNA of its self-proclaimed messiah.

Edging her way past the crowd, she made a stop at the tonic-water booth, made her obligatory purchase even as she winced at the exorbitant price and wondered if Rafe was there.

Seeing nothing but a sea of unfamiliar faces, she found herself a bit relieved that she didn’t see her new boss milling about with the rest of the sheep. She wanted him to be better than the rest of these people who mindlessly ate the manure that Samuel shoveled their way. She knew it wasn’t a guarantee that he wasn’t on the same bandwagon just because she didn’t find him here, but she wanted to believe that he was different.

Rafe…the handsome doctor with a secret in his smile and a sadness to his eyes…. Darcy had to stop herself when she realized she was thinking too much about her boss. Capping her water after a quick sip, she started for the door but was waylaid by a big, burly man in uniform with hard, watery blue eyes and big meat-hook hands, which looked as if they could crush her windpipe without him breaking a sweat. For that matter, he looked the kind of person who could take a life without thinking twice.

“New to Cold Plains?” he asked, trying for a smile, but the effort only served to make him appear to be grimacing. As if realizing he wasn’t a natural at the smile, he replaced it with an expression of gruff courtesy. “Police Chief Bo Fargo. Nice to meet you. If you have any questions or trouble, don’t hesitate to ring my office. Mr. Grayson has charged me with keeping the peace around our nice town, and so far, everything’s been working out just right.”

“It’s a great town,” she murmured in agreement, anxious to get away from the man. The way his stare roamed her body—not in a lecherous but, rather, clinical way—gave her the willies. “Nice to meet you, Chief Fargo. Everyone has been very kind and welcoming. Thank you,” she said, moving toward the door.

“Have you met Mr. Grayson yet?” he asked, knowing courtesy would prevent her from just turning and leaving as she wanted. “He takes a special interest in newcomers, particularly ones as pretty as you.”

“Is that so?” she asked, playing along to see where he was going to take the conversation.

Encouraged, he nodded with a slow smirk as if she were playing right into his game. “Mr. Grayson would most definitely like to welcome you to Cold Plains. I could arrange a meeting. Would you like that?”

Darcy made a show of being flattered and even giggled a little for good measure. “Maybe another time? I want to look my best when I meet him.”

“Of course,” Chief Fargo said, his grin widening as if in triumph. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will.”

She gave him her best flirty smile and slipped from the building, eager to get away from the chunky cop and his leering stare, but most important, desperate to get away before someone else tried to put her in bed with her father.