Undercover Husband

“We can go to Metwater and demand he hand over the child,” Graham said. “But if he refuses to admit she even exists, it could be tougher.”

“You can’t hide an infant for very long,” Hannah said. “Someone in the camp—some other mother, perhaps—knows she exists.”

“What makes you think Metwater’s group has her?” Marco asked. “It’s possible she ended up with Child Welfare and Protection in Denver after your sister’s death.”

“I checked with them. They have no record of her. I’m sure she’s still with Metwater and his group.”

“Why are you so sure?” Walt asked.

Her expression grew pinched. “Take another look at her birth certificate.”

Walt studied the certificate, frowning.

“What is it?” Marco asked.

Walt looked up from the paper, not at his fellow officers, but at Hannah. “This says the child’s father is Daniel Metwater.”

* * *

HANNAH HELD HERSELF very still, willing herself not to flinch at the awful words. “That’s a lie,” she said. “Emily was pregnant long before she ever met Daniel Metwater, and I know she was in a relationship with Raynor Gilbert. I have pictures of them together, and I talked to people at the club where he worked.” The conversations had been excruciating, having to relive her sister’s happiness over the baby and being in love, and then the grief when her dream of a storybook future was destroyed by Raynor’s death. “They all say he and Emily were together—that he was the father of her baby. A simple DNA test will prove that.”

“Yet the court was willing to grant you custody of the child?” Graham asked.

“Temporary custody,” she said. “Pending outcome of the DNA test. Believe me, Commander, Daniel Metwater is not Joy’s father. Her father was Raynor Gilbert and he’s dead.”

“Let us do some investigating and see what we can find out,” Graham said. “But even if we locate an infant of the appropriate sex and age in the camp, unless Metwater and his followers admit it’s your sister’s child, we won’t be able to do anything. If some other woman is claiming to be the infant’s mother, you may have to go back to court to request the DNA testing before we can seize the child.”

She stood, so abruptly her chair slid back with a harsh protest, and her voice shook in spite of her willing it not to. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get the child on my own.”

“How will you do that?” Walt asked.

“I’ll pretend I want to join the group. Once I’m living with them, I can find Joy and I’ll leave with her.”

She braced herself for them to tell her she couldn’t do that. Their expressions told her plainly enough that’s what they were thinking—at least what the commander and Agent Cruz thought. Agent Riley looked a little less stern. “You’ve obviously given this some thought,” he said.

“I will do anything to save my niece,” she said. “I had hoped to do this with law enforcement backing, but if necessary, I will go into that camp and steal her back. And I dare you and anyone else to try to stop me.”

Chapter Two (#udf15ee20-19a1-5f6e-846e-9a09572cd058)

Daniel Metwater and his followers had definitely chosen a spot well off the beaten path for their encampment. After an hour’s drive over washboard dirt roads, Walt followed Marco down a narrow footpath, across a plank bridge over a dry arroyo, to a homemade wooden archway that proclaimed Peace in crooked painted lettering. “Looks like they’ve made themselves at home,” Walt observed.

“They picked a better spot this time.” Marco glanced back at Walt. “You didn’t see the first camp, did you?”

Walt shook his head. While several members of the team had visited Metwater’s original camp as part of the murder investigation, he had been assigned to other duties.

“It was over in Dead Horse Canyon,” Marco said. “No water, not many trees and near a fairly popular hiking trail.” He looked around the heavily wooded spot alongside a shallow creek. “This is less exposed, with access to water and wood.”

“Their permit is still only for two weeks,” Walt said.

“There’s plenty of room in the park for them to move around,” Marco said. “And Metwater has some kind of influence with the people who issue the permits. They appear happy to keep handing them out to him.”

A bearded young man, barefoot and dressed only in a pair of khaki shorts, approached. “Hello, Officers,” he said, his expression wary. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Metwater,” Marco said.

“I’ll see if the Prophet is free to speak with you,” the man said.

“I think he understands by now it’s in his best interest to speak with us,” Marco said.

He didn’t wait for the young man to answer, but pushed past him and continued down the trail.

The camp itself was spread out in a clearing some fifty yards from the creek—a motley collection of tents and trailers and homemade shelters scattered among the trees. A large motor home with an array of solar panels on the roof stood at one end of the collection. “That’s Metwater’s RV,” Marco said, and led the way toward it.

Walt followed, taking the opportunity to study the men and women, and more than a few children, who emerged from the campers and tents and trailers to stare at the two lawmen. More than half the people he saw were young women, several with babies or toddlers in their arms or clinging to their skirts. The men he saw were young also, many with beards and longer hair, and all of them regarded him and Marco with expressions ranging from openly angry to guarded.

Marco rapped on the door to the large motor home. After a few seconds, the door eased open, and a strikingly beautiful, and obviously pregnant, blonde peered out at them. “Hello, Ms. Matheson.” Marco touched the brim of his Stetson. “We’d like to speak to Mr. Metwater.”

Frowning at the pair of officers, she opened the door wider. “I don’t know why you people can’t leave him alone,” she said.

Walt had heard plenty about Andi Matheson, though he hadn’t met her before. Her lover was the man murdered outside the Family’s camp, and her father, a US senator, had been involved in the crime. She was perhaps the most famous of Metwater’s followers, and apparently among those closest to him.

“We need to ask him some questions.” Marco moved past her. Walt followed, nodding to Andi as he passed, but she had already looked away, toward the man who was entering from the back of the motor home.

Daniel Metwater had the kind of presence that focused the attention of everyone in the room on him. A useful quality for someone who called himself a prophet, Walt thought. Metwater was in his late twenties or early thirties, about five-ten or five-eleven, with shaggy dark hair and piercing dark eyes, and pale skin that showed a shadow of beard even in early afternoon. He wore loose linen trousers and a white cotton shirt unbuttoned to show defined abs and a muscular chest. He might have been a male model or a pop singer instead of an itinerant evangelist. “Officers.” He nodded in greeting. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We’re looking for an infant,” Marco said. “A little girl, about three months old.”

“And what—you think this child wandered in here on her own?” Metwater smirked.

“Her mother was a follower of yours—Emily Dietrich,” Marco said.

Metwater frowned, as if in thought, though Walt suspected the expression was more for show. “I don’t recall a disciple of mine by that name,” he said.

Walt turned to Andi. “Did you know Emily?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“What about Anna Ingels?” Walt asked.

Something flickered in her eyes, but she quickly looked away, at Metwater. “We don’t have anyone here by that name, either,” Metwater said.

“I asked Miss Matheson if she knows—or knew—of an Anna Ingels.” Walt kept his gaze fixed on Andi.

“No,” she said.

“Asteria, you may leave us now,” Metwater said.

Andi—whose Family name was apparently Asteria—ducked her head and hurried out of the room. Metwater turned back to the Rangers. “What does any of this have to do with your missing infant?” he asked.