Say Goodbye Page 2

  “We could just e-mail the police directly,” Hayley said quietly. “Or even the FBI.”

  “And we will. But Cam can go to the cops in person, and that might get better attention than our e-mail, which sounds like we’re crackpots.” He hit send, then opened a new e-mail. “I’ll send the e-mail to the cops now. According to the map, the closest town is—”

  A voice outside had them freezing in place.

  “I need to pack up the clinic,” the healer was saying.

  “You will have time to do that,” a male voice said evenly. “Get back to the prayer meeting.”

  Shit. Panicked, Hayley met Graham’s wide eyes. “Joshua,” she mouthed. If her so-called husband found them here . . . He’ll kill me. He’ll kill Graham. “We need to get out of here,” she mouthed to Graham.

  He nodded once, then began closing windows on the computer. He clicked the history and erased their activity before shutting it down. Quietly he rose from the chair and joined her at the office door.

  “Pastor wants you at his side when he tells everyone that we’re leaving,” Joshua told the healer.

  Leaving. Leaving?

  Hayley glanced at the computer, her heart racing faster than was good for her baby. They’d just told Cameron where to find them and now they were leaving?

  She took a step toward the computer, but Graham grabbed her arm, shaking his head.

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Joshua was saying. “I need to find the new girl. She was asleep when we left for the prayer meeting, but Rebecca says she isn’t there now.”

  The new girl. That would be me. They know I’m missing. I need to get out of here.

  “She might run,” the healer said hesitantly. “She seems the type. She hasn’t fit in well.”

  “I know.” Joshua sounded grim. “I swear to God, I’ll kill her and rip that baby out of her if she tries. I promised Rebecca the kid would be hers.”

  Hayley covered her mouth to silence her gasp. Graham’s grip intensified until tears burned her eyes. Her brother looked absolutely livid.

  Livid and terrified. For me. Hurry, Cam. Get here before we’re gone. Or before Graham did something foolish and got himself killed.

  The voices trailed off and Graham opened the office door, gesturing for Hayley to follow. With a final frantic look back at the computer, she complied. It didn’t matter. She didn’t know where they were going, so she couldn’t tell Cam. When they got to the outer door, Graham pointed to himself, then to the left. He pointed to Hayley, then the right.

  They no longer lived in the same hut, so it made sense that they’d come from different directions. Thank you, little brother, she thought. For having your shit together better than me.

  She looked both ways when she left the healer’s hut, relieved that everyone was in the square already, looking away from her and toward where Pastor stood on a raised platform. He was an average-looking man, maybe five-eight. On the surface, he seemed unremarkable in every way. His brown hair was graying, his face almost always smiling benignly. He wore round glasses that gave him a professorial air. He shouldn’t have been a leader of anything, but there was something about him that drew the people of Eden like moths to a flame. They trusted him implicitly.

  He was, however, holding Hayley captive against her will, and so she would never trust him. She slipped out and made it to the back of the group in the square, then gasped again when bony fingers grabbed her arm, in the same place Graham had.

  “Where were you?” Rebecca asked, her tone low and ominous. The woman was older, though her age was hard to tell. Hayley thought she might be younger than her own mother, but years of living in this hellhole had made her haggard, her skin wrinkled. More important at the moment was her size and strength. She was much taller and stronger than Hayley. She wouldn’t stand a chance if the woman tried to seriously hurt her. “You weren’t in your bed, where I left you.” She squeezed harder, giving Hayley a shake that rattled her teeth. “Do not lie to me, girl.”

  She spoke quietly enough that no one around them heard, or at least didn’t appear to. All eyes were closed as Pastor led them in prayer.

  Hayley’s mouth opened, then closed. “I was here,” she stammered. “On my way here.”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. You can’t even lie well.”

  “She was with me,” a soft voice said from behind them.

  Both Hayley and Rebecca twisted around to see Sister Tamar, who was smiling sweetly. “I went to wake her up, Sister Rebecca. I knew she’d stayed behind to sleep. It’s taxing, being pregnant.” Her smile grew brittle. “But I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

  Rebecca’s jaw grew tight; the muscles in her neck corded as she controlled the rage that flashed in her eyes. She shoved Hayley away with a glare. “Stay out of my way. Both of you.”

  Hayley turned to Tamar with wide eyes and a hammering heart. Why? she wanted to ask. Why did you cover for me?

  The woman was young, maybe twenty, and was one of the weavers. That was all Hayley knew about her. She wasn’t one of Joshua’s wives and she and Hayley had never spoken one-on-one. Hayley wasn’t even sure who the woman was married to, although she had a husband.

  That was a given in Eden. All females over twelve were married.

  Tamar shook her head, the movement so slight that Hayley would have missed it had she not been staring. Then, shoulders sagging, Tamar folded her hands and lowered her head as Pastor prayed that the good Lord would bless them in their upcoming move, that he would protect them in these “treacherous times” when the government was trying to “steal their religious freedoms.” He prayed that everyone would make the trip to the new site safely and that Brother DJ would heal from his “grievous wounds” inflicted by the FBI just hours before. He asked God to “shield them” from the evil men who’d killed so many at Waco.

  The FBI’s failed takeover attempt of the Branch Davidians was mentioned often by the Eden authorities. It was a fear tactic that worked, several of the men murmuring, “Amen.”

  After Pastor’s final amen, everyone looked up as one. Hayley still hadn’t gotten used to the synchronized movement. It was as if the crowd were a well-choreographed chorus line.

  “We leave at dawn,” Pastor announced. “Pack what you can easily carry. Do not be tardy. This is not a drill. Anyone who isn’t ready at dawn will be cast out.”

  The group gasped, again as one.

  Cast out. That was bad, Hayley knew that much. She glanced at Tamar, who whispered, “Left in the woods for the wolves.”

  Hayley shuddered. This was a nightmare. Worse than a nightmare. Worse than hell could ever be. God, please get me out of here. Help me save my baby.

  “Our new home won’t be as nice as this one,” Pastor continued. “There will be some adjustments, but I promise you’ll be happy there. We’ll be together, and with God’s help and protection, we will prevail. Now go and prepare. We have only a few hours before dawn.”

  Not as nice as this place? This was . . . hell. She met Graham’s gaze across the square. He looked taller, somehow. More grown up. And grimly determined.

  As the crowd dispersed, Tamar darted back to her own hut without giving Hayley a chance to ask her a single question. She began to walk back to the hut she shared with Joshua and his three other wives and their seven children, trying to control the panic in her gut.

  They were leaving. Cameron would get here with the cops and they’d be gone. She’d have to have her baby in a place even worse than this. And then Sister Rebecca would steal her.

  Graham came to her side, taking her arm as if to guide her across the uneven ground. “You shouldn’t fall in your condition,” he said, loudly enough that anyone around them would hear. Then he whispered, “It’ll be okay. We’ll get away.”

  Hayley nodded, her heart in her throat. Her twelve-year-old br
other was telling her it would be okay, but it wouldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

  They were leaving this place for somewhere even worse. She couldn’t imagine what that would be like.

  I’ll find out soon enough. She smoothed her free hand over her stomach. Don’t worry, Jellybean. Your dad will find us. He has to.

  ONE

  EDEN, CALIFORNIA

  ONE MONTH LATER

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 5:30 A.M.

  DJ Belmont looked over the list in his hand. “It’ll take me forever to get all this shit.”

  Sister Coleen shrugged in apology, unconcerned about the swear word he’d let drop. They were alone in the clinic—he, Coleen, and Pastor—so Eden rules did not apply.

  Rules he’d grown up with. Rules he intended to shred the moment he took over Eden. He was one step closer to his goal, having killed Brother Ephraim a month before. He’d have taken care of all of his problems had he not been shot himself. After a month, his left shoulder still ached and the arm remained basically useless.

  The first shot to his shoulder had hurt like fire, and for that he planned to hunt down the bitch who’d pulled the trigger. Her name was Daisy Dawson and her death would serve a dual purpose—payback for the injury and heartbreak for the man who shared her bed.

  Gideon Reynolds. The very name had DJ seething with rage. He banked it, unwilling to have to explain it to Coleen and Pastor. Because Gideon was supposed to be dead. Supposed to be dead at DJ’s father’s hand, in fact.

  Except now he knew that Waylon Belmont—DJ’s own father—had let Gideon go. He’d set Gideon free from Eden. Lied to everyone when he returned, saying that Gideon had died for the sin of murdering the Founding Elder Edward McPhearson as he’d attempted to flee. Everyone had believed him.

  Even me. The banked rage flared anew and he shoved it back. He hadn’t realized the extent of his father’s betrayal until last month when he’d learned that Gideon was still alive.

  His father had been punished, though. It had been DJ’s first killing and it had felt so damn good, watching the light dim in that bastard’s eyes. He’d been seventeen years old and had finally understood that true power lay in the ability to grant life. Or death.

  DJ granted a lot of death.

  “It’s been a month since your last trip,” Coleen said, unaware of his mounting anger. “And you came back wounded, so you couldn’t bring back the supplies you’d gone to buy. We had emergency rations, but they’re gone. The women stretched the rations as far as they could, but a hundred and fifteen people require a lot of food. We’ve run out of most of our essentials.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it.” They were scraping the bottom of the supply barrels, and DJ was already tired of the jerky that seemed to be their remaining source of protein. “I’ll pick up the supplies and scout out a new place for us to live.”

  That was the plan, anyway. The compound was freezing and hungry, huddling in the caves as they were. The caves had never been intended to be a long-term location, but DJ’s injury had forced them to remain far longer than was healthy for any of them. Especially me.

  He had other priorities for this trip, however. He’d search for another location if he had time.

  She studied his left arm, resting in a sling. “You’re sure you’re okay to drive?” A tiny brunette in her early fifties, she was Eden’s healer, their only medical “expert.” To his knowledge, she’d had no formal training, but she’d done the best she could with his wounds.

  At least he wasn’t dead, although he’d apparently come pretty damn close.

  “I’m fine,” DJ grunted. He flexed his left shoulder, then moved that arm around, swallowing the pain. “See? Full range of motion.”

  Which wasn’t nearly true. Fortunately, he’d trained for years to shoot with either hand. He wouldn’t be completely helpless when he left the compound, but the pain was still excruciating. Sleeping on a pallet on a cold, damp stone floor wasn’t helping matters any. He couldn’t wait to get to civilization so that he could sleep in a real bed for a change.

  “Not quite,” Coleen murmured, “but I gave up trying to tell you what to do years ago.”

  Because she was not stupid and she valued her life. DJ didn’t suffer fools, nor did he allow anyone to give him orders.

  No one except the elderly man in the chair. Pastor was the shepherd of Eden’s flock. He was the leader, and he gave the orders. DJ disobeyed him frequently, but Pastor never found out.

  Like his father before him, DJ was the only person permitted to leave the compound—at least the only person the community knew about. The Founding Elders had taken leaves of absence four times a year, ostensibly to “pray on the mountain.” In reality, they went to the nearest city and fucked, drank, and gambled like sailors on shore leave.

  Now DJ and Pastor were the only remaining elders. Pastor himself was the only remaining Founding Elder. DJ had taken his father’s place after Waylon’s untimely demise. To this day no one suspected he’d killed his father.

  Because I’m damn good. He didn’t leave loose ends.

  At least none that he’d known about until a month before, when he’d learned that the woman he’d thought he’d killed thirteen years ago was still alive. He could have sworn Mercy had been dead when he’d left her bleeding in front of a bus station.

  Mercy Callahan. Gideon’s sister. Except that she’d been Mercy Burton when she’d lived in Eden. She’d been Ephraim’s wife until DJ had let her and her mother believe he was helping them escape. He’d wanted them to hope.

  He should have shot both women in the woods outside Eden, but he’d been young and stupid and focused on his cartoon-villain revenge plot. Mercy’s mother was definitely dead, and he’d brought her body back, but he’d been interrupted in the middle of killing Mercy. Someone had come and he’d run, leaving her behind. He didn’t see how she could have survived the two bullets he’d put into her body, but she had.

  Which left him a huge mess to clean up now. He’d told Pastor that he’d buried Mercy himself. If Pastor ever found out that she’d survived, DJ would lose everything.

  So he had loose ends to take care of. He’d almost done so a month ago, but a second shot had damaged the nerves in his left arm, leaving him unable to shoot and bleeding profusely. He didn’t know who’d fired the shot, but when he found out, the fucker was dead. He’d barely made it back to the compound alive. He’d barely managed to stay conscious long enough to tell Pastor they had to move. Immediately.

  Luckily Pastor trusted him implicitly. The old fool.

  DJ had only let him live this long because the old fool was also a crafty fucker. He’d memorized the account numbers and passwords to the online bank accounts that held Eden’s fifty million bucks.

  DJ needed those passwords before Pastor kicked the bucket. The old man was still in decent shape, though, goddammit. He was seventy-two, but his heart still beat soundly in his chest.

  Coleen glanced at Pastor, technically her husband. Coleen had gone through three husbands in the thirty years she’d been at Eden. Two had died of natural causes. One had been murdered.

  Not by my hand. Although DJ had longed to kill Ephraim’s brother, Edward, more times than he could count. No, the thanks for Edward’s death had to go to Gideon Reynolds. Gideon had claimed it was an accident, and DJ had believed it. At thirteen, Gideon had been a goody-goody. And strong enough even then to best Edward McPhearson in a fight.

  When DJ met Gideon again, he’d kill him slowly, making sure it hurt especially badly. Partly for denying DJ the satisfaction of killing McPhearson himself, but mostly for escaping. For having a life, when DJ had been stuck in this hellhole, serving a narcissist with a god complex.

  Even putting all of those reasons aside, Gideon would have had to die, simply for becoming a goddamn FBI agent who had apparently been searching for Eden since the day he escaped.

 
Pastor cleared his throat gently. “You seem agitated, DJ. Are you not healed enough to take this excursion?”

  “I’m fine,” DJ snapped, then blew out a breath at the unamused look on Pastor’s face. It was never a good idea to make Pastor angry. “I’m sorry. It does hurt, but we need supplies.”

  And I have loose ends to snip.

  He needed to find Gideon and put him down like the dog he was. He needed to find Mercy and make her suffer the way she should have suffered thirteen years ago.

  And then he’d find Amos Terrill, Eden’s former carpenter and Gideon and Mercy’s stepfather. The month before, that bastard had smuggled himself and his young daughter out of Eden in the back of DJ’s pickup truck. Which Amos had then stolen. Asshole.

  Hopefully he’d find Amos in a graveyard somewhere, because one of DJ’s bullets had struck the man in the throat. He’d need to die eventually, because he’d found Gideon and Mercy and had probably updated them on everything about Eden since they had left. For that, if he was still alive, he’d pay.

  And then I’ll come back, force Pastor to give me those damn account numbers once and for all. He’d stayed in the same toxic pattern, serving Pastor for far too long. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he’d been shot.

  Nothing like a near-death experience to reset one’s priorities.

  “It’s all right,” Pastor said evenly, making it clear that DJ’s outburst wasn’t all right. The fucker. “Will you locate little Abigail? She may have been taken into the foster care system.”

  Because he’d told Pastor that he’d killed and buried Amos after finding him hiding in the back of his pickup when he’d stopped in the next town. He hadn’t mentioned Abigail at all. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because she was a child and he hadn’t considered her a threat. Pastor had assumed she’d escaped.