Undercover Husband. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
He and Starfall walked away, leaving Walt and Hannah standing alone on the edge of the camp. Hannah moved closer and he put his arm around her. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“Let’s go talk to the Prophet.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
“What’s your best guess?” he asked.
She surveyed the camp, taking in the motley collection of dwellings, from a camper shell on the back of a pickup truck with one flat tire to a luxurious motor home with an array of solar panels on the roof. “My guess is the big RV,” she said.
“You get an A.” He took his arm from around her. “Come on. Let’s see if the Prophet will grant us an interview.”
No one said anything as they headed toward the motor home, but Walt could feel dozens of eyes on them. No one was rushing to welcome the new converts with open arms, that was for sure. Was it because they were waiting to take their cue from Metwater? Or had the Prophet instilled suspicion of all outsiders in his followers?
They mounted the steps to the RV and Walt rapped hard on the door. After a moment it opened and Andi Matheson answered. Andi—or Asteria, as she called herself now—had had more contact with the Rangers than anyone else in camp, but she showed no sign of recognition as she stared at Walt. “Yes?”
“We’d like to see the Prophet,” he said. “We—my wife and I—” he indicated Hannah “—are big admirers of his and would like to join the group.”
She nodded, as if this made perfect sense, and held the door open wider. “Come in.”
The interior of the RV was dim and cool, the living room filled with a leather sofa and several upholstered chairs. Andi indicated they should sit, then disappeared through an archway into the back of the vehicle.
Walt sat on the sofa and Hannah settled next to him. She was breathing shallowly, and he could almost feel the nervousness rolling off her in waves. He gripped her hand and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.
She nodded, and didn’t pull away.
“The woman who let us in is Andi Matheson,” Walt said, keeping his voice low.
Hannah nodded. “I read about her online. She’s the daughter of someone famous, right?”
“Her father is Senator Pete Matheson—though right now he’s serving time for murdering an FBI agent.”
“She’s obviously pregnant,” Hannah said. “Is Metwater the father?”
“No,” Walt said. “That would be the man the senator killed.”
Hannah’s face softened with sympathy. “How terrible for her.”
“She seems to have settled in nicely with Metwater,” Walt said.
There wasn’t a clock in the room, so he had no idea how long they waited, though he thought it might have been as long as ten minutes. “What’s taking so long?” Hannah whispered.
Just then, Andi reappeared from the back of the RV. “The Prophet will see you,” she said.
Walt and Hannah stood and started toward Andi. She held up a hand. “He doesn’t want to see you together,” she said. She turned to Hannah. “He wants to interview you first. Alone.”
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