Each second that ticked by without finding his son was another second closer to losing him forever.

However, at Darcy’s look of disappointment, he said, “But I think there’s enough food to scrounge up something decent, at least for tonight. Do you cook?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “My mom always did the cooking. Her love language was food. When I was sick, she’d make fresh chicken noodle. To even suggest something from a can was an insult. She would’ve made my school lunches for me until I graduated if I hadn’t put my foot down.”

Rafe heard a hint of sadness in the deprecating laugh but he didn’t press even though he was curious. It was best to keep the lines drawn to avoid emotional entanglements. To know too much was an invitation to want more.

Like tangled sheets and rumpled clothing.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always wanted to participate in a continuity project, so when I was asked to be one of the five authors for the “Perfect” romantic suspense project, I was nearly giddy with excitement. What a joyful experience, collaborating with such talented authors. I learned a lot about myself as a writer, and about working as a team on what is usually a solitary endeavor.

If you’re following the series (you don’t want to miss any of these amazing connected stories!) you’re in for a thrilling adventure. This book, the third in the series, follows Dr Rafe Black straight into the heart of a twisted cult as he searches undercover for his missing son. He’s playing a dangerous game, pretending to be a Devotee, but he isn’t alone. Darcy Craven is searching for answers and she won’t let anything stop her—not even when her life is threatened.

I love characters who are driven by an internal force and push forward in spite of the obstacles in their way. It was a treat to delve into the scary world of a cult master. I hope you enjoy my vision of Perfect, Wyoming and all the players in this most dangerous and thrilling game!

Hearing from readers is a special joy. Please feel free to drop me a line via e-mail through my website at www.kimberlyvanmeter.com or through snail mail at Kimberly Van Meter, PO BOX 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361, USA.

Kimberly

About the Author

KIMBERLY VAN METER wrote her first book at sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for Mills & Boon® Cherish™ and Mills & Boon® Intrigue. She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.

A Daughter’s
Perfect Secret

Kimberly Van Meter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter 1

Three months ago …

Rafe Black couldn’t still his fingers. A pile of tiny bits of shredded paper from his straw wrapper betrayed his nerves as he checked his watch one last time.

Abby was officially one hour late.

“Another tea?” The waitress, young, fresh-faced and clearly trying to earn a good tip, smiled in earnest until she saw the mess on his table. “You got something on your mind?” she asked, gesturing to the paper pile.

He didn’t want to be rude, but his thoughts were narrowed to a point and there wasn’t much room for chitchat. “No more tea,” he said, sending the hint he wasn’t up for sharing but then added to soften the brush-off, “Thank you, though.”

The waitress nodded and scooped up his pile with a small smile. “Just holler if you do.”

He rubbed his forehead, massaging the tension pulling on his brows and bunching the muscles in his neck. Where was Abby? They’d agreed to meet here, at this grubby diner about forty miles outside of Cold Plains, Wyoming, following a hurried and frantic phone call from Abby after she’d dropped a bomb on him.

If Abby were to be believed, she’d given birth to his son only months earlier, and now they were both in danger.

Had she been lying? His gut told him no. He’d heard the fear in her voice. Felt the terror even from across the telephone line. Which was why, when she’d sent him a photograph of the boy—a damn spitting image of him with his dark hair and eyes and Abby’s cupid-bow mouth—and begged him to wire $10,000 to a Western Union in Laramie, he hadn’t hesitated. He simply went to his savings account, made the withdrawal and then persuaded Abby to meet him here—today.

The money had been picked up, but Abby was conspicuously absent. He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit to some misgivings. Had she taken the money and split? Maybe.

The fact of the matter was, and this was a bit of an embarrassment, he didn’t know Abby well. Only well enough to father a child after a torrid one-night stand that’d been completely out of character for him.

Damn. He pulled the photograph from his wallet and stared at the child’s image. Had he been played? A cynic would say, wholeheartedly, yes. But he recognized his own features on that child’s face, and he couldn’t walk away. Even if Abby hadn’t called, terrified and sobbing, he wouldn’t have been able to walk away. That went against everything he believed in, stood for. And so, here he sat, like a chump, waiting for a woman who had plainly stood him up.

He flagged the waitress, tossing a ten-dollar bill on the table. Her eyes lit up at the generous tip, but then she bit her lip as if pinged by conscience. “That’s too much of a tip for just an ice tea,” she admitted.

He pushed the bill toward her but handed her a business card, too. “I need a favor,” he said, hating that he had no idea what had happened to Abby and his son.

She pocketed the ten and accepted the card, her expression wary. “Sure. What can I do for you?” She glanced at the card, reading, “Rafe Black, M.D. A doctor, huh?”

“Yes,” he answered with a brief smile. “I was waiting for a friend. Her name is Abby Michaels and she has a three-month-old baby boy. If she happens to show up, please give her my card. It’s very important that I talk to her. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded. “Sure. Is she okay?”

“I hope so,” he said. God, he hoped so. He rose. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem,” she said. “I hope your friend is okay.”

He answered with a smile as tight as the grip on his heart and walked out of the diner, but in his gut, he knew something was terribly wrong.

It wasn’t long before he discovered he’d been right.

Abby Michaels was dead. Rafe pushed his fingers through his hair, that damnable tremble returning to his hands, betraying everything he was doing to remain calm and in control. He should’ve stayed, should’ve reported her missing. Maybe they might’ve found her before … He suppressed a racking shudder and tried to focus on the here and now, but it wasn’t as if he had any experience with this sort of thing and there was so much at stake. He straightened and leaned forward, dread and anxiety twisting his gut in knots.

“And how did you find out about the victim’s death?” the stone-faced detective Victor Reynolds asked, looking up from his paperwork, staring a hole into Rafe.

“I caught something on the news about five murdered women, and Abby was one of them. I was shocked,” he said, but shock was too mild of a word for what he was feeling. More like reeling from a nightmare that he couldn’t escape. After the news report, it’d taken him a full minute to fully comprehend the enormity of the situation. Abby was dead; what about his son? “I knew she was in some kind of trouble but I had no idea it was this bad. Listen, there’s something else, she had a child. Was she alone when she was found? The news report didn’t say.”

“No.” Reynolds’s gaze narrowed sharply. “What child?”

“She called me earlier in the week, saying she’d had my child, a son she named Devin,” he admitted, the grit in his eye burning from the lack of sleep. He’d driven straight through from Colorado Springs to this little hole-in-the-wall place outside of Laramie, where Abby’s body had been found earlier that day. He’d shortened the nearly four-hour drive into three; it was a damn miracle he’d arrived alive. “She told me to meet her at this little diner, some greasy-spoon place about forty miles south from here,” he said. “But she never showed. I should’ve known something went wrong.”

“How well did you know the victim?”

“Not well,” he said, embarrassed by his admission. He wasn’t the kind to sleep around, but he’d met Abby while away at a medical conference in the hotel bar. One thing had led to another and before he’d known it, they’d stumbled to his room for drunken sex. Not his finest hour, for sure, and one he hadn’t planned to ever repeat. “We had a one-night stand a little over a year ago. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since, until she called saying she was in some kind of danger and needed money.”

“And you sent it to her?”

He nodded. “Ten thousand.”

At that, Detective Reynolds paused, speculation in his flat, squinty eyes. “Ten large, eh? That’s a lot of money to send to a virtual stranger.”

“She wasn’t out to scam me. I heard the fear in her voice. She was terrified.”

“Some women are good actresses,” Reynolds said with a subtle shrug. “You believed it was your kid before a paternity test?”

“Yes,” he said, growing angry at the detective’s implication that Abby had duped him for some reason. This was starting to feel like less of a good idea as he sat across the table from the detective. “Let’s get to the point. There’s a woman dead, and her child is missing. Are you going to put out an Amber Alert or am I going to have to go up the ladder for some results?”

“Cool your jets, hotshot,” Reynolds said, his tone hard. “Of course we’ll issue an Amber Alert but let me tell you what I’m seeing…. Motive.”

“Motive?” Rafe stared, unable to fathom what the hell the detective was getting at. “What kind of motive?”

Reynolds leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Rafe, watching his every move as if Rafe was some kind of deranged killer who might jump for his throat at any minute. “Maybe you’re pissed that she duped you for a kid that wasn’t yours? Ten large is a lot of money. But then, I hear doctors make good money. Better than cops, that’s for sure.”

Rafe ignored that. “He’s my son. I don’t need a paternity test to confirm what I see with my eyes—that he looks just like me. And what kind of killer drives four hours to the police station to help identify the body and then leaves a DNA sample?” he asked in disgust. “You need to look into the last place Abby was before she was killed. The news report said the one thing the murdered women had in common was this place called Cold Plains.”

Reynolds grunted. “Nice place. Ever been there?”

“No.” He bit back his irritation at the man. “Does the name Samuel Grayson mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

“I don’t know,” Rafe said, frustration getting the best of him. “But Abby … she was running from this Cold Plains…. I did some looking around, and I guess this Samuel guy runs the town. Maybe you ought to ask around, do some actual investigative work,” he muttered under his breath.

“I don’t tell you how to be a doctor—how about you zip your lip when it comes to police work?” Reynolds growled, bristling at the insult. But he relented, as if realizing Rafe’s suggestion had merit, and said, “I know a guy in Cold Plains, Bo Fargo. He’ll know if there’s something hinky going down in his town. I’ll make some inquiries,” he said then slid a card across the table. “We’ll be in touch. If a child turns up and he matches your DNA profile, we’ll call. In the meantime, don’t do anything rash like leave the country.”

It was everything Rafe could do to keep a civil tongue. He’d get no satisfaction from the local law enforcement; that much was abundantly clear. They were too busy eyeing him for the crime rather than chasing down any real leads. Abby had been shot, execution style, in the back of the head, and then her body had been dumped in a wooded area. If a hunter hadn’t come across her body, likely the wildlife would’ve taken care of any evidence left behind. If he wanted answers, he’d have to find them himself.

He was going to Cold Plains.

Ah hell, a voice in his head said, worrying about the everyday details of his life—his practice and his patients, mostly—but all he had to do was pull that picture and stare into those baby eyes and know none of that mattered until that boy was safe. Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them away, focusing to a narrow point out of necessity. If he allowed himself to slip into the fear that ate away at his control, he’d lose whatever edge he might have that could help him find his son.

Who are you kidding? You’re not a cop, man, the voice intruded again. Leave it to the professionals.

Professionals like Detective Reynolds with his cold eyes and ignorant small-town disposition? Not a chance. He was a smart man, capable of figuring a few things out on his own. He wished he’d known more about Abby. Why hadn’t he tried to find her after that night? They’d had good chemistry. Her soft laugh had been like a warm caress. Or maybe he’d just been really drunk. No, that couldn’t have been it entirely. Abby had had something special. The only reason he hadn’t pursued her after that night was because of his single-minded career focus. Well, that, and the discomfort of having to tell people that they’d met in a bar and hooked up after tequila shots. He scrubbed his face, pushing away the sting of guilt. Now wasn’t the time for that—he’d have plenty of time to twist with remorse after his son was found. If he was found. No, don’t think like that. He would find him. That was a promise.

Until then, he had to be ruthless with himself.

And everyone he came into contact with. All that mattered was his son.

Chapter 2

Present day …

Darcy Craven’s stare drifted over the familiar items of her childhood, standing in her mother’s—scratch that, as of two days ago, adoptive mother’s—living room, and she wondered how such a big secret had been kept from her.

She was not the biological daughter of Louise Craven but rather the daughter of a woman Darcy had never known existed until today. If she weren’t cracking in two from grief over Louise’s death, she would’ve thought she was numb inside. But no, there was a pulsing raw wound inside that gushed each time her heart beat. She’d been lied to, but worse was that her mother had been forced to give her up because she’d been in danger.

She couldn’t muster an ounce of anger against Louise, but she wished she had more answers than what she’d been left with.

“I never wanted you to find out, but you need to know,” Louise had rasped from her bed, the cancer eating her from the inside out, stealing her breath along with her strength.

“Shhh,” Darcy had urged, distressed over how Louise was exerting herself when the doctor had plainly told her to rest. “Whatever it is, it’s fine,” she said, trying to soothe her. She checked the morphine drip. Louise was dying; there was no coming back from that ledge now that the cancer had metastasized from her pancreas. All they could do was offer her comfort, which was why she was home instead of the hospital, and Darcy wanted to make sure that her mother died in peace. “You need to rest.”

“Darcy, honey, I’m dying. We both know that,” Louise said, her shoulders shuddering on a cough. “But before I go I have to tell you something that I’ve been carrying around since the day you came into my life.”

At that Darcy stilled, a knot settling in her stomach even as she tried to logically explain away the feeling. The doctors had warned her that the high-octane narcotics could cause erratic behavior. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “In the overall scheme of things, I’m sure it’s not as big as you think it is.”

“Darcy, listen, damn it.”

Her mother never cursed. “What’s wrong?” Darcy asked, settling to meet her mother’s stare.

A single tear oozed out from the corner of Louise’s eye, and she appeared to sag into the mattress a little farther, but she rallied with a brief show of strength as she clasped Darcy’s hand. “There’s a picture in my jewelry box,” she started, and Darcy shook her head.

“Mom, I’ve been in your jewelry box a thousand times. There’s no picture,” she said.

“There’s a false bottom. Open it and bring it to me.”

Darcy gaped. A false bottom? That unsettled feeling returned with a vengeance. Her mother was not the sort to hide things in secret. She’d been a PTA mom, for crying out loud. She’d baked cupcakes and cookies for bake sales and had volunteered on the safety patrol. She wasn’t the kind of woman who harbored secrets. Yet, here she was, knocking on the bottom drawer to find, yes indeed, it had a false bottom. She gave a gentle tug and the top popped up, revealing a single photograph, aged and yellowed, of a beautiful woman. She flipped it over, but there was nothing written on the back. She returned to her mother. “Is this it?” she asked quizzically, handing the photo to Louise.

Her mother took the photo and stared, her eyes filling. She passed a shaky hand over the image of the smiling young woman, and she closed her eyes, as if seeing the photo brought back painful memories.

“Who is she?” Darcy asked. What was going on? Wasn’t there enough tragedy in the Craven household without the added burden of some secret that she was fairly certain she didn’t want to know? She maintained a façade of calm, but inside she felt nauseous.

“Your biological mother,” Louise answered, that single admission kicking the bottom out from Darcy’s world as if the only mother she’d ever known dying from cancer wasn’t a big enough blow. “I’m sorry … you were never supposed to find out this way but there’s power in knowledge, and my darling sweet girl, you’re going to need all the power you can muster to stand up to that man.”

“What man?” Darcy asked hollowly, her bewilderment giving way to shock. “What are you talking about? You’re my mother. I don’t even look like her. This is crazy talk—”

“There isn’t a lot of time,” Louise cut in, yet was stopped short as a racking cough stole the air from her lungs. Darcy helped her drink some water, but it was several moments before Louise could speak again. Darcy’s thoughts were spun out on a surreal setting. Surely this was happening to someone else, not her.

“Darcy, your mother was a good friend of mine even though I was a bit older than she was. Her name was Catherine. She got pregnant at seventeen and entrusted you with me when she had to run. At first I thought she would return, but as the years went on, I realized she wasn’t coming back. I raised you as my own, and I couldn’t love you more than if I gave birth to you myself.” Louise’s weak grip on Darcy’s hand tightened and Darcy knew her mother wouldn’t lie. Still, it was a lot to take in and, frankly, Darcy was not above wanting to shut it all out and forget she’d ever heard it. “There’s more,” Louise said, the urgency returning to her voice. “Your mother was involved with a very dangerous man. And he’s only gotten more influential as time has passed. You might’ve heard of him. His name is Samuel Grayson.”

Darcy startled, the name jumping out at her from a recent news story on rising cult leaders. “That’s the man who’s running that town outside Laramie? The one who claims he’s found the secret to running a perfect society? He’s a nut,” she said, horrified.

Louise agreed with a weak nod. “The very same. He’s got a whole town of followers now, and there’s no stopping him when he’s got something in his sights. And I’m afraid for you.”

“Why? Does he even know about me?”

“I don’t know,” Louise admitted, a shudder wheezing from her frail chest. “But I couldn’t let you face the future without knowing. There’s a possibility … that he may have done something to Catherine.”

“How do you know?”

“I haven’t heard from her in a long time, years, actually.”

Darcy swallowed. “You … had contact with her?”

“Not truly, honey. A postcard here and there. Just something to let me know she was all right. I never had an address or a phone number. She was scared that if she was too close to you, he’d find you. She loved you so much, she wanted to make sure you were always safe. But the last postcard came years ago. I’m afraid something happened to her, and the only person who would’ve had reason to hurt her was Samuel Grayson. You have to promise me you’ll stay away from that man. He’s evil.”

Darcy nodded. At that moment she’d have agreed to anything to ease the torment in her mother’s eyes. That was two days ago. And her mother was gone. She was alone.

Something toxic burned in Darcy’s chest—a combustible mixture that was equal parts rage and grief with a healthy dose of insatiable need to know the truth about her mother—and she knew she’d lied to Louise.

She had to know where her mother was, had to know if she was safe and she had to know what part Samuel Grayson played in this whole twisted drama that had somehow attached itself to her formerly happy life.

Darcy wanted answers—and nothing was going to stop her.

She shifted in her coach-class airplane seat, wishing she’d had the extra money to spring for at least the business class to accommodate her long legs, but pushed her discomfort aside to take in every detail of her birth mother, Catherine. Even though the picture was more than twenty-two years old, Darcy could tell her mother had been beautiful. If only she’d inherited her fine bone structure, she lamented privately. The only physical attribute she seemed to have been gifted with of her mother’s was her blue eyes. She lightly traced a finger down the curve of her mother’s cheek, wondering what she’d been thinking when the picture was taken. How had Catherine gotten mixed up with someone like Samuel Grayson? Darcy had unearthed a few news articles on the man. On the surface, he seemed legit, but the cultlike following creeped her out. According to the news clippings, Cold Plains was his utopia. Except everyone knew a utopia was an illusion, so how did Samuel keep everyone happy and playing along? It smacked of an M. Night Shyamalan movie. Where was the freaky twist?

Darcy closed her eyes and tried not to let the grief that hovered on the edges of her sanity creep in. She couldn’t lose focus. Any semblance of a normal life had shattered when Louise had dropped her bombshell. And, if the truth were known, chasing after answers kept her from acknowledging her bone-deep grief over Louise’s death. It was too soon, too quick. They’d had no time to prepare. The cancer had moved in quickly, without mercy. Before they’d known it, Louise had been given a death sentence. In spite of her closed eyes, a trail of moisture leaked from them, and she wiped it away on her sleeve.

“Are you okay, honey?” the woman next to her asked, a kind expression on her middle-aged face. “I have some tissues if you need some.”

Darcy smiled at the kindness. “Thank you. I’m all right. I’m just tired. Stuff’s getting to me, I guess.”

“Might help if you talk about it. I’m a good listener.”

Darcy withheld a sigh. It was a nice offer, but it wasn’t as if she could actually share what was going on in her life. She smiled briefly to let the woman know the offer was appreciated but gave a little shake of her head, murmuring her decline.

The woman nodded and let her be. Darcy was thankful for the window seat. At least she could watch the states go by in shades of green, gold and blue as she flew from her cozy world, where everything had once made sense, to her new existence, where danger lurked side by side by the secrets she felt compelled to uncover.

Likely, it was stupid—reckless even—and the very thing Louise had cautioned her against.

But she couldn’t stop herself. Maybe there was a slim chance that Catherine was still alive and Darcy could help her.

Then again, maybe Catherine was dead, and Darcy was heading straight into the arms of the man who’d snuffed out her life.

It was a cruel coin flip of possibility.

But she wasn’t turning back. Hell no, she wasn’t turning back.

Chapter 3

Rafe’s smile faded as soon as his last patient walked out the door and climbed into his car, his attention riveted to the man waiting patiently, a seemingly placid expression on his otherwise rugged face.

Rafe locked the door and flipped the sign that said his little practice was closed for the evening, and any emergencies should be directed to the urgent-care clinic. “Any news?” he asked, but by the grim tensing of the man’s mouth, Rafe had his answer. “He’s here. I know it. That sonofabitch has my son somewhere in this little creepshow of a town, and it’s killing me that I’ve been unable to find out where.”

“Keep your voice down,” Hawk Bledsoe, an FBI agent who’d grown up in Cold Plains before it became the stomping ground of Samuel Grayson, the man Rafe was sure had Devin hidden somewhere, warned. “You know it’s not safe to go running your mouth without consequence. I came to tell you there’s someone new in town, and I think as soon as Grayson takes a look at her, he’s going to be on her like stink on crap to recruit her as one of his breeders.”

Rafe grimaced at the crude term that had sprung up at the realization that Grayson fancied himself a matchmaker of sorts and always sought out the best-looking candidates to match up in the hopes that their progeny was equally perfect aesthetically.

“Not my problem,” Rafe said, hating himself for being such a cold bastard, but if he worried about every single person who stumbled into Grayson’s clutches, he’d go insane. He was here for one reason: to find Devin and then get the hell out.

But in the meantime, he had to play the game. He’d shown up in Cold Plains three months ago, pretending to want to relocate to the picturesque town, even going so far as to appear interested in the ridiculous garbage Grayson preached every day in his seminars—all in the name of finding his son.

It hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought when he first started. He figured someone was bound to talk eventually, but Grayson ruled with an iron fist and fear rode shotgun with these people. So far, he’d gotten nowhere. When he discovered that Bledsoe was an undercover FBI agent, he’d been relieved to find someone who wasn’t drinking the crazy juice, but thus far, even Bledsoe had come up empty.

“She’s young and she needs a job,” Bledsoe continued as if Rafe hadn’t spoken. “Don’t you need a receptionist to handle your phones?”

“I hadn’t planned on staying this long,” Rafe grumbled, not exactly answering but not denying it, either. True, he was running himself a bit ragged trying to keep his office as self-sufficient as possible, not because he was a control freak, but rather, he needed to be able to trust the people he worked with, and frankly, trust was in short supply in this town.

“How do we even know she’s not a Devotee?” Rafe asked, referencing the people who followed Samuel Grayson, marching along like good soldiers in Grayson’s utopian army.

“We don’t. But this could be a good way to gain some additional insight if she is. If she’s not, think of it as good karma points.”

Rafe looked away, caught between his urge to protect an innocent person and keep a healthy distance away from anything that might distract him from finding Devin. “How do you know she needs a job?”

“She arrived yesterday. She’s staying at the hotel and I heard through the grapevine that she’s asking around to see if anyone’s hiring. I’ll make it known to her that you’re looking for a receptionist. Do me a favor and hire her. Do yourself a favor and hire her. You’re looking a little frayed around the edges, and you need to stay sharp in this shark tank or you’ll get eaten.”

Rafe nodded wearily and rubbed at his eyes. “Right. So, still nothing out there about Devin?”

“Not a word. But someone knows something. They’re just scared to talk. We’ll find him,” Bledsoe assured him, and Rafe tried to take comfort in the fact that he wasn’t searching alone, but he was no closer to the truth than he was when he’d stepped foot in this town.

Sure, on the surface, Cold Plains looked like a dream come true, the perfect place to settle down and raise kids, but if you scratched the surface of that perfect veneer, a whole lot of what-the?-Oh-my-God appeared like dirty bubbles in a stagnant pond.

“Maybe we ought to call in reinforcements, you know? Tell the feds what you know so far … Maybe it’s enough for an indictment.”

Bledsoe shook his head, the motion definitive. “No. We’ve got smoke and mirrors when it comes to Grayson. He’s popped out of worse, smelling like a rose. He lets others take the fall and then walks away. If we go off half-cocked out of fear and desperation, it’ll end badly for everyone. And trust me, the man is not only slippery but dangerous. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were to pull the plug on everyone, going down in grand, Waco, Texas, style. We don’t want to add to the body count. Stay the course. We’ll get him. But in the meantime, just chill and keep doing what you’re doing. Grayson likes you. He thinks you’re getting ready to pledge. That’s good. His guard will be down. Eventually something will slip. That’s when we’ll find what we’re looking for—evidence to take him down—and your son.”

Rafe swallowed his emotions. His son. Was he even still alive? Every child he saw on the street that was the same age as his son at this point made him do a double take and wonder. He didn’t put it past Grayson to have a child killed—the man had no soul—but Grayson did everything for a purpose. So if Devin was still alive, it was for a reason. And it might be desperate, wishful thinking, but he knew in his heart that Devin was alive somewhere—or maybe it was just that he had to believe that or go crazy.

Darcy had never seen a cleaner street. Usually even the nicest cities and towns had little bits of trash that the street sweeper missed, but not Cold Plains. The dark asphalt looked fresh, newly poured, and the crosswalk paint fairly gleamed. It was as if trash wasn’t allowed and anyone who had the audacity to carelessly litter was vigorously dealt with. Darcy shuddered at what her imagination conjured. She’d done a fair amount of homework on Samuel Grayson and Cold Plains before she’d purchased her plane ticket, but there hadn’t been a whole lot out there. A Google search had pulled up some historic photos of the town when it was merely a spot in the road, a trading outpost really, and she’d managed to find a few street views from the Google maps, but the town had maintained a rural atmosphere. Certainly charming to the eye at first glance, she thought wistfully. Too bad there was something rotten in Denmark. She adjusted her purse, where her mother’s picture lay tucked in her wallet, and set out to wander around, looking every bit the happy-go-lucky tourist.

Somewhere, a deep resonant bonging startled her, and she realized the noise was coming from an impressive three-story building of marble and glass, directly ahead on the main street. A man must’ve noticed her shock and confusion, because he tapped her on the shoulder with a warm smile. “New to Cold Plains?” the man asked.

“Oh, uh, yes, actually. What’s going on?” She motioned to the people starting to file toward the building.

A smile wreathed the man’s face. “It’s time for the noon session. You’re in for a real treat. Do you believe in fate?”

No. Not really. “A little, I think,” she lied, curious to see where this fruitloop was headed. “Why?”

“Because fate brought you to Cold Plains. And now you’ll find out why. Come.” He held his hand out to her, and she wondered if this was how the victims of Jim Jones fell under his charm. All it took was one step…. Well, she was here for answers. She pasted a bright smile on her lips and accepted his hand. He grinned. “You won’t regret it. Samuel’s sessions are almost magical. So inspiring.”

Samuel Grayson … A dangerous chill touched her skin. Time to meet Daddy.

Darcy entered the community center and allowed her awe to show. “Wow, this is some fancy place for such a small town,” she said, taking in the huge fresh spray of flowers gracing the entry and the sweet fragrance they gave off. “Who pays for all this?” she wondered out loud.

“Needs are met as they are needed,” the man said by way of answer, which to Darcy’s mind wasn’t much of an answer at all. Maybe the man was a politician. He directed her to an empty seat. “Enjoy and be transformed.”

And then he melted into the crowd, which was okay by Darcy, because truthfully, the guy was creeping her out more than a little. Maybe it was because she wasn’t accustomed to such overt polite behavior from total strangers, or maybe she was just more of a city girl than a country girl and didn’t know how to react when someone wasn’t flipping her off or stealing her cab. Either way, she was happy to sit and simply observe unnoticed for the time being.

She scanned the crowd and immediately noted a striking commonality: it was the congregation of beautiful people.

Not a single unattractive person milled about. So much for diversity, she thought uneasily. It was probably an odd coincidence. How could a whole town be comprised of models?

She shifted in her seat and a man caught her eye. Of course, like everyone else in the building, he was attractive, but there was something else about him that drew her. Tall, with a lean but solid frame that filled his shirt nicely and narrowed to tight hips, he stood in the back, observing with an eye as keen as her own. An odd flutter tickled her stomach, and she quickly turned away for fear of being caught staring. Everyone in this place was cuckoo, she reminded herself. Even if they were hotter than hell.

A hush fell upon the crowd, and Darcy saw that a man had taken the stage. The man, mesmerizing with his midnight hair, which gleamed in the fluorescent light, flashed incredibly white teeth in a broad, magnanimous grin that immediately caused her to suck in a painfully tight breath. She was looking at her father. No matter that she’d come to find answers and she’d followed the trail to Cold Plains, a part of her had hoped that Louise had been wrong. That her adoptive mother’s bedside confession had simply been the unfortunate ramblings of a woman doped up on intense dosages of morphine and not that of a woman harboring a deadly secret. But there was no denying that the enigmatic man captivating the assembled crowd had contributed to her DNA. How did she know for sure? It wasn’t some New Agey feeling—no, it was much simpler than that.

She was his spitting image.

Suddenly, everything began to swim, and for the first time in her life, Darcy slid right out of her chair and onto the floor.

She’d fainted.

Chapter 4

Darcy slowly opened her eyes and focused on the blurry face full of concern and struggled to sit up.

“Hold on, you’ve fainted,” a voice, low and soft but distinctly masculine, said. The man smelled of cinnamon, and gave a gentle push on her shoulder to remain lying down. “Are you dizzy? Does your head hurt?”

She covered her eyes with her hand and bit her lip, more mortified than anything else. So much for blending in, stealthlike. Seemed her ninja skills weren’t up to par. Not that she’d ever had any.

“Miss?” the voice prompted, causing her to shake her head.

“I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” Against the man’s direction, she rolled to her side and sat up, realizing she was no longer in the community center. Gone were the marble-accented furniture and glossy floors, replaced with country kitsch and quaint down-home charm. “Um. Where am I?” She blinked away the fuzziness in her vision and choked back a gasp when she realized the man she’d seen earlier at the community center, the one whom she’d been compelled to stare at, was now staring at her with an air of concern and curiosity. “And … who are you?”

When he smiled, the corners of his mouth lifted but his eyes remained deadly serious, and Darcy found the contradiction unsettling, just like everything else in this place. Except, in spite of that, she couldn’t deny there was something about him that made her mouth dry and her thoughts wander.

“My name is Dr. Rafe Black. You passed out at the community center, and you were brought here. It’s closer than the urgent-care clinic,” he explained, then returned to his diagnostic mode by removing a penlight and shining it in her eyes. She batted it away on instinct. She’d only just recovered her sight, and now she had dots dancing before her eyes. He frowned. “I had to check for a concussion,” he said, pocketing the penlight. “And what is your name?”

“Darcy Craven. Nice to meet you. And I slid from my chair, not the roof,” she grumbled, highly embarrassed by the whole incident. “Really, I’m fine. Please don’t make a fuss. I was very accident-prone as a child, so this is nothing,” she said, trying to lighten things up. She didn’t like the way her stomach was still doing tiny flutters at being so close to the handsome doctor. There was far more at stake than finding a hot guy to date. Before Louise had gotten sick, Darcy had been a different kind of girl—out for the good time and the fun—but then everything had changed when Louise had needed her. Responsibility had been an uncomfortable fit at first, but she’d quickly adapted when she realized she was all Louise had in the world and vice versa. It’d made her grow up fast. She supposed a part of that irresponsible girl still lived and breathed, because otherwise, how else would she have had the wherewithal to embark on this dangerous quest? Be that as it may, it didn’t mean she had to follow every impulse, and that included allowing herself to be attracted to the handsome stranger, who, by the way, was still scrutinizing her every move with that serious stare.

“I’m fine. I promise,” she assured him, jumping down from the exam table and edging away. “So, I have insurance…. Do you need me to fill out some forms or something for you to bill for your time?”

He waved away her offer, his brows still knitted together. “No charge. But I still think you ought to take it easy. People don’t just faint for no reason, and it’s the reason I’m worried about. You could have something serious happening neurologically. Would you object to having some tests run?”

Tests? That smacked of a bad idea. What if this was some ploy to get her DNA for some weird reason? She recognized the paranoia in her thought process, but she supposed that was unavoidable given the circumstances. “No thanks. Not big on tests. Ignorance is bliss sometimes,” she said. “So you’re the doctor here … the only doctor in the whole town?” she asked, switching subjects.

“No, I’m not the only one. There are a few at the urgent-care facility. However, I am the only one with a private practice on the main street. And how did you find yourself in Cold Plains?” he asked, moving away to fold his arms across his chest, the frowning easing into an expression of congenial friendliness. “Family from here?”

She startled but hid it well. It was a fair question, no need to read anything into it. “Nope, no family here. Just sounded like a great place. It’s been getting a fair amount of press lately with all its, uh, attributes of clean living.”

“Ah, yes, Cold Plains is a living example of how people can live in harmony,” Rafe said, smiling. “There’s been a few reporters who’ve picked up on Cold Plains’s charms. I think a few even relocated here after their stories ran. It’s a special place.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” she said, nodding. Was he a Grayson follower, too? She wasn’t sure. She had to assume he was or why else would he be here? Darcy forced a bright smile. “So, actually, you might be able to help me.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Know of anyone who’s hiring? I need a job.”

For a split second, she could’ve sworn a flash of recognition had passed over his expression, but it was gone in a heartbeat, causing her to wonder if she’d seen anything at all.

“What fortuitous timing,” he said. “I happen to be looking for a receptionist. How good are you at answering phones and taking appointments?” he asked.

Was he serious? She stared. When he didn’t confess he was kidding, she caught her bottom lip and worried it as she considered his offer. A receptionist? For the hot—possibly cuckoo—doctor? On one hand, being the front desk person to the local doctor could put her in contact with a lot of people; on the other hand, well, the same reason had its cons, too. Someone was bound to notice the similarities between herself and Samuel eventually. What then? She didn’t have a good answer. But she did know that she needed a cash flow of some sort while she snooped around Cold Plains. The doctor’s offer solved two of three problems. She’d just have to deal with the other some way.

Smiling, she thrust her hand out. “Dr. Black, you’ve just landed yourself a receptionist. When do I start?”

Per his conversation with Hawk Bledsoe, he’d been planning to hire the new woman in town, but he hadn’t expected her to be carried into his office after fainting; he also hadn’t expected her to be so pretty.

Midnight hair with striking blue eyes that shone like the ocean in sunlight, she was enough to make a lesser man drool. Rafe wasn’t immune to a woman’s charms, but since arriving in Cold Plains he’d kept to himself. He hadn’t uprooted his life, basically going undercover in a rogue attempt to find his son, to mess around in some casual affair. And thus far, it’d been fairly easy to stay focused.

Until now.

If he hadn’t already agreed to hire the woman, he would’ve sent her packing. She was temptation and that was the last thing he needed.

He smothered the frown starting to build when he thought of the complication this woman represented through no fault of her own. She couldn’t help looking the way she did. There was something familiar about the woman that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were bigger problems, he reminded himself and moved on. “You can start tomorrow. Does that work for you?”

“Sure,” she said, following him into the lobby. “What’s the pay like?”

“Decent,” he answered with a shrug. “More than minimum wage.”

“Sounds good to me. How about the hours?”

“The clinic is open five days a week from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., though I have been known to stay open for certain patients. Just ask me before you book a late night and we’ll play it by ear. You get an hour for lunch, and payday is every two weeks.” He gave her yellow, thin, strappy sundress a quick perusal, pretending not to notice the swell of her breasts, and said, “Business-casual attire, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She glanced down at her cleavage and actually blushed a little. “Sorry. I didn’t plan on an impromptu job interview.”

Rafe hated to sound like such a prig, but there were some very conservative types in town, and he didn’t want to ruffle feathers, particularly when he was putting an image of himself out there of a suitable candidate for pledging. He smiled, hoping it came across as warm and not uptight, saying, “It’s okay. I understand. So, tomorrow, bright and early? Please plan to arrive fifteen minutes early to familiarize yourself with the phone system. Where are you staying?”

“Uh, the hotel for now. Know of anyone renting a room?”

“No, sorry,” he said. There was no way he was going to offer the spare bedroom in his small two-bedroom cottage on the outskirts of town. For one, it was too cozy, and the idea of bumping into the woman at all hours posed too dangerous of an opportunity for slipups. “But I’ll keep an eye and ear out for anyone who might be,” he added, to be helpful.

“Thanks,” she said, shouldering her purse, glancing around as if wondering if they were supposed to chitchat or something to break the ice when neither were sure of the protocol. “So, what’s with the self-help seminars each night?”

A derisive smirk threatened but he held it in check. Samuel Grayson fancied himself some kind of guru, and there were plenty of people buying in, so until he knew that Darcy wasn’t among the followers, he’d play the part. He went to a small refrigerator and pulled out a bottled water to hand to her. “Have you had a chance to try the tonic water? It’s sort of Cold Plains’s signature thing.”

She accepted the bottle with a quizzical expression. “What’s with the water?”

“According to local legend, a restorative ribbon of water flows through Cold Plains. Samuel bottles the water from a secret location and distributes it to his people. Just another proponent of healthy living.”

Darcy studied the label for a moment, her expression inscrutable, and he wondered if she bought into the whole magic-water concept Samuel liked to play up, but he was left to wonder because she simply shrugged as if she was open to the possibility and asked, “So, how come there’s a price here on the label? They aren’t free?”

He smiled. “Nothing in life is free, even in Cold Plains. Devotees are encouraged to purchase and drink the tonic as a symbol of unity but also for good health.”

“Must work. Seems Cold Plains is full of healthy people,” she quipped, flashing a playful smile that showcased straight white teeth.

If only she knew the truth of just how “healthy” the population of the town really was…. Samuel abhorred illness, imperfection and unattractive people. Speaking of, Bledsoe was right about Darcy. The minute Samuel saw Darcy, he’d want to fold her into his flock—possibly even into his bed. There were rumors of Samuel cherry-picking from his flock to satisfy his sexual needs.

Darcy raised the bottle, her brow lifting. “So, what’s the damage?” she asked, referencing the water.

He waved her away. “This one’s on the house. But expect to shell out $25 at the next seminar.”

She couldn’t help her shock. “Thanks for the heads-up, but what the heck is in this tonic water? For $25 it better be the Fountain of Youth,” she said, unable to understand why anyone in their right mind would pay so much for water. He didn’t blame her; he agreed it was outrageous.

“It’s part of the magic of Cold Plains,” he answered with an enigmatic smile.

“I guess so,” she said. “See you tomorrow morning, Dr. Black.” She waved and let herself out.

Rafe watched her cross the street and head toward the row of shops lining the main street, possibly more sightseeing of her new adopted town. The poor girl … He couldn’t imagine that she had a clue as to what she’d gotten herself into.

Hell, did anyone?

Cold Plains was the Bermuda Triangle of the Midwest. People came in … but didn’t always come out.

Alive.

Chapter 5

Darcy left the doctor’s office with all manner of jumbled thoughts going through her head. What kind of man hired a woman right off the street? She could be a criminal, for crying out loud. Was there no crime in Cold Plains, that everyone was so blindly trusting? Chalk that up to another item in the weird column. She sighed and rubbed the back of her head where she must’ve hit it when she fell to the floor. Oh, how mortifying, she thought with a grimace. She’d never fainted in her life. Hopefully, this wasn’t the start of a distressing new trend. Granted, it wasn’t every day she saw her birth father. Funny, she’d never given her biological father much thought. The story Louise had told her had been that he’d knocked her up and then split, not much to talk about. And Louise had always been so tightlipped about it, she figured it was probably a painful time in her life. Of course now Darcy knew differently. That her birth father hadn’t exactly split, but her mother certainly had. She blinked back sudden tears at the thought of Louise and everything that had happened in the past month. The grief still pulsed under the surface, but Darcy had been ruthless with herself, too determined to find answers to give in to the pain that scalded her heart. And now was no different. She ground the moisture from her eyes and focused on aligning the situation with the facts as she knew them.

What to do about Samuel Grayson? Surely if he saw her face-to-face, he’d notice the striking similarity between them. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d slide under his radar. The man was probably pretty busy running the town, pushing his tonic water. Speaking of … She twisted the cap of the water and took a tentative sip. Eh. Not bad. But certainly not worth the $25 price tag, unless it truly did have restorative properties. However, not likely. She inhaled the sweet, clean air and then wrinkled her nose at the sharp unfamiliar scent of blue skies and green grass of rural Wyoming. She took another drink of the tonic water. No Starbucks or Pete’s that she could see, and she could really use a shot of espresso to clear her mind. She spied a small coffeehouse sandwiched between two other shops and made a beeline straight toward it. Cold Plains Coffee—straight to the point, she thought wryly and stepped inside.

A sense of foreboding followed Rafe after Darcy left. He’d told Hawk he’d hire the woman, and he had against his better judgment, but something else gnawed at him that he couldn’t quite place. And it wasn’t just that she was a beautiful woman. If he couldn’t handle himself around a woman who had a great body and a face to match, he had bigger problems because Cold Plains was full of attractive women. It was something else…. His gut told him she was trouble. He scrubbed his palms across his face and pushed Darcy from his mind.

He pulled his BlackBerry from his pocket and opened a file he kept in a cloud network that he could access from his phone. He didn’t trust an actual computer to keep his notes because computers could be breached. All the cloud network required was a smartphone with Wi-Fi connectivity, and he was good. He tapped in Darcy’s name and his initial impression of the woman: pretty—might be trouble. Hired as receptionist at clinic. Unknown if she’s a Devotee.

Rafe logged off and pocketed his BlackBerry, which he kept with him at all times. He used the excuse that his clinic phone would forward to his cell during off-hours, but that was just a ruse to keep Samuel off his tail. Keeping Samuel thinking that he was playing for the home team enabled Rafe to slip in and out of places he would’ve been barred from otherwise.

Unfortunately, the one place he hadn’t been able to gain access was the one place he needed to go—Samuel’s secret medical infirmary.

If there was one. That was the question he couldn’t seem to find an answer to. No one was willing to admit that certain patients never returned from a visit to the clinic.

He suddenly thought of Liza Burbage as an example, an older woman suffering from type 2 diabetes who’d ignored multiple attempts to get her to change her diet so her diabetes wouldn’t change from type 2 to insulin-dependent. He still remembered the conversation he’d had with her after Samuel had approached him regarding her health.

“Liza, you really need to start watching your diet. No more cookies or sweets. Vegetables and lean protein,” he’d said, troubled by her recent weight gain and instable insulin numbers. “The Glucophage at the current dosage isn’t working any longer to control your insulin. We’re going to increase the dosage, but after that, we’re out of options.”

Liza sighed, a sound heavy with self-condemnation, and said, “I know, Dr. Black. I’m trying. It’s just so hard. I crave sweets and carbs.”

“Did you go to the clinic nutritionist?” he asked.

She made a face. “That sour-faced stick woman? She wanted me to cut my calories so much, I’d likely starve. And she wanted me to do weekly weigh-ins and sign a document that said I’d accept responsibility for increased weight while on the program. I don’t know, but it just felt so regimented. I’m more of a free-spirited kind of person. You know? And I like a cookie now and then.” She offered a shy but sweetly dimpled smile and shrugged. “Oh well, it’s my health and my problem. Last I checked, being overweight wasn’t a crime,” she said with a laugh.

Rafe nodded, but a frown threatened over something Samuel had made mention of when Samuel had come to him regarding the implementation of a Devotee meal plan. Of course Rafe had offered suggestions but, in the end, admitted nutrition as a science wasn’t his forte, which was when Samuel had brought in Heidi Kruch. And Rafe agreed with Liza—the nutritionist was a bit of a Nazi when it came to calorie counting. But Samuel found her approach in line with his personal philosophy, so she became the clinic nutritionist and Rafe was encouraged to send anyone with weight issues to pay a visit to Heidi to “get with the program.”

To date, Liza hadn’t gotten the message and not only was her weight ballooning, but her insulin levels were reaching dangerous levels. Rafe didn’t care if his patients were pleasantly plump as long their health wasn’t an issue. However, Samuel believed everyone ought to treat their body as a temple, and he aimed to see that everyone in Cold Plains was fit, healthy and happy. There were workout requirements, meal plans, tonic-water intake charts, morning yoga meetings and countless other measures aimed at creating exactly what Samuel was going for: cookie-cutter people.

“Please consider giving Heidi another chance,” he’d said, hating the words coming from his mouth. “She’s good at putting together meal plans that will improve your insulin numbers and ultimately your overall health.” He felt as if he were reading from a script, and he had no interest in playing the part. When Liza’s expression turned dour, he said, “I know she’s not the most personable, but don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. The patients who have followed her advice have been successful in losing weight and improving their overall health.”

Liza sighed. “I’ll think about it, but only because you’re so nice about it, Dr. Black. Too bad you weren’t the nutritionist. I’d listen to what you have to say simply because you’re so cute.”

“Ahh.” He chuckled, yet inside he was twisting with his conscience. Liza was the wrong candidate for a nutritionist at this stage in her food addiction. She needed more than charts and strict rules. Likely, she needed counseling to determine why she self-sabotaged with food even when her health was at stake. But Samuel didn’t like head docs, as he called them. No small wonder there, seeing as a psychiatrist might question the mind-scramble Samuel did daily on the local people of Cold Plains. “Well, I hope you change your mind.”

He saw Liza out after she promised to check in with him in two weeks to do another insulin check. She never came back.

Considering their personable patient-doctor relationship and her distate for Heidi, the nutritionist, he found her absence suspect and it only provided fuel for his suspicion that Samuel made people go away if they didn’t “get with the program.” But for now he put it out of his mind.

Rafe spent the last few hours of the day tending to patients with various ailments—nothing more serious than the occasional flu bout or allergy flare-up—and when he flipped his sign and shut down his office, he wondered where Darcy was and what she was doing. The town wasn’t large, and there was little in the way of entertainment available that wasn’t sanctioned by Samuel. There was line dancing and ballroom dancing, knitting and quilting and creative brainstorming (a class Samuel suggested everyone take at least a few times a month to help with the marketing of the Cold Plains tonic water) but nothing like a dance club or bar that supported a wild time. He didn’t know Darcy, but he sensed she was a city girl, accustomed to everything a city had to offer.

He was tempted to casually stroll the main street to see if she was in any of the small shops, doing the tourist thing, but as he shut the lights and started to head that direction, he stopped. What was he doing? He didn’t care what she was doing or if she was bored out of her mind in the small town. Doing an abrupt about-face, he went to his car and climbed in.

He lived a short drive from town, but he appreciated the distance. Sometimes, playing the dutiful doctor wore on his nerves, and by the end of the day, he wanted to throw the mask across the room.

But it seemed relaxation wasn’t in his future tonight because parked in his short driveway was Police Chief Bo Fargo’s cruiser.

Rafe muttered a curse word but pasted a smile on for Fargo’s benefit.

“Evening, Chief. What can I do for you?” he asked, not commenting on the odd fact that the older man was making a house call when he easily could’ve stopped by the clinic if he’d wanted to chat.

Bo Fargo was a big man with a belly that protruded over his utility belt, and hard eyes that never seemed to smile. Rafe had heard stories that Fargo was a bully and that when he couldn’t get what he wanted with the strength of his authority, he used his meaty, ham-hock fists. But in spite of Fargo’s character flaws, Rafe couldn’t be sure if he was a Devotee or not. The man didn’t follow the meal plan, plainly didn’t exercise and didn’t seem particularly enamored with anyone, much less Samuel Grayson, so that made him difficult to categorize in Rafe’s book. He hadn’t mentioned to Fargo about his missing baby, but with each brick wall and dead end, he wondered if it wasn’t time to elicit the help of law enforcement. To Rafe’s knowledge, that jack wad outside of Laramie hadn’t placed a call to Fargo like he’d said he would, but after landing in Cold Plains, Rafe realized that was probably a blessing in disguise.

Fargo acknowledged Rafe with a nod, then spit a sunflower seed shell onto the ground. “Evening, Doc. Got a minute?” he asked, the question plainly rhetorical, and they both knew it. Still Rafe smiled, as if being harassed by the local cop wasn’t an inconvenience at all, and leaned casually against his car.

“Sure. What’s up?” he asked, purposefully omitting an invitation to go into the house. It was his perverse way of keeping Cold Plains on the outside and, hopefully, the craziness out of his personal sanctuary. “Something wrong? That ulcer giving you trouble again?” he asked, referencing a recent diagnosis and course of treatment that Fargo had plainly ignored.

“Ain’t no ulcer. I’m fine,” he muttered, plainly irritated that Rafe had mentioned it. He narrowed his stare at Rafe, as if sizing him up and finding him worthy of a second, deeper look, and said, “Word around town is that you’re asking about some secret infirmary. That true? And if so, where the hell would some secret facility be hidden in a town as small as Cold Plains?”

“Secret infirmary?” Rafe maintained his neutral expression, but inside, his gut twisted in warning. Fargo seemed a fair bit puzzled by his own question and the fact that he’d had to ask it. To be fair, it wasn’t a normal thing to ask. But then Cold Plains wasn’t normal. He crossed his arms and seemed to be thinking about the question. When he’d done a fair search of his memory, he flat-out lied with a rueful chuckle. “Can’t say that I have. But if we do have one, maybe I ought to find out if they’re hiring. Private practice is murder on the insurance,” he said playfully.

But Fargo wasn’t laughing. Hell, Rafe wasn’t sure the man knew how to laugh. “Of course there’s no secret infirmary,” he returned roughly, glancing away. Rafe bit his tongue to keep from calling him a liar. He’d heard enough whispers, enough hushed talk to know something was out there. “But I want to know why someone would say that you’re asking about one when that’s plain crazy talk.”

“I agree. I’d like to know who’s been saying that, because I can’t remember ever asking it or even hearing about one.”

Fargo grunted and adjusted his girth. “Good, because you know Samuel doesn’t like rumors like that getting spread around. It erodes community spirit. Cold Plains is a good place to live. You know that or else you wouldn’t have moved here, right?”

“Of course,” he said, a trickle of unease sliding down his back like a rivulet of sweat on a hot day. “Cold Plains is unlike any other place I’ve ever lived, and I like it here.”

Satisfied, at least for the moment, Fargo climbed into his cruiser. His elbow out the window, Fargo said, “If you hear of anyone else spreading those kinds of poisonous rumors about our town, you let me know, you hear?”

“You got it, Chief,” he agreed, giving the impression he shared the chief’s concern. “If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to stop by my office.” And stop making house calls, you bloated bully. Rafe smiled for emphasis. Fargo grunted and pulled out of the driveway and then out onto the highway.

It wasn’t until Fargo was gone and out of sight that Rafe breathed a little easier. That was close. He’d been sloppy, asking around about the infirmary to too many people who were apparently loyal to Samuel and his cronies. He’d have to be more careful.

Or else he might find himself at the business end of Fargo’s gun.

Because Cold Plains was a nice town.

And Samuel aimed to make sure no one believed otherwise.

Chapter 6

Bo Fargo walked into Samuel’s office, his thoughts still on the doc. Rafe Black said all the right things, but Bo’s gut told him the doc was hiding something. He’d have to keep an eye on the man to see if his instincts were spot-on, or if he was just being extra paranoid.

Samuel Grayson, the man behind the plan, looked up from his desk, an efficient smile on his face. “How was your visit with Dr. Black?” he asked conversationally, steepling his fingers as he awaited Bo’s answer. The thing about Samuel was that he seemed soft and nice, but the man was meaner than a junkyard dog when riled. Bo found the contradiction a little disconcerting. He preferred that people act one way or another, not both in a sneaky way. But no one told Samuel how to act or be, not even Bo. “I trust he was cooperative?” Samuel asked.

“Yes,” Bo answered, vacillating on whether or not to share his misgivings about the doc. For whatever reasons, Samuel seemed to like Dr. Black, and Bo didn’t like the idea of being the bearer of bad news. However, one thing Samuel didn’t abide and that was being in the dark, and since he counted on Bo to keep him apprised of the goings-on, he decided to spill. “He said all the right things, but I don’t trust that man. What do we know about him? Not much. I think he’s hiding something.”

“Such as?”

Bo shrugged. “Dunno. Just something in my gut that says he ain’t being truthful about everything.”

“Interesting.” Samuel pursed his lips in thought. “What was his reaction when you asked him about the infirmary?”

“Cool as a cucumber. He denied asking about one and even made some jokes.”

“It would seem a man intent on finding something would be more surprised at being questioned. How reliable was your source of information?”

Bo thought of the woman, a woman who had reportedly been turned down by the good doc for a date, and he realized the information might be unreliable, and he shared as such. “Seems the doc isn’t so much into dating. The woman who told me, word has it she’d been rejected in the romance department by the doctor.”

Samuel chuckled softly. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right?”

“So they say,” Bo muttered. Women served two purposes in Bo’s life: food and sex. And sometimes he preferred the food. He cleared his throat. “What now?”

“Rafe Black is, by all accounts, a good man. He’s smart, responsible, yet keeps his head down. I like that in a Devotee. Work harder at bringing him into the flock. We could benefit from a man such as himself being on our side. And who knows? Maybe if he proves worthy, he will find himself working behind the curtain, in the infirmary. But until then, watch him. Carefully.”

“You got it, boss,” Bo said dutifully, his belly starting to growl, signaling the dinner hour more efficiently than any clock. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually, there is.” Samuel’s expression lost its easy benign softness, that air that he was just a good-natured man out to better his slice of the world. Here was that duality that Bo found unsettling. Now Samuel looked hungry and ruthless. “I’ve tired of my present company. I want someone fresh—young, preferably, but not too young, of course—mid-twenties with a trim figure and nice big breasts. That’s important, Bo. The breasts must be natural, none of that fake silicone garbage. When I squeeze a woman’s breast, I want to feel the flesh give in my hand. Am I clear?”

“Of course,” Bo said, hating these particular assignments. There was something unnatural about handpicking another man’s bed partner. But he did as he was told because he liked his life. It was easy and people respected him. Sure, it was out of fear, but Bo didn’t care. The women spread their legs for him when he wished and didn’t care to stick around longer than they were welcome, and he appreciated that most. One last thought … “Brunette or blonde?”

Samuel spread his hands in a generous gesture. “No preference. Surprise me.”

Darcy stepped into the bright morning sunlight and headed for her first day of work. She really didn’t have a clue as to what being a receptionist entailed, but how hard could it be answering a few phone calls for a small Podunk, Wyoming, doctor’s office? She took a quick minute to adjust her skirt and blouse and then walked into the cozy cottage with an engaging smile directed toward Dr. Black—Rafe, what a sexy name—she wanted to make friends, didn’t she? But when her smile was met with a subtle flash of a frown, she hid the disappointment by settling behind the desk with the studious intent of learning the ropes. “So, here I am bright and early. What are my job duties exactly?”

Without so much as a hello, good morning, Rafe started in. “My first patient will arrive at eight-thirty, followed by another every forty-five minutes. Try to space the patients in such a manner, but if there seems to be an emergency, go ahead and book them, and I will make time. Also, anyone who has weight issues will be directed to the town nutritionist, Heidi Kruch. Here are her business cards, in case anyone asks.”

“That sounds kind of personal,” she murmured, checking the card information. “Why would a doctor’s office recommend any one nutritionist? That seems like a decision best left to the patient.”

His brief smile was patronizing. “This is Cold Plains. Not your ordinary run-of-the-mill town. But I think you already know that, right?”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting an idea,” she said, pocketing a card. She wanted to see what this nutritionist was like. “Anything else?”

“Yes. We also have pamphlets on the suggested daily workout and the menu planner if anyone needs them.”

“Damn….” she exclaimed under her breath, almost without thought, at how controlled the people of Cold Plains were, down to what they put in their mouths and how many crunches they did, and immediately knew she should’ve kept her reaction to herself when Rafe frowned in disapproval.

“Please, no cursing. Samuel isn’t a fan, and it reflects poorly on the practice now that you’re the friendly face behind the desk.”

She bit her lip and nodded, strangely chastised. Louise had always been trying to get her to curb her tongue but sometimes a well-timed F-bomb was exactly what the situation warranted, such as when you got cut off in traffic or the ATM machine chewed up your card and swallowed it for a late-afternoon snack. But she supposed the doctor had a point; she’d really have to watch her mouth if she wanted to fit in. She couldn’t exactly get information if she was found to be undesirable company. “Sorry,” she said, offering a contrite smile. “No more potty mouth. It’s a bad habit I’ve been trying to kick,” she admitted. Louise was probably crowing up in heaven, happy to know that Darcy had finally found a reason to keep the profanities at bay.

“Good.” There was a slight pause, then he asked, “Where did you say you were from?”

Darcy smiled at the curiosity in his voice. “I didn’t.”

As if realizing he’d somehow poked his nose where it didn’t belong, he apologized. “It’s none of my business,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay,” she rushed to assure him. Was he always going to be this rigid? If so, this job might turn out to be more difficult than she imagined. She needed him to trust her, and it didn’t seem they were off to a good start. She tried again to disarm him with the power of a smile, albeit rueful this time. “I was just kidding around. Sorry. My mom always said I have an odd sense of humor. I’m from Sacramento,” she lied, not wanting to share too much personal information until she knew who—if anyone—she could trust. “Big-city girl. This is a huge change for me, but I like it. Changing things up is good. Sometimes you get in a rut.” She was rambling a bunch of nonsense for Rafe’s benefit, but he seemed to buy it. She drew a deep breath and glanced at the clock. “Oh, almost time to open. Why don’t you show me the phone system and computer setup so I don’t have to bug you too much with patients.”

Rafe regarded her with those dark eyes, and she immediately felt as if he was trying to determine whether or not she was being truthful. She refused the urge to squirm in her chair, knowing it would only make her look suspect, but she wondered just how close Rafe was to Samuel. For a wild moment, she hoped he wasn’t, because then she could, maybe, let down her guard with him. With that shock of dark hair and equally dark eyes, Rafe was worth a second glance, and in fact, she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that when she first locked eyes with him from across the room at the community center her heart rate had kicked up a bit, but the last thing she needed was to start messing around with someone in this town. She risked a short glance from under her lashes and couldn’t help it when her gaze dropped to his ring finger. No ring. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to contend with a Mrs. Rafe Black popping in unannounced to check out the new employee. But how could a good-looking man like Rafe remain single in a small town filled with pretty people? Was there something beyond that classically masculine-cut jawline that gave his profile a certain outlaw charm in spite of his completely buttoned-down persona that turned people off? With a face and body like his, whatever lurked beneath the surface would have to be pretty bad indeed to get a woman to steer clear. What difference did it make? He could be Adonis for all she cared. She’d come for answers, not romance. She could count only on herself. She was alone in this world. To her horror, tears pricked her eyes and she turned abruptly so Rafe wouldn’t see. “Great. I think I can handle this,” she said, straightening the pencils and pens just so, giving the impression that she was the kind of person who cared if the pens and pencils were all facing the same direction when, in fact, most times she left them strewn in odd places because she never returned things where they belonged. Yet another of Louise’s little nags that she’d never really listened to or noticed until she was gone.

If Rafe caught the sudden pitch to her tone, betraying her secret heartache, he didn’t comment, which was a good thing because the first patient had walked through the door.

Darcy put forth her best congenial smile and focused on winning over Cold Plains, one patient at a time.

Someone in this town had answers to what had happened to her mother.

And nothing was going to get in her way of finding out.

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