“Why’d you go into law enforcement?”

Normally Angel would have answered with a well-rehearsed spiel. But she knew it wouldn’t fly with Matthew. He was too perceptive. “A cop helped me once when I was in trouble. I guess I admired her and I wanted to help other women like me.”

“What kind of woman would that be?”

Angel refused to allow anyone but her very close friends and her superiors to know she’d ever been that vulnerable. A victim.

“You know all you need to know about me, Matt.” She stood and headed for the bathroom. Stopping in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. “Except that you really don’t want to get in my way.”

“What about the game?”

Angel wasn’t sure if he referred to the Scrabble game she’d abandoned or the dangerous personal game developing between them.

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed my first romantic suspense, The Secret Wife, I suspect you’ll become immersed in Secrets in Texas. As the titles suggest, both books involve (family) secrets. They also contain twists and turns and complex emotional entanglements.

The idea for Secrets in Texas was born of news articles I read about the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints—polygamous sects prevalent near the Arizona/Utah border, among other places.

I contemplated how hard it must be for men and women raised in this culture to adjust to living in the outside world. So I gave my hero, Matthew Stone, just such a challenge. I tested him to the limit and sent him back to the polygamist group, this time with a faux wife who is anything but submissive. Problem is, there are secrets in Angel Harrison’s past that have her wondering if she might be more vulnerable than she thinks.

While I did research fundamentalist sects, I didn’t try to factually recreate their lifestyle in my book. Instead, I created my own sect, Zion’s Gate.

Please join Angel and Matthew on their journey of discovery at Zion’s Gate.

Yours in reading,

Carrie Weaver

P.S. Carrie enjoys hearing from readers by e-mail at www.CarrieWeaver.com or snail mail at P.O. Box 6045, Chandler, AZ 85246-6045.

Secrets in Texas
Carrie Weaver

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

With two teenage sons, two dogs and three cats, Carrie Weaver often feels she lives in a state called Chaos (not to be confused with Dysfunction Junction, a place she’s visited only once or twice). Her books reflect real life and real love, with all the ups, downs and emotion involved.

This book is dedicated to my editor, Laura Shin.

Thank you for having confidence in me even

when I sometimes don’t.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

ANGEL OPENED HER eyes, trying to focus. What started as a fuzzy recollection of violence morphed into full-blown terror.

She stifled a whimper as she rolled onto her stomach.

Must be quiet. She knew her survival depended upon it.

Drawing her knees beneath her, she bit her lip as her legs slid in opposite directions. It was like a grotesque combination of Twister and Slip ’N Slide. Only the splotches were red instead of an assortment of colors, and the liquid was too slimy for water.

It was blood. Hers? His?

Her knees stabilized, gaining traction. Slowly, deliberately, she placed a palm on the once-pristine tile floor. Then she put her other hand next to it.

Sweat rolled down her face. This should have been so simple.

But nothing had been simple for a long time.

She bit back a hysterical chuckle.

Must be quiet.

By slowly tilting her head, she was able to survey much of the kitchen peripherally without expending precious energy.

Kent wasn’t in the room.

She had already registered that fact on a subconscious level, but caution had served her well in the past. Otherwise she’d be dead.

Inching forward, she focused solely on the cordless phone that had skittered beneath the table. Frowning, she tried to remember holding it, making a call.

But it was like a recurring nightmare. The phone was just out of her reach. And so was the memory.

Angel smiled grimly.

The phone might be out of reach, but the butcher knife wasn’t. It was a foot or two away, probably dropped in haste.

She forced back the hot saliva pooling on her tongue as she moved forward and grasped the handle. It was slick with blood from hilt to tip. The blade was coated with the stuff. And she was pretty sure it was her own.

Bones crunched. Pain radiated up her arm. The knife dropped from her numb fingers.

It took precious seconds for reality to register. A size-twelve work boot pinned her wrist to the floor. Jeans brushed the tips of the brown boots, jeans she’d laundered so carefully earlier that morning.

Angel’s scalp burned as her head was jerked backward. Her long, dark hair had once been her pride and joy. Now it was simply a handy leash, snarled in Kent’s fist, as he forced her to look evil in the face.

She struggled to get away, an effort so ineffectual it made him smile. A cold, triumphant smile that told her she would die today.

The sound of splintering wood barely penetrated, as did the shout to freeze.

That confused Angel. It was a bright, beautiful Sunday afternoon. No frost or snow on the ground.

But something about that weather report seemed to enrage Kent even more. Or maybe it was the jumble of DPS officers arriving uninvited into his home.

He glanced at the cordless phone lying a few feet away. Fury burned in his eyes.

“Bitch.” He swung her just far enough away so he could reach the knife and still keep her within his grasp.

She saw the knife arc into the air, then sweep toward her.

Waited for the fatal thrust that never came.

Flinched as shots echoed in her sunny kitchen.

Stumbled to the floor, still tethered to Kent. Saw him writhe once, twitch, and then lay still.

Sighed when her hair was cut from Kent’s grip. And focused on the hank clutched in her husband’s fist.

Even in death, Kent had refused to let her go.

CHAPTER ONE

Nine years later

Brownsville, Texas

ANGEL HARRISON squared her shoulders and entered the conference room. One look at her new assignment and she wanted to puke—the man and all he represented sickened her. But he was one of the good guys now, she reminded herself.

Or so she was told.

Realizing her supervisor waited for her to make nice, she forced herself to step forward and shake the visitor’s hand. She also forced herself not to break all twenty-seven bones in his pale hand. Just apply enough pressure so he knew she meant business. “I’m Agent Harrison.”

To his credit, he didn’t flinch. And he didn’t try to one-up her by resorting to force. He just held her gaze, his green eyes serious as he acknowledged her greeting. “Ma’am. I’m Matthew Stone.”

“So when are we getting married?”

He shrugged, not a golden hair out of place on his conservative head. Nodding toward the suit and the ranger entering the conference room, he said, “Whenever they decide.”

To give him credit, he was a cool one. And better-looking than his photos suggested. Definitely not Brad Pitt-perfect, more like Matthew McConaughey masquerading as an overgrown, utterly serious Eagle Scout. His crooked nose was the only feature out of the ordinary.

Angel’s inspection was interrupted by the ranger, Javier Perez. He was legendary in the law-enforcement community as tough but fair.

Ranger Perez took the lead while the man in the suit positioned himself in an unobtrusive corner. He had federal agent written all over him.

Angel struggled to keep her expression impassive as her supervisor went to fetch coffee. Women of her rank shouldn’t fetch coffee. Women of any rank shouldn’t fetch coffee.

Perez took his place at the head of the table. “Please sit down, Mr. Stone, Agent Harrison.”

Angel longed to defy the command. But today compliance served a purpose. She sat stiffly on the edge of the chair.

Ranger Perez slid a file folder to Stone, then one to Angel. “Here is the identity we’ve created for Agent Harrison. Since she works undercover with the Department of Public Safety gang unit, there will be no paper trail to refute the identity we’ve set up or cast any doubt on the whirlwind romance you two are about to begin. It’s the best cover we could devise to get an agent inside.”

“Is it really necessary? The Vegas wedding?” Stone asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Perez frowned. “We think so. It’s likely Jonathon Stone has been keeping tabs on you in recent years, possibly even the entire time you’ve been away from the sect. Marriage records are in the public domain, precluding a more long-term union. Hence your new red-hot romance with Agent Harrison resulting in a quickie marriage. The more public, the better.”

Angel winced. This was so not her idea of a decent cover. How would she be able to act lovey-dovey with the Eagle Scout? Eyeing him, she decided even a bottle of tequila wouldn’t do the trick.

Perez cleared his throat, as if sensing she wanted to bolt for the door. “We’ve shaved a few years off Agent Harrison’s profile because ATF surveillance indicates your stepfather, um, uncle, might be more…receptive to a daughter-in-law on the easy side of thirty. Fortunately Agent Harrison appears much younger than her age.”

Thanks, asshole.

Matthew’s lips twitched as if he’d heard her thoughts loud and clear. And agreed with her.

Angel revised her earlier assessment of Matthew white-bread-bland Stone. He might seem quiet and unperturbed, but beneath the surface he was razor-sharp.

Angel’s cheeks warmed with an unfamiliar wave of shame. Surely he couldn’t see inside her with that steady gaze of his? Couldn’t see all she’d endured and sacrificed to rejoin the human race?

He averted his head, but not before she’d seen pity flash in his eyes.

Damn. Did he know? There was nothing to tie her to the news reports detailing the bloodshed nine years ago.

But Matthew Stone somehow knew her shame. And pitied her.

Angel did what came naturally these days—she came out swinging. “Let me get this straight, Ranger Perez. You want to serve up my well-preserved-for-an-old-broad-of-thirty-one body to Jonathon Stone? That’s how I’m supposed to protect the women and children at Zion’s Gate?”

“Certainly not, Agent Harrison. Your job is to observe and report back. You will not have a weapon. You will not confront anyone at Zion’s Gate. You will secure information, nothing more.”

“You say one thing, Perez, but your actions say another. You are putting Agent Harrison at risk.” Matthew’s voice was deceptively quiet, with an underlying edge. “I won’t be a party to prostituting any woman to get in my uncle’s good graces. And, yes, as my father’s brother, he is my uncle. His marriage to my mother was not legal and was not sanctified in any church I acknowledge.”

Perez’s eyes narrowed. “Point taken.”

Angel noticed he didn’t deny sending mixed messages. He wasn’t going to flat out tell her not to sleep with the perverted old goat to facilitate her assignment.

Instead Perez fell back on the bureaucratic mumbo jumbo so uncharacteristic of a ranger. At least uncharacteristic until the deaths at the Branch Davidian sect and the resulting Waco fallout. “The Rangers are grateful to Agent Harrison for volunteering for this assignment. But, just so you’re both crystal clear, she is not working for the Texas Rangers in any capacity. Nor is she working for the ATF or DEA. Our agencies will merely be apprised of any information she gathers that might pertain to the security of our citizens.”

“So if anything happens to her, you’re not responsible.” Matthew’s relaxed pose didn’t change, but the air seemed to crackle around him. No wonder Jonathon Stone had taken the dangerous gamble of inviting his nephew back into the fold. Matthew had the charisma to shore up his uncle’s crumbling position as Zion’s Gate lord and dictator.

When Perez didn’t confirm or deny the allegation, Matthew continued. “The way I see it, you gentlemen are putting Agent Harrison at the mercy of a murderer, in the very core of his highly armed compound.”

Perez stiffened, his fists clenched. “We’re all adults here, we know what we’re up against.”

Matthew stood, his movements slow, almost lazy. “I’m not sure you have any idea what you’re up against at Zion’s Gate, Ranger Perez. And if you do, you will be no less culpable than my uncle.”

Only then did Angel realize Matthew Stone was sending a civilized death threat. She got the impression Perez’s badge would be little protection against Stone if things went wrong.

Angel understood in that moment how huge her initial error in judgment had been. Not only was Matthew Stone a lot smarter than he’d let on, he was an extremely dangerous man. Her gut told her he wouldn’t hesitate to kill if necessary.

And if the way Perez clenched his jaw was anything to go by, he realized it, too. “The fact is, Zion’s Gate is in law enforcement no-man’s-land. Part of it lies on the U.S. side of the border and is connected by a tunnel system to the rest of the compound. Even if the Texas authorities were magically able to remove their thumbs from their collective Waco-weary asses, Jonathon Stone would still use his tunnel system to move to the Mexican side.”

“And if the Mexican government pursued his flock, the same would happen in reverse.” Stone’s voice held a note of resignation.

“Exactly. Stone leases the Matamoros section of the property from drug lords, which further complicates the situation. Hence the DEA interest. It’s a volatile situation to begin with. Add a large cache of weapons, political unrest at Zion’s Gate and reports of Stone’s increasing paranoia and we’ve got a potential bloodbath on our hands.

MATTHEW SUPPRESSED a groan as he glanced around the foyer of the Las Vegas wedding chapel. Tacky was the first word that came to mind. Surreal was the second.

But he stood quietly to the side as Agent Harrison entered with her parents. The man was tall, stately, distinguished. He cupped his wife’s elbow with his hand as his gaze lingered on the woman’s face. She was beautiful, an older, more polished version of her daughter. Her bearing was graceful, the line of her clothes clean yet alluring. And when she turned in his direction, her dark eyes searched his face.

Angel stood on tiptoe to whisper something in her father’s ear.

The older man stiffened and turned toward Matthew. Angel took him by the hand and the three joined him.

“Daddy, this is Matthew, my, um, fiancé.”

Matthew extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“You can save it. I’m aware this isn’t a real wedding.”

The woman at his side made a censuring noise low in her throat.

“Keep your voice down, Daddy,” Angel snapped.

“Princess, it pains me to see you go through another ill-advised wedding, if only on paper.”

Princess? She’d impressed Matthew as more assassin than princess.

“It’ll be fine. Just do your part today. That’s all I ask.”

“I’ll do my part. But I can’t help worrying about you.”

“I know. But you don’t need to. I can take care of myself.”

Matthew observed the interplay with interest. Why was her father so worried? Surely she’d been on assignments just as dangerous. Maybe it wasn’t the mission that bothered him but the wedding, fake though it was.

“I’m Isabella Harrison.” The older woman extended her hand to Matthew. “We are very protective of our daughter.”

He accepted her hand, inhaled her exquisite scent. Intelligence gleamed in her eyes, her carriage screamed old-world class. And the tilt to her head said she’d never accept mistreatment from anyone.

Squeezing Isabella’s hand, he murmured, “With good reason.”

She tilted her head to the side, frowning slightly.

“Angel is a beautiful, unique woman. I assure you I’ll treat your daughter with respect.”

Nodding, she said, “Yes, Matthew, I can see that. How unfortunate the regular rules of etiquette don’t apply to weddings such as these. Otherwise I would welcome you to the family.”

Matthew wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply said, “Thank you.”

“And is your family here?” Isabella asked.

“No, my mother’s health isn’t good. She sends her regrets.”

Matthew only hoped his mother didn’t learn of his sham marriage. She knew he was visiting Zion’s Gate at the government’s behest but had no idea a bride had been included in the package. Rescuing his sister from the compound would more than make up for his deception.

Isabella patted his arm. “Yes, Angel said something about chemotherapy? I will be sure to light a candle for your mother at Mass.”

“Thank you. She’d like that very much.”

The chapel doors opened and a young, radiant couple brushed past them.

“It looks like it’s our turn,” Angel said, her voice low and tense.

CHAPTER TWO

ANGEL GLANCED AT her watch. They’d been standing near the front of the chapel for what seemed like ages but in reality had only been twenty minutes.

Tucking her hand in the crook of Matthew’s arm, she gazed up into his face with adoration. Fortunately Pastor Elvis wasn’t close enough to hear the content of their conversation. “What’s the holdup?” Angel asked through her fixed smile.

“Only a tiny delay. I asked the pastor’s mother to retrieve something for me.”

“This was supposed to be a quickie wedding,” she whispered.

Shrugging, he placed his hand over hers. “I know this is difficult for you. But please humor me.”

He was extraordinarily calm for a man who had never been married. Even a fake wedding was enough to make most bachelors a little psychotic. Or maybe she was just remembering another man who’d made the leap from bachelorhood to craziness so quickly.

Angel was spared further wedding-day reminiscences as Elvis’s mother bustled in carrying a florist’s box as if it were the Holy Grail. She handed it to Matthew, along with a wad of bills. He accepted the box but pressed the bills into the woman’s pudgy hand.

“That’s too much,” she murmured, and appeared humbled. And this was Vegas, a town where large tips were as prevalent as silicone implants.

“No. It’s just right.” Matthew’s smile was warm. “Would you mind presenting it to my bride? I’m a little nervous and clumsy today.”

“Certainly, dear.” She removed the lid and drew back layers of tissue paper. Sighing, she presented Angel with a single white rose so perfect it brought tears to Angel’s eyes.

The pastor’s mother nodded and blinked. “He’s such a lovely man. You two will be very happy.”

Her words made Angel want to sit down on the floor and cry. Because once upon a time she had believed in happily ever after. Before Kent had twisted their love into a living nightmare.

“It’s time, sweetheart,” Matthew murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Would you stop being so damn nice.”

The pastor’s mother clucked in disappointment and Angel’s mother stepped closer.

She grasped Angel’s chin. “Are you okay with this, mija?”

For a split second, Angel was tempted to call it off. But her mother had raised her to have courage. Angel wouldn’t turn her back on the women and children at Zion’s Gate.

“Yes, Mama. Very sure.”

“Remember, if you need us, all you have to do is call.”

“Yes, Mama. I will.”

She turned to Matthew. “Take good care of her, Matthew.”

Matthew’s eyes widened a fraction. He had to realize there was a threat in her words. Whether their marriage was real or not, Isabella expected much from her son-in-law.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her mother patted his cheek as she walked by. “Good. We are of like minds, I think.”

“Yes, we are.” Matthew nodded to the pastor. “We’re ready to begin.”

Those had to be the scariest words Angel had ever heard. Because his voice held a timbre of finality that told her she was in way over her head.

Pastor Elvis stepped forward and cleared his throat, which had his mother scurrying to the boom box to start “Love Me Tender.”

But there was no need for a bridal march. The bride was already in position. Her father wouldn’t walk her down the aisle. He had guilt-ridden memories of giving her away to Kent. Instead Angel’s mother took her husband’s arm and led him to the first row of chairs.

The awkward three-plus minutes of Elvis’s croon gave Angel too much time to think about her assignment. She’d come a long way from her days as a terrified battered wife, but this assignment still made her uneasy. What if she fell into old ways of thinking?

The song ended with a sudden click and Elvis cleared his throat. Matthew looked composed.

But Angel couldn’t seem to keep the damn rose still. It trembled in her hands like a terrified kitten. Or maybe it was Angel herself who felt like a terrified kitten.

Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to be strong. She was a professional. And she knew how to kill a man in at least eighteen different ways. Without a weapon.

The absolute absurdity of being married by an Elvis impersonator should have reassured her. But glancing at Matthew’s solemn face, she started to sweat. The men in his family took “till death do us part” seriously. No one seemed to know how Matthew’s mother had managed to leave the man and live to tell about it. Angel figured Abigail Stone held some incriminating evidence against good old Jonathon, though she’d never revealed it.

“Do you have your own vows?” Elvis glanced from Matthew to Angel.

Angel opened her mouth to say no but heard yes being spoken in a very definitive baritone.

Matthew grasped her hand, turning her to face him. “Angelina, you are beautiful and courageous. I will love you, honor you, cherish you, protect you till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”

Oh, God, he was laying it on too thick.

Mother Elvis sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

Angel opened her mouth. This time she was relieved to hear her own alto. “Um, yeah, what he said.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Pastor Elvis intoned. “You may kiss the bride.”

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered under her breath.

But Matthew took her in his arms and kissed her anyway.

After that it was all a blur. The wedding license was signed, her mother and father left and Elvis and his mother hustled them to the door, stammering something about a lovely honeymoon.

ANGEL’S EYES WIDENED as she entered the Venetian with Matthew, barely noticing the cabdriver leave their bags with the bellman.

The lobby was huge, with crystal chandeliers and a high ceiling. While the wedding chapel had been pure camp, this was close enough to the real deal for her to wish her honeymoon were, too. Wishes that should have died the first time Kent had raised his hand to her.

Angel vowed to remain strong and independent in her heart despite the stupid cover that required her to play a woman disillusioned enough with the outside world to embrace Zion’s Gate and all it entailed.

Matthew eyed her intently, as if he could read her thoughts. “Ready?”

She raised her chin. “Yes.”

As they approached the registration desk, Matthew wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight to his side.

She suppressed the knee-jerk reaction that would have had her delivering a crushing blow to her hubby’s groin. Although if she’d started her first marriage that way, things might have turned out very differently.

“Relax,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re supposed to look like you worship the ground I walk on.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Remember, my uncle has eyes and ears everywhere.”

He wanted an act? He’d sure get one.

Angel threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Matthew, this is so wonderful.” She stopped mid-lobby, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to lay a passionate lip-lock on him.

Pleasure shot through her. Not from the kiss but from Matthew’s groan of submission.

Then he nipped her lower lip.

Angel drew back, smiling. She was pleased to note several people were staring.

Matthew leaned close and whispered, “You’re acting too aggressive for a Zion’s Gate bride. Even for a woman unaccustomed to their ways. You leave me no choice.”

He stiffened and his face became stern. “Angelina, darling, you will need to learn your place before we arrive at my uncle’s house.” He grasped her shoulders, rotated her toward the reception desk and swatted her on the rear end.

Angel yelped and turned, ready to do battle.

“Remember, sweetheart, I am the man and you are the woman. My lessons will be gentle as long as you show a willingness to learn.”

This was what he’d meant by “no choice.” He felt the need to publicly chastise her. Too damn bad.

“Screw you.”

Matthew’s eyes flashed. He stepped close, grasping her chin. “Oh, I intend to, darling. I intend to.” Then he leaned down and ground his mouth to hers, possessiveness evident in every aggressive thrust of his tongue.

Angel felt trapped and small. She broke free. Very deliberately she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Stopping short, she suppressed a desire to spit at her new husband. “You sicken me.”

“I don’t think so, Angelina. Just the opposite. But we’ll see. Now go tidy yourself in the ladies’ room while I get our key. Then you will show me the proper respect a woman shows her husband.”

Angel turned and fled, just as Matthew had instructed.

Once inside, she pressed her back to the door. Her hands trembled violently. Her heart raced.

Oh, Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

MEMORY OF ANGEL’S stricken expression haunted Matthew while he registered at the front desk. His peripheral vision was trained on the ladies’ room door, and he saw Angel approach a few minutes later, her manner subdued as she took her place next to him.

Glancing at his bride, he was surprised to see a slightly green tinge to her olive complexion. Was her anguish an act, simply part of her cover? He hoped Perez knew what he was doing.

Matthew accepted the key card from the front desk manager. In turn, he pressed several large bills into the man’s palm. “My bride and I expect privacy. We might not set foot out of the room for the five days we’re here.”

The manager nodded and pocketed the money. “Certainly, sir. I’ll see that you aren’t disturbed. The bellman will show you to your suite.”

Angel stiffened when Matthew grasped her hand.

Sighing, he could have kicked himself for letting her aversion bother him. It didn’t matter what she thought as long as they could carry off this charade.

“This way, Angelina,” he murmured.

“Yes, Matthew.” Though her tone was passive, she held her head high.

When they reached their room, he tipped the bellman. “Thank you. I can take it from here.”

Nodding, the bellman pulled their bags from the cart and retreated down the hall.

Matthew swallowed hard when they entered their suite. It was every woman’s wedding-night fantasy. At least that’s what the flash of longing in Angel’s eyes told him.

Too bad there would be no wedding-night, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other sex. Or slow, sweet sex, for that matter.

Angel took one look at the king-size bed and laughed. “Looks like I’ll be very comfortable.” She nodded toward the couch. “You, on the other hand, might be a bit cramped.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

She eyed him up and down. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He set down the suitcases. “Look, Angel, get this straight. We’re here to make things look a certain way. If we succeed, my uncle will allow us into the compound and may invite us to stay. If we fail, one or both of us could end up dead.”

“You already made your point in the lobby. I know I’m supposed to portray some brainless Stepford wife.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I understand it’ll be hard. You shouldn’t have to disguise your wit and strength. But it’s necessary.”

She cleared her throat and glanced away.

He wondered if he’d revealed too much. He also wondered why compliments bothered her.

Matthew stepped back. “Fortunately my interest in you is something my uncle will understand, as well as the hasty marriage. As long as I appear to be training you in the ways of our people, chances are good he will accept this impulsive wedding.”

“I hope that sexist crap in the lobby was an act.”

He nodded, uncomfortable with the half-truth. A part of him wanted to make Angel his own. But not by resorting to trickery.

Angel placed her suitcase on the bed and opened it. “What is this?” she demanded.

Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of sheer revulsion on her face.

Angel held the pastel long-sleeved cotton nightgown between her fingertips as if it were something poisonous.

“That’s your, um, nightwear.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. Those are the clothes a good Zion’s Gate wife wears. Very conservative and demure.”

“Demure, my ass.”

Matthew laughed. “No, your ass is anything but demure, Angel. The point is, nobody but me is to have a clue about your, um, attributes.”

Angel’s face grew pink.

He was intrigued. The tough-talking, independent policewoman was embarrassed by a relatively tame flirtation.

“Maybe this monstrosity is a good thing.” She glared at the offending garment. “At least you won’t get any ideas. It’d take a satellite GPS to find me in this sack. Where on earth did they get this horrible stuff?”

Matthew took a deep breath. “It’s my mother’s.”

Angel’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, Matt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. I mean, I’m kind of nervous here and I get a smart mouth on me when I’m nervous and say stupid things and—”

Matthew’s hurt evaporated. He pressed his finger to her lips. “Shh. Apology accepted. You ought to know the rest of the clothes were my mother’s when she lived at the Zion’s Gate compound in Arizona. That was before Jonathon moved the group here. Besides being practical, one of the profiler types thought my mother’s clothes might strike a chord with Uncle Jonathon. My mother was the one who got away. He probably has a hot button or two where she’s concerned.”

Angel placed the nightgown on the bed, smoothing the fabric with her fingers. Her tenderness was almost his undoing. She might talk and act tough, but there was a sensitive core she couldn’t quite disguise.

Removing a dress from the suitcase, she tilted her head. “It, um, looks like it should fit. I assume it’s not supposed to be flattering, uh, show off my figure…um, well, you know what I mean?”

A smile tickled his mouth. There was something so charming about her.

“No, the intention is to avoid inciting impure thoughts.”

“It should work then.”

Matthew laughed, enjoying her immensely.

“Damn. I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Did what?”

“Stuck my foot in my mouth. Your mom was probably wearing these same clothes or something similar when your uncle Jonathon had the hots for her.”

“It didn’t occur to me exactly that way, but yes, you’re probably right. But then again, I’m not sure whether he was attracted to my mother because she was beautiful or because my father loved her with his whole heart.” Memories of the bond his parents had shared was one of the few things that had kept him sane in an insane time and place.

“As you said, your mother was the one who got away. But your uncle had something like twelve wives. How could he miss one or two?”

If only she knew. But he hoped like crazy Angel never experienced the depths of his uncle’s possessiveness.

CHAPTER THREE

FRESH FROM THE shower, Angel tied the belt of her fluffy, white Venetian-issue robe. She combed tangles from her wet hair as she peeked over Matthew’s shoulder, watching him remove a flat rectangular box from his suitcase.

“A board game?” she asked.

“Scrabble. I’m tired of card games. Old Maid pretty much did me in.” He smiled, tilting his head. “Are you always this curious?”

“After spending two days in a hotel room with me, you need to ask?”

“I haven’t even scratched the surface.” His gaze roved over her robed figure. “But I guess I’ll have to be content with knowing you are very curious. And sleep with a gun under your pillow.”

Her face flamed. “You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”

He raised his hands. “Now I know not to detour on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

“You were standing there watching me. It was a little creepy.”

“Creepy is a matter of perception. I was just getting my bearings in a strange location.”

“Yeah, right.”

His lips twitched. “It was worth a try, huh? I assure you I’m no Peeping Tom. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to study you. You put up a lot of barriers.”

“And they’re there for my protection.”

“I’m sure it’s necessary in your line of work.”

Angel glanced away so he wouldn’t see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Yeah, in my work.”

“What about when you get to know someone? Do you relax then?”

“It takes a long, long time for me to trust.”

“Why’s that?” His voice was low.

“It would mean I trusted you if I told you the story. And I definitely don’t.”

“Fair enough. So what have you learned about me?”

“Who says I’m interested in finding out about you?” No way was she going to admit studying him, even if it was true. Over the past two days she’d learned Matthew meant what he said and didn’t hedge the truth.

“It would be only prudent for someone in your situation. I think you doth protest too much.”

“Now I know you misquoteth Shakespeare. Which should really shock me, except I guess the Book of Mormon and Shakespeare aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“So you’re starting to see me as a person? Good. I like that.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I impress you as a laugh-a-minute kind of guy?”

“You’re a lot funnier than you give yourself credit for. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the things that surprised me.”

“Other than my charm and good looks?”

Angel made a noncommittal noise.

“What’s so surprising about my having a sense of humor?”

“Well, I’ve seen photos of the polygamous sects, and life seems pretty serious. You don’t often see someone crack a smile.”

Matthew stiffened. “I haven’t lived at Zion’s Gate since I was fifteen. I’ve lived most of my life outside.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a part of you. In the way you carry yourself, your word choices, the way you see the world.”

“Maybe. But my father had a wonderful sense of humor. Gentle but observant. He could always make my mother laugh.” There was a wistfulness in his voice.

Angel sat on the bed and curled her legs beneath herself, making sure the robe didn’t gap anywhere critical or reveal scars. “I guess I assumed all polygamous leaders would be about power and dominance.”

“My uncle, certainly. He leads by intimidation. My father led by example.”

“Your father and mother were a love match?”

He nodded. “Approved by their parents, of course.”

“It must’ve been hard on your mom, then, sharing your dad with other women.”

He frowned. “She never complained.”

“Would she? Complain about the system in which she’d been raised?” A system in which dissenting opinions were actively discouraged.

“I think she accepted sharing him as best she could. She was his favorite, his legal wife, sealed to him for eternity. Maybe that was enough.”

Angel shook her head. “No way. From what little I’ve read about your mother, she’s a courageous woman. I can’t see her settling for a small portion of the man she loved.”

“She’s a strong woman. You remind me of her in some ways. But she did what was best for the brethren. My father was a wonderful man, but he was still the leader, and my mother respected that.”

“Or else?”

Matthew set his suitcase on the floor. “Or she would have had to leave and never come back.”

“That sounds very final.”

“It was. Always.”

“Except now your uncle has invited you back for a visit.”

“I imagine he has his reasons.”

Angel removed the game board from the box, opening it and placing it on the bed. “How’s your mom feel about you going?”

“She never would have suggested it. But once the government approached me for my cooperation, the idea took hold. I have—or had—two sisters. One died in childbirth.” He hesitated, picking up a tile holder and rotating it in his hands. “My mother’s afraid her cancer is terminal, so she wants to make sure her surviving daughter is happy. And, though she doesn’t belabor the point, I think she’d like to see Rebecca one more time.”

“Of course she wants to see her. Why would that be so hard to admit?”

“Because there’s little chance for it to happen. My mother made her choice when she left Zion’s Gate. My uncle made it very clear she would be severing all ties to her daughters.”

“Why didn’t they go with her, like you did?”

“I was…a liability.” He set out a holder in front of Angel and kept one for himself. “My sisters, on the other hand, were beautiful, like my mother. They begged my mother to stay. You see, there were several elders vying for consent to marry each of them, and their futures were assured. My uncle told my mother she and I could leave but my sisters had to stay. It ensured my mother’s silence about anything the authorities might have found unsavory.”

“Such as?”

“Plural marriages are against the law.”

Angel mixed the tiles and set them out facedown. “But the authorities have looked the other way for years. Probably still will with the threat of another Waco.”

“Since Arizona and Utah have become more aggressive in pursuing lawbreakers among the brethren, I imagine Texas will follow suit. It’s not as easy to look the other way these days. I don’t like to see people persecuted for their beliefs, but I also don’t like people to get away with crimes against children in the name of religion.”

Angel refrained from voicing the zillion other questions she burned to ask. She could tell he was shutting down. As it was, he’d opened up to her more than she’d anticipated.

From what she’d read, the children in polygamist sects were taught to distrust outsiders, to deflect any untoward interest, lest their families be torn apart by raids and persecution.

Matthew sat on the bed a few feet away from her. He selected his letter tiles. “You know my story. Now it’s your turn.”

Angel shrugged. “Not much to tell. I had a great childhood. I went to college and graduated with a degree in criminology. I’ve been with the Texas Department of Public Safety for five years and I love what I do.”

“Why law enforcement?”

Normally Angel would have answered with a well-rehearsed spiel. But she knew it wouldn’t fly with Matthew. He was too perceptive. “A cop helped me once when I was in trouble. I guess I admired her and I wanted to help other women like me.”

“What kind of women would that be?”

Angel refused to allow anyone but very close friends and her superiors to know she’d ever been that vulnerable. A victim.

“You know all you need to know about me, Matt.” She stood and headed for the bathroom. Stopping in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. “Except that you really don’t want to get in my way. Now I need to dry my hair.”

“What about the game?”

Angel wasn’t sure if he referred to the Scrabble game she’d abandoned or the dangerous personal game developing between them.

“Later.” Her answer was sufficiently vague to cover the subtext.

When she’d finished blow-drying her hair, Matt was packing his suitcase, placing his neatly folded shirts over the boxed Scrabble game.

“What gives?” she asked.

“My uncle called on my cell. He wants us at Zion’s Gate tonight.”

“Tonight? That’s three days early. Did you tell him we’re honeymooning?”

“Yes. But he’s accustomed to being obeyed and I don’t want to antagonize him. We’ll need to leave within the hour. The shortest flight I could find is seven hours including the layover in Houston. Then we’ll rent a car or take a cab to Zion’s Gate.”

“I don’t like this. Why the sudden rush?”

Matt shrugged. “It’s a power play. Get used to it. Besides, my uncle is a very cautious man, and if there’s a question of my loyalty, it would only benefit him to throw me off balance. Me and anyone who might be conspiring with me.”

Nodding, Angel said, “I see your point. I’d probably do the same thing if I was in his position. I’ll have to clear it with Perez first.”

He retrieved her cell from the credenza and tossed it to her. “Then do it.”

Frowning, she opened her phone and dialed. Perez wasn’t happy about the change in plans but didn’t seem completely surprised, either. He again warned her not to take a weapon to Zion’s Gate and told her not to be surprised if her cell was seized, at least initially. She was to hide a pocket PC in her luggage as backup communication.

Angel shut the phone. “We’ll rent a car in Brownsville. I’d rather have transportation available if we need to leave the compound in a hurry. Fortunately for us, I guess uncle dearest isn’t going to pick us up at the airport?”

“No, nor will his elders. They’ll want the home-court advantage. We can use the travel time to go over our cover again.”

“Yeah, our lives might depend on getting it right.”

IT WAS NEARLY midnight when they approached the Zion’s Gate compound. Although the design was reminiscent of an old hacienda, a closer look revealed a solid fortress.

They drove up to a guard shack and announced themselves on the intercom.

Halogen floodlights nearly blinded Matthew. A male voice instructed him to pull forward and park on the other side of the gate.

As the car inched forward, he turned to Angel. “This isn’t exactly what I expected. How am I supposed to drive with those spotlights?”

“Very slowly, which I’m sure is one of the purposes.”

“Yeah, the other is to blind me.”

“You were right when you said your uncle was a cautious man.”

The guard remained in his shack, and a short, stocky Mexican stepped out of the shadows and waved them forward. Once they were in the gate, he gestured for them to stop.

It was then Matthew noticed the assault rifle.

He rolled down his window. “I’m Matthew Stone. My uncle is expecting me.”

“I know who you are,” the man said. “Get out of the car slowly. Raise your hands above your head. Then clasp them behind your neck and get on the ground.”

“Boy, your uncle really knows how to make you feel welcome,” Angel muttered under her breath.

“Do what they say.”

She glared at him. “Well, duh.”

He grasped her forearm. “It’s important you remember your place, Angelina. If you don’t think you can do that, I need to know now. We might still be able to say our visit was a mistake.”

“I’m sorry, Matthew. Of course you’re right. You’re always right.” Her mouth trembled as she slipped into her role. A tear crept out of the corner of her eye.

But Matthew wasn’t fooled. He knew Angel a lot better than she thought. Though her acting was excellent, he knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Ever. “Very nice. Let’s keep it this way. No mistakes.”

She lowered her face. “Yes, Matthew.” It was little more than a whisper.

“Get out, now!” the guard commanded.

Matthew opened his door slowly. Angel did the same.

He raised his hands above his head and carefully exited the vehicle. He glanced at Angel. She had her hands behind her head, her face lowered demurely.

“Toss the keys at my feet. Then kneel on the ground. There.” The guard kept the rifle trained on them while he jerked his head in the direction of the area in front of the car.

Matthew carefully tossed the keys and twined his hands behind his neck. Were they afraid he might be a suicide bomber, for goodness sake? His uncle had apparently gone from caution to outright paranoia. Or was he involved in something more dangerous than leading a polygamous community?

“Down.”

Matthew walked slowly forward and sank to his knees, keeping his hands behind his neck.

“Matthew? What’s this all about?” Angel’s voice quavered convincingly. “Surely your uncle doesn’t want us treated like common criminals?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“A thorough search of all visitors is required,” the man said. “On your knees next to the man.”

Angel obeyed.

A third man came forward and patted down Matthew, stopping to empty his pockets.

Enough was enough. “Where’s my uncle?” he asked.

“You will see your uncle soon. We take precautions first.”

Out of the corner of his eye Matthew saw a man approach with something that looked like an airport security wand.

Sure enough, the thing set off a tone when they reached his waist. Matthew bit back a protest when the man lifted his shirt to reveal his belt buckle.

“You’ll get this back later,” the man said. “We’ll search your luggage, too. Is it in the trunk?”

“Yes.” Sweat beaded Matthew’s forehead.

“Get up. Bring out your suitcases and open them.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Si.”

Matthew clambered to his feet and went to Angel, extending his hand to help her up.

“Senor,” the man warned.

“She’s my wife. I won’t leave her in the dirt.”

The man opened the trunk. “Remove the luggage.”

Matthew bit back a curse. He set their suitcases on the ground.

“Open them.”

Angel stepped forward. “But—”

The guard trained the rifle on her.

“It’s okay, Angelina. We’ve nothing to hide.” Matthew placed the cases one by one on their sides. He unzipped the flaps and peeled them back.

The man pawed through Matthew and Angel’s belongings.

One of the men handed the laptop case to the guard.

“We’ll hold on to this for you. And we’ll take your cell phones, too. There are landlines you can use.”

“I need my laptop to conduct business and check on my investments.”

The man shrugged. “Talk to Jonathon. Now hand over the cell phones.”

Matthew reluctantly complied, as did Angel.

Once the electronics were in his possession, the guard seemed to lose interest in searching further. He said something in Spanish to the other man, who closed the suitcases and set them in front of Matthew. His buddy tossed the car keys to him and he got into the rental car.

“Where are you taking our car?”

“To the garage, where we keep most of the vehicles.” The voice came from the shadows to Matthew’s left.

A tall older man with a commanding presence stepped into the light.

Matthew sucked in a breath. Dad.

But he knew it wasn’t his father. His father was dead. And more than likely this man had killed him.

“Uncle Jonathon, what a pleasure to see you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ANGEL KEPT HER EYES downcast, but surreptitiously surveyed Jonathon Stone. Though he was believed to be sixty-four, he was powerfully built and moved with athletic grace.

“This must be Angel.” He stepped closer, lifting her chin with his finger. There was a hint of steel beneath the softness of his tone. “What a lovely young woman. I can see why you wanted her, Matthew.”

Matthew pulled her close to his side. “I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. And when the vision came, I knew she was the one for me.”

“Vision?”

“An angel trumpeting the news of our betrothal. It was ordained by god. A match made in heaven.”

Angel sucked in a breath. Matthew’s piety gave her the creeps. As did his talk of visions.

But apparently it struck the right chord with Uncle Jonathon. He slowly nodded. “It would certainly seem so.”

“Angel has much to learn about being a good wife, but I’m confident she will learn quickly with other godly women to teach her.”

“Yes, fellowship with the women of our community will show her how to be a loyal, loving helpmate. If she truly desires to embrace our ways.”

Angel nodded stiffly.

He released her chin. “Good. I’ll take you to your quarters. Follow me.”

He turned, his loose-limbed stride long.

Matthew picked up their suitcases and followed.

She tried to survey her surroundings as she walked behind Matthew but only had time to commit the immediate arrangement to memory. They passed a group of three homes on the right side of the path. Farther on, they came to eight adobe structures surrounding a large courtyard. All had flat roofs and heavy wood doors. The windows were high, narrow rectangles, protected by wrought-iron bars.

There were no trees or shrubs, just hard-packed dirt. Still, dust rose in plumes from their feet. Angel felt coated with the stuff, grimy from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Jonathon took them to the largest of the homes, opening the door without knocking.

A tall woman who appeared to be in her late fifties came forward. A teenage girl of about sixteen followed.

“Matthew, I’m sure you remember your aunt Eleanor. You’ll be staying here with her. Ruth helps Eleanor with the children’s schooling. The children now live in dormitories and are educated in several of the larger homes during the day.”

Angel didn’t like the idea of dormitories. Why didn’t they live with their mothers? And she’d noticed he didn’t give the young woman a title. Where did she fit into the family? She had the sick feeling the young girl was another of Jonathon’s brides. The girl kept her eyes glued to the ground and didn’t utter a word.

Matthew nodded, his face impassive. “Thank you for inviting us to stay in your home, Aunt Eleanor.”

The woman’s lips thinned. Angel got the distinct impression it hadn’t been her idea. “Of course. You’re family.”

“This is my wife, Angel.” Matthew nudged her forward.

Angel was at a loss how to proceed. Should she curtsy? Shaking hands seemed too confident and contemporary. Raising her eyes, she nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

The older woman made a noncommittal noise in her throat.

“Eleanor, see that Matthew and his wife are made comfortable.” Jonathon turned to Matthew. “I’ll meet with you tomorrow, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

And Jonathon was gone, exiting the front door, humming what sounded like “Onward Christian Soldiers.”

Angel repressed a shudder. His cheer seemed ominous.

Ruth raised luminous blue eyes. She looked like a china doll with pale, porcelain skin and wide, round eyes. “This is for you, Brother Matthew.” She held out a flat rectangular object to him.

Matthew frowned, accepting the gift. “It’s beautiful.”

“I made it. A marker for your Bible.”

“Yes, lovely stitchery. Thank you.”

Triumph flashed in the young woman’s eyes and was gone. “I’m glad you like it.” Her voice was low and sweet.

Angel felt for all the world as if she’d been one-upped in a competition she didn’t understand.

“I’ll show you to your room.” Eleanor bustled by them.

Matthew took Angel’s arm and they followed the woman down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs. There were several doors on either side. Eleanor opened the last door on the right.

“You have a private bathroom. If you need additional towels or blankets, please call me.”

Angel sucked in a breath as she entered the small, old-fashioned room. Her gaze was drawn to the double bed. She fingered the exquisite handmade wedding-ring quilt. “It’s beautiful.”

“Some of the women made it as a wedding gift for you and Matthew. Many of them were friends of Abigail’s.”

But Eleanor hadn’t contributed, that much was clear. There was a bitter edge to her voice when she mentioned Matthew’s mother. Angel wondered whether Eleanor had opposed Jonathon’s marriage to his brother’s wife.

It didn’t matter, Angel supposed, because even Jonathon’s first wife would have had very little say when he chose another bride. She was expected to suffer in silence.

“I imagine you two are tired from traveling and would like to settle into your room. I will lead the Bible reading tonight in Jonathon’s absence. However, it would be understandable if you would like to have your own reading in your room.”

Holy cow. How was she supposed to handle Bible readings when her memory of the book was so sketchy? She’d avoided religion of any kind since her marriage to Kent. Because she had a hard time believing in a God who’d left her to fend for herself.

“I’ll lead Angel in prayer and our reading tonight, Aunt Eleanor. Thank you.”

“Good night.”

Ruth stood in the hallway outside their door, her eyes bright with curiosity. Angel got the distinct impression she was gauging the marital temperature.

“Good night, Eleanor, Ruth.” Angel tucked her hand in Matt’s, smiling up at him. “My husband and I would like to be alone. We’re very…tired.” There, let the little Stepford wannabe process that.

Ruth let out a small squeak of surprise and fled.

Matthew cupped her chin with his hand, rubbing his thumb along her jaw. “Yes, very tired.”

She thought his gesture was for the benefit of their audience, but then she realized the hallway was empty. Eleanor had retreated after Ruth.

He closed the door and hefted their suitcases onto the bed. “Watch yourself around Eleanor,” he murmured. “She’s Uncle Jonathon’s eyes and ears. And sometimes his cojones, though she’d never be foolish enough to let him realize it.”

Angel watched Matthew closely, wondering if his swift change in demeanor was intended to throw her off balance. The tenderness of a few moments ago was gone, replaced with determined movement.

“Jonathon didn’t seem to need any help in the cojones area. The term brass came to mind.”

Matthew smirked. “Probably apt. You’re smart not to allow the veneer of civility fool you. He’s a dangerous man.”

“Duly noted. I’d like to unpack and hit the hay early. I want to keep on top of my game. How do you propose we work out sleeping arrangements?” Angel eyed the full-size bed. She was accustomed to having a queen all to herself.

“I’ll take the floor, of course.”

Playing the part of the subservient wife would be hard enough when people were around. Angel had no intention of being the helpless little woman in private. “We’ll alternate. Flip a coin to see who takes the floor tonight?”

Matthew shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I will.” She removed a quarter from her purse. Flicking it with her thumb, she said, “Call it,” as the coin spun in the air.

“Heads.”

“You win. You get the bed tonight.”

“No.” His voice was low, firm. “I get to choose. I choose the floor.”

“You’re a stubborn man.”

“Yes, I am. After you unpack, I’ll lead us in Bible study and prayer.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Of course. There are some practices I still observe. Not all their precepts are bad.”

“Well, where I come from, we believe in separation of church and state. This is a job and I, for one, don’t want to be subjected to your beliefs in private.”

“Keep your voice down,” Matthew warned. “We don’t know who’s next door. If we’re overheard, it’s best I’m fulfilling my role as the spiritual leader of our family.”

She eyed the adobe, tempted to tap it with her knuckles to check the density of the walls. Until proven otherwise, it was best to assume anything above a whisper could be heard in the next room. “You’re right. I’ll be unpacked in a few minutes. Then I guess I can suffer through a few moments of religious instruction.”

“I promise to keep it short and sweet.”

“Okay.” She lowered her voice. “But one hint of fire and brimstone and we’re done. Comprende?”

Matthew was intrigued by the bits Angel revealed about herself. “No vengeful, merciless God for you?”

“Uh-uh. I’ve found people can be vengeful and merciless enough. Who needs a deity like that?” Though her tone was teasing, there was an underlying edge.

“Who, indeed. We may be more alike than you realize, Angelina. My God is just and loving.”

“If you think you know me, think again. I’m nothing like the women here who meekly follow orders.”

“Wifely submission isn’t on your list of approved reading topics, I take it?”

“Not if you want to live to see tomorrow.”

“Ah, Angelina, when will you learn I won’t be swayed by idle threats?”

“Who said it was idle?”

Matthew smothered a chuckle. Why was he so sure she wouldn’t hurt him?

He was anything but a trusting man. Yet he found himself trusting a woman he barely knew. A woman trained to kill a man if she had to.

But there was an integrity in Angel that drew him. Along with well-hidden vulnerability. He’d felt an instant connection with her, as one survivor recognizing another. It was the only way he could explain his hunch that Angel had overcome something horrific. Because his background investigation hadn’t turned up anything about her life before she’d entered the University of Houston in 1998. It was as if she hadn’t existed before that. Her transcripts had shown transferred community-college credits from Fort Worth, but the college there had no record of her attending.

It was a mystery he was determined to unravel at a later date. But he had more pressing challenges to deal with first.

Angel snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Matt, you gonna stare off into space all night?”

“No, I was just thinking of the perfect reading for our first night as husband and wife under my uncle’s roof.”

He went to his suitcase and unzipped the side compartment. Withdrawing his Bible, he fingered the hand-tooled leather cover. The cowhide had been made supple with the oil from his hands these many years. Made by Matthew’s mother, it had been one of his father’s most prized possessions. One Uncle Jonathon had tried to appropriate along with his brother’s wife. But Abigail had stood firm in her desire that Matthew would inherit his father’s personal things. He only wished she’d stood as firm in her refusal to marry Jonathon.

Angel stepped close. “It’s still so important to you after all you’ve been through?”

“What’s important?”

She reached out and tentatively touched the intricately rendered scene on the cover. “Religion.”

“No. Religion has no place in my life. God, however, is another story.”

“That’s a fine distinction.”

“No, it’s a huge distinction. One that helped me hold on to something precious.”

Angel opened her mouth, then clamped it shut.

He could tell she was withdrawing. He longed to grasp her shoulders and convince her. But he knew she had to come to him of her own free will. He kept his voice low and nonthreatening, as if discussing a mundane topic like the weather. “What troubles you about my separating God from religion?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Shaking her head, she stepped away. “You’re entitled to your beliefs, Matt. Just as I’m entitled to mine. Who am I to say you believe in a fairy tale?”

His heart ached for her. How alone she must feel facing the world every day and thinking there was no one to catch her if she fell. He’d been more fortunate. His mother had never allowed him to doubt God’s love. Even in those early days when they’d left the brethren and the world had seemed like a scary, confusing place.

And now, being back among the people with whom he’d once shared meals, a home and practically everything else, the thought of the outside world seemed very far away. God was the only constant.

He touched Angel’s shoulder. “Someday you may want to know why I believe. When you’re ready, we’ll discuss it.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Her tone was bitter. “I quit believing a long time ago.”

No, you didn’t.

But he knew better than to voice his thoughts. “Like you said to me, you’re entitled to your opinion. Now it’ll only take a minute to find the passage I’m looking for.”

Matthew watched her peripherally while he thumbed through the tissue-thin pages of his Bible. Her movements were jerky as she pulled her things from the suitcase and placed them in the dresser drawer.

“Here it is. First Corinthians, chapter thirteen. ‘Love is patient, love is kind,’” he paused, seeing Angel’s shoulders stiffen. He read more quickly, sensing she might rebel at any moment. The last few verses came out in a rush, “‘Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.’”

Angel turned her back to him.

He’d gone too far. Silently he closed the book.

“Angel?”

“That was some fairy tale, Matt.” Her voice radiated resentment.

“It’s what I believe.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

Suddenly the room seemed too small. Matthew needed time alone to regroup. Because Angel’s barbs were starting to get to him. And if he doubted his faith, he had nothing. No defense against the evil his uncle represented. And no hope of overcoming the broken legacy he’d received.

Matthew tucked his Bible in the nightstand drawer. Retrieving his shaving kit from his suitcase, he said, “I think I’ll go shower before bed.”

“Whatever.”

“Yes, whatever,” he said.

Angel released her pent-up breath when the bathroom door clicked shut behind Matthew. She glanced at her shaking hands, trying to summon another dose of anger. Anything to distract her from feeling as if she might jump out of her skin.

Why did she let him get to her like that? He wasn’t the first person to try to convince her healing could be found in the arms of a loving God. He probably wouldn’t be the last. It was the Bible passage he’d chosen, recited in his rich baritone, the conviction in his voice telling her how much he treasured the words.

But all she could think about was how Kent had twisted love. There had been nothing patient or kind about him, at least not after they’d married. He’d isolated her in a matter of months, and then the abuse had started. Toward the end, she’d turned herself inside out to avoid his wrath, to discover what set him off. But there was rarely any rhyme or reason to it. His coiled tension always returned and could only be released through reducing her to a whimpering mess.

Angel shook her head to rid herself of the memories. The past had to stay firmly in the past. She pulled the cotton nightgown from her suitcase. Quickly she changed, folding her clothes and placing them in the dresser.

Her hand hovered over her toiletry bag. She disliked the thought of going to bed without brushing her teeth or washing her face. But she hated the thought of how awkward it would be when Matthew got out of the shower.

After arranging blankets and a pillow on the floor for Matthew, she slid into bed, turning off the bedside lamp. The light from the bathroom would be enough to show him the way to his makeshift bed.

Angel wanted to be sound asleep by the time he finished his shower. Or at the very least appear sound asleep. She slid her hand beneath the pillow and frowned. No weapon. She’d forgotten about shipping her nine-millimeter home on the way to the airport.

Closing her hand over the butt of the weapon was the only part of her nighttime ritual that never changed, even when she was undercover. As a supposed member of whatever gang she was infiltrating, sleeping with a gun under her pillow had never been a problem. At Zion’s Gate, however, it couldn’t be risked.

Damn.

Angel tried counting sheep. She tried the relaxation techniques she’d learned at the hospital. She even tried humming an old Colombian lullaby under her breath. But her eyes refused to close.

The sound of running water ceased. The room was excruciatingly quiet except for the rustle of movement coming through the bathroom door. It wasn’t hard to imagine Matthew toweling dry, the soft terry cloth absorbing droplets of moisture from his body….

Uh-uh. Don’t go there.

Angel rolled onto her side, facing away from the bathroom door. She squeezed her eyes shut even though they felt spring-loaded. The last thing she wanted was to share intimate conversation in the dark with Matthew. Habit prodded her to once again tuck her hand under the pillow, where she felt only the cool cotton sheet.

Panic made her pulse pound in the darkness. For a split second, she was back in the home she’d shared with her husband, waiting helplessly for him to come to bed, wondering if tonight would be the night he’d kill her.

Angel heard the bathroom doorknob turn. Opening her eyes, she reassured herself she wasn’t back in Fort Worth, waiting for Kent. She rolled to the other side.

“Can’t sleep?” Matthew’s voice was husky. He was silhouetted in the light from the bathroom.

“Keyed up, I guess.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m tired but wired.”

“That’s it exactly. Would you mind leaving the bathroom light on and cracking the door?”

“Sure.” He complied with her request, making his way to his pallet. “Better get some sleep if you can—you’ll need it tomorrow. You’ll probably meet the rest of Uncle Jonathon’s wives and children. I imagine it can be quite overwhelming to someone not raised in a communal atmosphere. I have to admit, even I’m a little uneasy.”

Angel propped her arm under her head so she could see Matt’s outline on the floor next to the bed. “Is it weird being back with your uncle Jonathon? Or have you had a chance to process it yet?”

“It’s…difficult. I have to keep a rein on my emotions. Distance myself from the past.”

Angel was surprised by his admission. Not many men would be that aware. Or if they were, they certainly wouldn’t admit it.

“What was it like living with the brethren?”

He hesitated for a moment. “I couldn’t have asked for a better childhood. It was a wonderful way to grow up. My father loved all of us. We had plenty of room to roam, but plenty of guidance, too. It gave me a sense of belonging, community, shared ideals. Everyone was happy.”

Angel thought it sounded a little too good to be true. “And after your father died?”

“It was very different. Now go to sleep.”

Angel bristled at his authoritarian tone. “I can’t. I’m wide-awake.”

“Strange place?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“What do you do when you work undercover? Go home every night?”

“When I work undercover, I have my weapon.”

“And you don’t here.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I think I understand.”

“You don’t understand squat, Matt.”

He chuckled in the dark. “I stand corrected. How about if I told you a few stories of my youth?”

“That’d be enough to send me off to sleep, I’m sure. All that bucolic stuff.”

“I’ll tell you about the calf I raised one year. He followed me around like a dog. I wasn’t supposed to name him because I’d get attached and he was raised for food.”

“But you named him anyway.” Angel could almost imagine him as a tow-headed boy leading around a calf. And maybe getting into mischief once in a while.

“His name was Spot. Very original.”

“Probably better than Cheeseburger,” she murmured, her eyelids fluttering.

Matthew chuckled. He told her stories of Spot and the numerous barnyard cats. Of catching frogs and fireflies. And of making apple cider.

Contentment stole through Angel. It was surprisingly nice, here in the dark, talking to Matt. She snuggled deeper under the covers. Her eyes closed, her breathing deepened….

CHAPTER FIVE

ELEANOR GESTURED toward an empty space at the oblong dining room table. “You may sit there.”

“Thank you,” Angel murmured. The wooden chair was hard and unyielding against her rear.

Angel glanced at the two empty picnic-style tables. “When do the children eat?”

“My children are grown. Their bedrooms upstairs were converted to classrooms. The younger children come here every morning for classes. I used to do all the teaching, but Ruth is fulfilling many of the duties.”

“I see.”

Eleanor pursed her lips. “I hope you slept well.”

Angel got the impression she hoped the opposite was true. Sarcasm didn’t suit the older woman.

“Yes, we did. Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?”

“Not now. An extra pair of hands would have been welcome an hour ago, though. Perhaps tomorrow you can get up earlier and help prepare.”

Angel bit back a retort at the implied criticism. Calling Eleanor a sanctimonious bitch wouldn’t help matters. It would make Angel feel much better, though. Sighing, she exercised self-control and let her annoyance go. “Perhaps. If my husband doesn’t have other plans for me.”

“I’m sure he could spare you for an hour.”

“I’ll talk to Matthew. He should be here in just a minute.” Angel had fled the bedroom, flustered by the intimacy of sharing the small space with him. Or maybe it had been the intimacy of his stories the night before and how easily she’d fallen asleep. She felt safe with Matt, and that fact in itself terrified her.

Afraid to feel safe. How messed up was that?

“Ruth, help me with the food,” Eleanor said, nodding toward the young girl, who had slipped into the room.

“Yes, Sister.” Ruth scurried to help, her voice breathy when she asked, “Where is Brother Matthew?”

Angel ignored the quick stab of possessiveness. She was merely feeling territorial because of her tenuous position here at the ranch. She was an outsider and she doubted Eleanor would let her forget it.

“He, um, wanted to have time alone for Bible study.”

Eleanor nodded. “We’ll wait breakfast for him.”

“Thank you.”

“What lovely lace.” Angel fingered the crocheted runner gracing the center of the table.

“I made it myself.”

“Wow. This is really fine work.”

“It’ll do.” Eleanor’s words were spare, but her cheeks were pink. Angel wondered if she’d received much praise in her life.

“Aunt Eleanor is a whiz with any kind of needlework.” Matthew entered the room.

“Thank you.” The older woman pulled out a chair at the foot of the table. “You may sit here, Matthew.”

Angel assumed the seat at the head of the table was reserved for Jonathon.

As if reading her mind, Eleanor said, “Jonathon won’t be joining us for breakfast. He called to say he’d like to see you in his study at eight-thirty.”

Angel’s pulse quickened. Jonathon’s study. Probably where he kept important documents. Maybe even something to implicate him in his landlord’s drug and weapons running? Or possibly records confirming young girls were being married off to old goats?

“His study’s here at the house?” she asked.

“Yes. And he has an office in the main administration building.”

Angel filed away that tidbit of knowledge.

Matthew leaned forward. “I’m looking forward to getting reacquainted with my brothers and sisters.”

His statement confused Angel for a moment. Hadn’t he said he only had one sister left? But then she realized he probably had dozens of half sisters and brothers.

Eleanor passed a basket of biscuits. “I’m sure they’re eager to see you, too.”

“Will Uncle Jonathon arrange some kind of get-together?”

“You will have to ask him.”

Angel noted the older women didn’t deny or confirm knowledge of Jonathon’s plans. Interesting.

“If you’d like to take a walk later, I could show you around the settlement.” Ruth’s voice was sweet and shy, but there was a predatory gleam in her eyes. Or was Angel merely jumping to conclusions? She didn’t like the girl. Didn’t trust her. And she’d learned a long time ago to listen to her gut instinct.

“What a lovely offer, Ruth.” Angel forced a smile. “Matthew and I would enjoy having you show us around.”

Angel thought she saw an amused smile twitch at Matthew’s lips, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, Angel and I would appreciate that, Ruth. I’ll have to see what my uncle has planned first, though.”

“Of course.”

Matthew commented, “Our accommodation’s quite comfortable. Thank you for giving us a corner room—as newlyweds, we appreciate the privacy. Is anyone in the room next to us?”

“No. It’s used for storage right now.”

Good. That meant they could talk in low voices in their bedroom and not worry about being overheard.

Matthew ate heartily, Angel noted. Eggs, sausage, hash browns, pancakes. Apparently Eleanor had never heard of a Pop-Tart.

“The meal was delicious, Aunt Eleanor.” Matthew wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“Thank you. I always make a hearty breakfast. A man can’t work on an empty stomach.”

Ruth nodded in agreement. Though the girl kept her eyes mostly downcast, Angel still intercepted a few adoring glances sent in Matthew’s direction. She got the distinct impression Ruth would love to cook for Matthew. And attend to a few other wifely duties, too.

Matthew, for his part, seemed oblivious. Glancing at his watch, he said, “Looks like I’ve got a few minutes till the meeting.” He rose, picking up his plate and utensils.

“Ruth will clear,” Aunt Eleanor informed him.

“I can take these to the sink. It’s no trouble.”

“Nonsense. Ruth, take his plate, please.”

The girl complied.

Matthew gave a slight shrug, his expression bland. Apparently, he’d forgotten men in the group were treated like royalty.

He said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get a little fresh air before our meeting with Uncle Jonathon.”

“I’ll come with you.” Angel picked up her plate, figuring nobody would rush to take it from her. She was right.

“Angel, dear, you can stay here and help clean up. You ought to be nice and rested since you slept so late.”

Angel winced inwardly. The woman had essentially called her lazy and done it in such a way that Angel would seem like a paranoid bitch if she called her on it.

“Of course, Aunt Eleanor.” Although she’d meant to sound conciliatory, Angel feared a touch of insincerity had reached her voice.

Eleanor’s mouth thinned. Yes, she’d heard the false note, too. Well, good. Put the old battle-ax on notice that Angel wasn’t a mindless twit to be ordered about.

Matthew grasped her chin with his hand, kissing her tenderly on the lips. At least it probably looked tender. The firmness of his grasp telegraphed a warning: Be good. Don’t cause any trouble.

Funny, she’d received the same warning as a child. Until her parents had realized admonishing her did no good. Angel did what she thought best, and to heck with the consequences.

That was one of the reasons her parents hadn’t investigated when she’d essentially dropped out of their lives. They’d accepted Kent’s excuses when they’d called. And on the few occasions she’d been in the room when Kent told his lies, she’d been too afraid to protest. Too afraid to demand contact with her parents. Because she’d known it would all become twisted into a huge act of disloyalty sure to send Kent into a rage.

“Be good,” Kent murmured. Only it wasn’t Kent. It was Matthew.

Habit and residual survival instinct prodded Angel to nod, her motion jerky. And then she hated herself for reverting to the easily manipulated girl she’d once been.

The urge to tell Matthew off was almost overwhelming. He’d put her in a position of subservience she’d sworn never to allow again. Anything less than being a full partner was dangerous.

She clenched her fists, her fingernails biting into her palm. This was a job, an assignment. It was merely playacting and had nothing to do with her past.

“Yes, Matthew.” She’d tried to achieve an adoring coo but fell short. Grudging acquiescence seemed to be the best she could do.

It seemed to be enough, because Matthew nodded. He grabbed his Windbreaker and went out the front door.

Angel released her breath. Some of the tenseness eased from her shoulders. Funny, Matthew was on her side but seemed like the enemy. She felt much more comfortable with Eleanor and Ruth, who she suspected would like nothing better than to get rid of her.

Angel separated utensils and stacked the plates, her motions automatic.

“At least you’re not afraid of a dirty dish,” Eleanor commented.

“I bussed tables at a Mexican restaurant in high school. Then waitressed my way through college.” She lifted the heavy stack of plates and carried them to the kitchen.

“Ruth, you can go get the children’s lessons ready while Angel and I do the dishes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The older woman bustled past Angel, taking the stack of plates from her and placing them in the sink. She ran water, added dish soap and retrieved clean, dry towels from the kitchen drawer. She handed a towel to Angel. “Here, you dry.”

Angel resisted the urge to salute. She was beginning to understand why Matthew insisted Eleanor might have nearly as much power as his uncle.

They worked in silence for several minutes.

“Jonathon indicates your marriage to Matthew is a love match. Your parents didn’t arrange the marriage? Or church elders?”

“No. We met in Phoenix. My family lives in Houston. I’m not Mormon, but I’ve promised Matthew I will abide by the teachings of the brethren.”

“Many young women find our ways too…strict.”

Angel met Eleanor’s gaze. “I was looking for a change.”

“Hmm. How did you know Matthew was suitable if you didn’t know his family?”

“I just looked at Matthew and knew. His eyes were so deep and kind. They never lie.” Angel was shocked to realize she believed the hogwash about Matthew’s character. At least she hoped it was hogwash. Because if Matthew really was one of the good guys, she was in deep, deep trouble. Being thrown together in close quarters on an assignment was not the time to let her guard down with a man.

“He always was a kind boy. Patient with the younger children. Bringing home hurt birds. Caring for the barn cats.”

Angel tried to regain her equilibrium, steeling herself against the hint of affection in the older woman’s voice. She didn’t want to see Eleanor as a person. She didn’t want to like Matthew. Yet she had to show wifely interest in her husband’s history. “Matthew mentioned he had a pet calf named Spot.”

A smile touched briefly at Eleanor’s lips, then was gone. “Yes. He was heartbroken after Spot was slaughtered.”

“I bet.”

“It was a necessary learning experience. We needed the animal for food and Matthew was aware of that. He chose to get attached.”

“He was a little boy, for goodness sake. Of course he got attached.”

“You’re from the city. You wouldn’t understand.”

Angel bit back a retort. She dried silently until she could get her temper under control. “What was Matthew’s mother like then?”

“Abigail was a righteous woman. But she lost sight of our way of life.”

“Did you know her when she was younger?”

Eleanor glanced at her sideways. “Of course I knew Abigail. She was my older sister.”

Sister?

“Matthew didn’t mention you were sisters. You must have missed her when she left.”

Eleanor hesitated, her expression softening. “There are days when I still miss her,” she murmured. “She was my closest friend growing up.”

Angel was surprised at the admission. “I, um, got the impression there was no love lost between you two.”

“There is much you don’t understand. Things changed after Matthew’s father died.”

“Because she married Jonathon.”

“It’s not unusual for a man in our community to marry his brother’s widow. It’s a way of caring for widows that dates before Joseph Smith, back to biblical times.”

“I, um, guess that’s one way to take care of it.” Angel preferred the idea of a nice fat whole-life insurance policy.

She shuddered to think of marrying into Kent’s family if he’d had a brother. It would have been like going from the frying pan into the fire. As it was, she hadn’t seen her in-laws since before Kent’s death. They’d held the funeral for their only son while she was in the hospital, never contacting her. No get-well card, no flowers, no I’m-sorry-our-son-was-a-monster-and-almost-killed-you phone calls.

“Are you prepared to welcome a sister wife into your home when Matthew thinks it’s time?”

The soapy plate slipped from Angel’s hand. Years of experience handling dishes came to her rescue and she managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

It was a good diversionary tactic, unintentional though it was. “Whew. Glad I caught that. I’d hate to break one of your dishes my first day here.”

Eleanor made an assenting noise low in her throat.

Matthew entered the kitchen and came up behind Angel. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck.

For some silly reason, the gesture made her blush.

Maybe it was the wistfulness in Eleanor’s eyes.

Or maybe it was because the gesture of affection seemed so natural and reassuring.

“Matthew, don’t.” She made a token protest.

“Mmm. You smell good.” His breath tickled as he kissed the hollow behind her ear.

He was taking the loving-husband bit too far. She elbowed him in the gut. Not hard enough to knock the air out of him but enough to let him know to back off.

“Ow.” He rubbed his side. “Someone certainly is grumpy this morning.”

“Not grumpy. We don’t want to embarrass Aunt Eleanor.”

“I imagine she and Uncle Jonathon kissed every once in a while. Didn’t you, Aunt Eleanor?”

“It’s not seemly to discuss intimate subjects. Some things are best left in privacy. You have forgotten our ways, Matthew.”

“No, I’ve just remembered what I want to remember.” His tone was light, but Angel sensed an undercurrent.

“Jonathon will expect more than that. Complete obedience is necessary in our life. There is no place for self-centered desires.”

Angel wondered how much self-centered desires figured in with the elders taking multiple young wives.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Aunt Eleanor,” Matthew said. He released Angel and stepped back a pace. Angel was almost sorry to be deprived of his reassuring warmth.

Eleanor nodded, accepting his apology. “Go on ahead for your meeting with Jonathon. You know how he admires punctuality.”

“Yes, I remember. Are you ready, Angel?”

Angel nodded, drying her hands on the dish towel.

“Jonathon wanted to see you alone, Matthew.” Eleanor’s tone was stern.

“Anything he can say to me, he can say in front of Angel.”

“He will be displeased. He intends to take you to the elders’ meeting this morning. It is not right for a woman to be involved in men’s business.”

“Then the elders better save their business for another day. I want Angel to meet them and have a chance to talk to Uncle Jonathon. I want my wife to know my family.”

Eleanor sighed. “You always were a headstrong boy. Sweet but headstrong.”

“What do you think, Angel, dear? Does that pretty well describe me?”

Angel tilted her head, smiling in spite of herself. She couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease him. “Definitely headstrong. I’m not sure I agree with the sweet part.”

He stepped closer. “Then I guess I’ll have to show you later how sweet I can be.” The heat of his gaze left no room for misunderstanding. Either he was a very good actor or he was mentally making love to her.

The thought sent a shock through her. “Um, well, we should probably meet Uncle Jonathon.”

“Yes, I believe I saw him arrive a few moments ago.” Eleanor gazed out the kitchen window.

Angel hadn’t noticed his arrival and she’d been right by the window, too. But then again, she was beginning to believe Eleanor had almost otherworldly powers of observation. The woman didn’t seem to miss a thing.

“I’ll show you to his study.” Eleanor dried her hands on a towel, then patted her hair into place.

Angel thought it was kind of cute that the woman still cared what she looked like when her husband saw her. She also thought it was kind of sad, because Eleanor could never have the security of being Jonathon’s one and only love.

They followed her down a hallway. She stopped at a closed door and tapped. “Jonathon, Matthew’s here to see you.”

She didn’t include Angel in her announcement. Smart woman. She was going to let Matthew explain why he’d brought the little woman to a guys-only meeting.

CHAPTER SIX

MATTHEW TOOK A DEEP breath, steeling himself to see his uncle in the light of day. His hand at Angel’s elbow, he urged her forward.

Jonathon sat behind a large mahogany desk, a desk Matthew remembered from his childhood. It had been his father’s.

He suppressed a flash of anger as he followed Angel to the lone chair opposite the desk. When she glanced inquiringly at him, he nodded toward the chair. He stood behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Forcing a smile, he said, “Good morning, Uncle.”

“Matthew.” His uncle inclined his head, appearing every inch the regal leader. “I didn’t anticipate you would bring your wife. I imagine Angel would be more comfortable chatting with Eleanor and Ruth this morning. You and I will be meeting with the elders later.”

Matthew chose to ignore the underlying command in Jonathon’s observation. He intended to keep Angel as close as possible until he was sure she was safe. “Angel will stay with me this morning.”

“Do you really think that wise?”

“I don’t see a problem.”

“You’ve indicated you wanted your wife to be tutored in the ways of our life. God made men and women with different strengths and weaknesses. Women are better suited to tending the home, not interfering in men’s business.”

Angel’s shoulders tensed beneath Matthew’s palm. He didn’t blame her for being angry. Unfortunately Jonathon’s thinly veiled condescension was the least of his crimes. And Matthew intended to prove it.

“Of course I want Angel to learn the proper ways. But we are newlyweds, Uncle, and I want her at my side today.”

“I was a young man once myself and remember the passion of youth. However, I’ve found self-control to be a valuable trait. You will be all the more glad to see your bride this evening. As the old saying goes, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’” Jonathon smiled, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

Angel shifted. Matthew knew she had to resent being discussed as if she weren’t in the room. He squeezed her shoulder. However appalling he might find his uncle’s values—or lack of them—he had a job to do. And to be effective, he had to appear to agree.

“I understand, Uncle.” He stepped forward, catching Angel’s eye. “It is my heart’s desire to spend every waking moment with you. But my uncle is right. You should join the women while the elders meet.”

Her eyes flashed a warning. Then she lowered her gaze, her voice barely audible when she said, “Yes, Matthew.”

He exhaled in relief. He’d worried she might tell him what he could do with all this crap. He reminded himself she was a professional and very good at her work.

Undercover gang assignments. A far cry from posing as a pliable Zion’s Gate wife.

He turned toward Jonathon. “It’s my fondest desire for Angel to meet my whole family. That is not possible if she secludes herself at Aunt Eleanor’s house.”

“We will hold a celebration of your homecoming after services on Sunday. There will be ample opportunity for Angel to meet everyone.”

“Good. I look forward to introducing her to my sister Rebecca. She will also be there Sunday, will she not? Or could we perhaps visit with her this evening?”

Jonathon frowned, leaning back in his chair and gazing out the small window set high in the wall.

Matthew’s heart pounded. He’d pushed too hard, too soon, possibly tipping his hand. Please, God, please let her still be alive.

“Rebecca hasn’t been feeling well, but possibly she can be persuaded to attend on Sunday.”

Matthew released a breath. She was alive and he would see her Sunday. That was all that mattered.

“AMEN,” JONATHON intoned. The closing prayer officially completed the meeting of the elders nearly four hours later. Their only break had been for lunch, cold chicken served by two of Jonathon’s wives. Matthew didn’t know the women, who appeared to be in their early twenties.

Matthew fought the urge to make a run for the door and the fresh, cool air outside. He’d almost forgotten the claustrophobic feeling of never, ever being alone.

He managed a leisurely pace as he headed for the door.

Raphael fell in beside him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good to have you back, Matthew.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Brother.” Half brother, to be precise. Raphael’s mother had been Matthew’s father’s third wife.

“I’ll walk you back to Eleanor’s house.”

“Not necessary. I can find my way.”

“I’m sure you can. But Uncle Jonathon has indicated you are not to be wandering around unescorted.”

“He doesn’t trust me?”

“He doesn’t trust anyone. Except maybe Eleanor.”

Matthew sighed, longing for his Phoenix condo. Solitude was a luxury with the brethren, a luxury he’d grown to appreciate in his time away.

“Did you marry Theresa? You two were sweethearts as long as I can remember.”

Raphael glanced away. “No. Uncle Jonathon received a vision. Theresa is Brother Benjamin’s eighth wife.”

“Benjamin must be nearly seventy.” He couldn’t quite keep the outrage from his voice.

“Yes. But it was ordained.”

Matthew wanted to grab his brother by the shirt and shake him. God didn’t ordain that kind of marriage, man did. One very selfish, evil man.

“It’s been over twenty years since Theresa became Benjamin’s bride. I have three faithful wives of my own. It was for the best.” Raphael’s voice held a note of resignation.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Matthew muttered, the lie sticking in his throat. He didn’t suppose anything of the sort. Truth be told, he ached for his brother’s loss.

And wondered, not for the first time, if he himself was any better off for having left the brethren. Yes, he had freedom, wealth and the ability to execute decisions based on what he valued and held true, not simply what Jonathon decreed as truth. But he didn’t have a wife or family to show for it. At least not a real wife, he reflected wryly.

Maybe there was a trade-off involved. He’d won his freedom but paid a price.

The thought saddened him. Sure, he’d had relationships, but he seemed to seek out women who weren’t interested in the long term. It worked well on many levels. At least most of the time.

“Your wife is beautiful, according to Uncle Jonathon,” Raphael commented.

Matthew was disoriented for a second. “Angel. Yes, she’s very beautiful. She has a fine spirit, too.”

“I look forward to meeting her Sunday.”

“She’s at Eleanor’s. Why don’t you come in for a few minutes. We’re almost there.”

“I’ll meet her Sunday. It’s what Uncle Jonathon wants.”

Matthew shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you later.”

“Yes.”

Matthew watched Raphael walk quickly to one of the smaller houses and let himself in. He caught a glimpse of a sallow, plain woman before the door closed.

Suddenly he was very eager to see Angel. To revel in the way her dark eyes sparkled at their verbal sparring.

But the Angel who greeted him as he walked through the door bore no resemblance to the Angel he’d left that morning. Her hair was braided tightly and wound around her head. Her expression was pinched.

“Ah, Angelina, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Welcome home, husband.” She clasped her hands together and stared at her feet. “May I get you a cold drink before supper?”

He almost told her he’d love a beer but remembered alcohol was strictly forbidden. Anything with caffeine was out of the question, too. “Uh, ginger ale would be good. Or a lemon-lime soda?”

She nodded and headed for the kitchen. She returned quickly and handed him a glass of ginger ale.

He sipped the drink, the sickly sweet flavor taking him back to his boyhood when he’d loved the stuff. Now it only reminded him of restricted choices and arbitrary rules.

“How was your day with the women?”

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