Coleen looked down, her jaw clenched. “I did my best, considering how heavy it was, and that I had to move it into the truck by myself. I couldn’t ask for help, because you were hurt and Ephraim was dead and nobody else is supposed to know we have a satellite dish.”
She actually had done well. There was nothing wrong with their dish, but he couldn’t let them know it.
“We need to bring in another elder,” Pastor said thoughtfully. “One young and strong enough to help with things like that, but old enough to bring some wisdom.”
“Also one who won’t go crazy with rage, knowing we lied to them all these years,” Coleen added carefully.
Pastor chuckled, because Coleen was the only person allowed to be candid with him. She’d earned the right through thirty years of being Pastor’s lapdog, but even she tiptoed around the man. One never knew what mood he’d be in at any given time, on any given day.
“True.” Pastor studied his manicured nails, a sure sign that whatever he was about to say would not be what DJ wanted to hear. “I’m considering Brother Joshua. He was extremely helpful in coordinating our move, and considering we only had the one truck you brought back, DJ, this move was one of our most stressful. We packed the congregation into the truck like cattle, but with over a hundred people, plus the heavy equipment, he made at least ten trips.”
“And I had to keep everyone calm, because no one wanted to live in these caves,” Coleen added. “There was an unusual amount of unrest. It took us four days to get everyone settled. You don’t recall because you were unconscious.”
“Brother Joshua behaved admirably under pressure,” Pastor finished. “He would make an excellent elder.”
To an untrained observer, it might have seemed that Pastor was asking for input. DJ knew better. He exchanged a glance with Coleen, long enough to see her slight grimace, because she didn’t like Joshua. Well, mostly she didn’t like Joshua’s first wife, and if he was chosen as an elder, his first wife would be elevated in status as well. But Coleen’s expression was wiped clean by the time Pastor lifted his gaze from his hands. That was the purpose of him looking at his hands—to give the receiver of orders time to appear okay with his edicts.
“I’ll be ready to brief him when I return,” DJ promised. Like that was ever going to happen. Once he had control of Eden’s money, he’d leave Joshua and Coleen and all the other Edenites to do whatever the fuck they wanted.
Pastor stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Find Amos’s child. Bring her to me. I will not allow her to become a symbol of concern or discontent in my flock. Make it your priority.”
DJ gritted his teeth. The “or else” was always left unsaid. “Yes, sir. If she’s in foster care, it might take a while to find her and, once I do, extracting her will be a delicate operation.”
But DJ knew that the child wasn’t in foster care. Her father, Amos, had reconnected with Mercy and Gideon, and there was no way those two would allow Abigail to go into the system. Once he found Mercy, Abigail wouldn’t be far. It would, however, buy him more time to snip off all of his loose ends.
Pastor sighed, visibly irritated. “I suppose that’s true. How much time will you need?”
DJ pretended to ponder. “A week? Maybe more.”
Pastor looked to Coleen with a frown. “Do we have enough supplies to last us a week?”
Coleen shifted uncomfortably. “It’s going to be tight. We have the chickens that we’ve been using for eggs. We can slaughter them if we must. We’re running out of feed, so they’d starve soon, anyway. But we need fresh vegetables and milk. The children haven’t had milk in weeks.”
Pastor nodded grimly. “One week, DJ. And then you’ll return with supplies and news of Abigail. At least whether she’s alive or dead.”
“And a new location,” Coleen added meekly.
Pastor nodded again. “That, as well. Goodbye, Brother DJ. May God be with you.”
DJ managed not to roll his eyes. Pastor didn’t believe in God. He only believed in himself. The blessing was Pastor’s way of donning his pastoral persona, his signal that their business was completed.
DJ inclined his head wordlessly. Waiting until he was back in his quarters, he whispered, “Goodbye, Pastor.” Because this was the beginning of the old man’s end. Once Mercy and Gideon were no more, DJ would return to claim leadership of Eden.
He only wanted the money. The others could have the rest.
It would be the first time in a month that he’d left the compound. With any luck, Mercy Callahan would have let her guard down.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 8:45 A.M.
“Well?”
Special Agent Tom Hunter looked over his shoulder, unsurprised to see Special Agent in Charge Molina standing in the doorway of his office. He’d expected the visit from the SAC of the FBI’s Sacramento field office. Today was her first day back after the attack that had left her injured and several other agents dead. She looked paler than normal and tired. But determined.
He automatically rose, because his mother had raised him right. This put him more than a foot taller than his boss, which made her look up with an irritated glare. At six-six, he towered over almost everyone in the Bureau, which was a new experience. He’d been average height during his three years with the NBA. Shorter, in fact, than many of the men he’d met on the court. He hunched his shoulders a bit to offset the difference, but Molina’s glare did not soften.
As her chin lifted, her dark eyes bored into him. “What do you know?” she demanded.
Tom gave her a warm smile. “Good morning.” The woman wasn’t the coldhearted beast she wanted everyone to think she was. He’d watched her manage two crises in the past few months, and while she was quick-witted, with razor-sharp focus and an even sharper tongue, she did care. He suspected she might care too much and fought not to let it show.
He knew the type. He’d been raised by a wickedly smart group of women. His mother’s friends were cops, social workers, and attorneys. When pressure was high and risk to humans they cared for even higher, they’d pasted on the same face Molina wore right now.
He held out the chair next to his desk, motioning her to sit.
She shot him a dark scowl but took the seat, tugging at the jacket of her suit unnecessarily. No fabric worn by Tara Molina would have the nerve to wrinkle.
“I know a lot of things about a lot of things,” he said, retaking his seat as he answered her question. “But I’m assuming you’re specifically referring to Eden.”
The cult he’d been actively seeking since mid-April. The cult that’d provided a hiding place for vicious killers for the past thirty years. Vicious killers who had abused two of the people who, in a short period of time, had become Tom’s friends. Both Gideon Reynolds and his sister Mercy Callahan had been children when they’d escaped Eden, but both were scarred for life, physically and emotionally.